Day 15

We turned north this morning to make our way back home. On the way, we stopped at a gas station in some small mountain town in rural Arkansas so I could get a cup of coffee. I brought it to the counter and the woman smiled and said, “You’re good.” Puzzled, I insisted, “But I have to pay.” She shook her head, “No, have a great day.”

I had wanted to visit the Ozarks for awhile now. It’s the main reason—when I realized we’d have less than three weeks between the World Championship and G3’s Boy Scout Camp—that I planned our trip around Missouri. What I didn’t realize, until about a week ago, was that Laura Ingalls Wilder’s final home was in the Ozark Mountains. It was the house—or rather houses—in which she penned her classic children’s books. Getting to her house required a two hour detour from my original route. Did I take it? Of course I did. Seeing where she lived on the Prairie, that was one thing—my childhood dream. Seeing where she wrote, well, as a writer, that was something entirely different.

Laura—her middle name was Elizabeth, how did I not know that?—lived in DeSmet, South Dakota until July 1894. That’s when she, Almanzo, and seven year old Rose moved to Mansfield, Missouri. They had $100 to their name, which they used to purchase 40 acres of land in order to start a dairy, fruit and poultry farm. Laura named it Rocky Ridge Farm.

Rose was a writer before her mother. She was a journalist for the San Francisco Bulletin. After World War I, she lived in Europe where she wrote articles and short stories for a living. In the 1920s, she returned to Missouri. At the time, she was the second highest paid author in America. (G3 had to Google who was the highest and his search yielded F. Scott Fitzgerald.) She thought her parents had worked hard their entire lives and felt they deserved a comfortable retirement. Therefore, she built them a modern house made of stone—called The Rock House. It even had electricity—quite a step up from that Little House on the Prairie. Even though it was a lovely thoughtful gesture, neither Laura nor Almamzo wanted a new house. They were content in the farm house.

In the Rock House—which I love, especially the gorgeous view from the front—Laura wrote her first four books, the first of which was published in 1932 when Laura was 65. It was, however, not her first foray into the world of writing. Between 1911 and 1923 she was a staff writer for The Missouri Ruralist. Her ability to write so descriptively is attributed to her long ago promise to Mary,after Mary went blind, that she would be her eyes and describe everything to her.

When her parents moved into the modern house, Rose settled into the farm house to write novels. Young Pioneers was her most successful novel, but according to the tour guide, she plagiarized, copying copiously from her mother. In 1936, Rose left Missouri to go live first in NYC and then Connecticut. Her parents moved out of the Rock House and back into the farm house. That’s where Laura wrote the rest of her books. She died on February 10, 1957, three days after her 90th birthday.

Laura was born two years after the Civil War. She lived in a tiny log cabin and traveled by wagon. In her childhood, she carried water from a well, wrote on a slate in school, and read at night by candlelight. Yet, for ten years, her life overlapped with my mothers. Born in an age when the American military still had a cavalry, she lived long enough for America to develop nuclear warfare. In her lifetime, the world became a completely different place. It’s incredible to think of her having written her last book four years before my mother was born.

There is some speculation among geneticists that the family suffered from Fragile X syndrome considering no male children survived. Laura’s brother died in infancy, as did her son. And her grandson—Rose’s child—was stillborn. Mary never got married, but Laura’s younger sisters, Carrie and Grace, never had any children. Scarlet Fever may not have been the cause of Mary’s blindness. Now, there is some belief that it might have been meningitis.

G3 was as bored in Laura’s Missouri home as he was in her Independence home. He did go on both tours with me, but he had no interest in the museum—where I spent way too much time. He did, however, admit that it was really cool to see Charles’ fiddle. We were both surprised to find out how short Laura was. She was only 4’11” and Almanzo was 5’4”.

We are Camping at the Ozark National Scenic Riverway. When we arrived, G3 wanted to set up the tent by himself. I didn’t object. It gave me time to look over the map and begin thinking about what we might do tomorrow. I can already tell that two days won’t be nearly enough time to do everything. But two days is definitely better than not getting here at all.

We attended a Ranger Program this evening about Springs and Caves. In 1964, this park became the first river system protected by the National Park. It has the highest concentration of first magnitude springs in the entire world. (A first magnitude spring releases 64 million gallons, or more, of water a day.) The bedrock here is made of dolomite which formed from the calcium of prehistoric dead animals. Water enters the dolomite forming springs. Over time, the water wears away the rock and when the water vacates, it leaves behind a cave.

Quiet hours were supposed to start at ten. it is almost 11 and there are two parties going on, each blasting music. A barking dog is accompanying the music at one of the parties. There is no number to call for a ranger to come and break it up. I suspect I am going to get no sleep tonight. Tomorrow, I will have to get a number. Why are people do damn rude? If you want to have a party don’t come out into the woods. It defeats the purpose of being in nature and it totally ruins the experience for everyone else.