Prairie Women

February 19, 2006

When I was a little girl, I pretended that I lived during Little House on the Prairie days. I had those days romanticized in my mind. And given a chance to go back in time, I definitely would have picked that era. Ma and Pa Ingalls, Mary, Jack the bulldog. Old America. Later I watched the Little House on the Prairie series with Michael Landon and Melissa Gilbert. I even had a crush on Albert Ingalls. And I hated Nellie Olsen as if I really knew her.

As a teenager, my mom used the term "Prairie Woman" to describe women who could handle pain. She explained that prairie women didn't complain, and when an emergency situation occurred, prairie women kept their cool. As for having babies, well, they just had them (usually with no screaming) and were out in the field the next day. Now, keep into consideration that this is all my mom's definition of a prairie woman. And as far as I was concerned, she fit the definition exactly.

Which brings me to the whole point of this entry. I've always aspired to be a "prairie woman" just like my mom. But, I cry easy. I have a low threshold for pain. And I'm not a big fan of getting dirty and staying that way. As I drug firewood inside from the bitter cold, a shocking realization hit me. This is as close to a prairie woman as I will ever be. Toting firewood.

Maybe I'm only thinking of this because I watched four hours of Into the West on DVD this weekend. Or maybe because it's the truth.