On the Banks of Plum Creek

My family was fortunate enough to live near my grandmother's aunt when I was growing up. Aunt Lucia was an avid reader, and she introduced the books of Laura Ingalls Wilder to my sister, who in turn, introduced them to me. So it was an unexpected treat to visit the site of On the Banks of Plum Creek with my sister and our mom a couple of weeks ago.

This was the book that featured the Ingalls family's sod house, which was built along the creek. The spot is a couple of miles from Walnut Grove, which you may remember from the TV show. Walnut Grove is where you will find a Laura Ingalls Wilder Museum, one of several scattered across the Northern Plains and the Midwest, in towns featured in the Little House books.

The Great Plains

My sister lives 700 miles from my home. It's a journey from the southern to the northern plains, so I guess I shouldn't have been surprised that everyone seemed to assume such a trip would involve air travel. My mom and I made the trip together and flying never crossed our minds. I don't mind the actual flying part of flying, but the restrictions, the security checks, the delays (both planned and unplanned) and the general hassle make the idea most unappealing to me.

Besides the frustrations related to flying, you miss out on a lot. All of my life, my mother has told stories about the 5 years her family spent in Omaha leading up to World War II. So after driving through eastern Kansas, which is much prettier than I had pictured, I finally got to see Omaha and discovered it's not the city I've pictured. It's beautiful, with hills and trees, and reminds me of my hometown. Mom always told us how hard it was to have to take her driving test in downtown Omaha, which had steep hills. And it turns out she didn't exaggerate too much, as there are some pretty steep hills downtown, but it's not exactly San Francisco, either.

We drove by the houses where Mom and her family lived, including the house where they heard Franklin Roosevelt speak in December of 1941 about the "day that would live in infamy." I could picture my grandparents and Mom and her younger brother gathered around a radio in the living room of that house, as the US entered the war.

Mom has often told stories about the Catholic school that she and another Protestant friend attended in the 9th grade. When one of her classmates announced that she was leaving to attended a public school, a Nun told her to go right ahead and lose her soul. (Most of Mom's stories revolved around fits of giggles during Latin Mass, as Mom and her friend were totally clueless about Catholic traditions.) I finally saw the parish that housed my Mother's brief foray into Catholic education and discovered something I never knew before - her school was on the campus of Creighton University and it's absolutely beautiful. (She insists that it wasn't that pretty then, and she seems to remember snow pretty much year-round in Omaha.) By the way, you can't tell it here, but the church sits on one of those Omaha hills.

As we drove, we saw fields of corn, soy beans, and sugar beets as far as the eye could see. I know that doesn't sound very exciting, but those fields were a sight to behold.

We drove through small towns with their wonderful architecture.

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As we neared my sister's small town, we passed a wind farm, which was an unexpected delight.

It was a long drive, a good 13 or 14 hours, but it was a relaxing drive as we soaked up all that we saw along the way and had the opportunity to spend time together that is hard to find when we're back in the regular routine of our lives.

And it was much better than flying.

This is my Father's world,
and to my listening ears all nature sings,
and round me rings the music of the spheres.
This is my Father's world:
I rest me in the thought
of rocks and trees, of skies and seas;
His hand the wonders wrought.

Blessings, 

Margaret