I have a persistent fantasy of living in a little off-grid cabin on the edge of the woods, a fantasy I suspect owes entirely to reading this as a child. It’s a memoir-in-novel form of the author, Laura Ingalls Wilder, growing up in the 1870s frontier — specifically, the edge of Wisconsin, in an area far from roads and houses and people. Although there is a store within a day’s walk, the Ingalls are by and large on their own, surrounded by a deep wilderness filled with bears, wolves, and game — with only their own skills, intelligence, creativity, and a single-shot rifle standing between them and death. Reading this as a kid, I think I was fascinated by how Laura’s entire life was made by hand, from scratch — everything from the starch for laundry to Pa’s bullets. This is described in full detail by Wilder here — tanning hides, smoking meat, butchering a pig, etc. Similarly impressive is the ‘poverty’ in which the Ingalls lived: little Laura’s sister had a baby doll to hold, but Laura had to make do with a corn cob wrapped in a blanket and her own imagination. Receiving her own doll — and an orange! — at Christmas is regarded as a wonderful boon. Of course, though they were money-poor by our standards, the Ingalls had a rich life: their animals, garden, and the bounty of the woods insured full larders, and her family life was cozy and supportive, if strict. Other aspects of frontier culture incorporated are traditional American songs, sung by Pa and his fiddle, and stories of the olden days. This was one of the most educational books I read as a kid: I remember being fascinated by learning about maple syrup tapping, and having to look in my dictionary for what “vension” was. Re-reading this was a pleasure, and I was amused at little memories that floated up, like Pa calling Laura his “little half-pint of cider half-drunk up”.

Related:
Little House on the Prairie, second in the series
Libertarians on the Praire, on the collaboration between Laura and her daughter-editor Rose Wilder Lane.