Little Farm in the Ozarks by Roger Lea MacBride (illustrated by David Gilleece).
Title: Little Farm in the Ozarks.
Author: Roger Lea MacBride (illustrated by David Gilleece).
Genre: Fiction, children's lit, YA, bildungsroman, Western, family saga.
Country: U.S.
Language: English.
Publication Date: 1993.
Summary: Going fishing for the first time, starting in a new school, saving the farmhouse from a fire - these are the elements of young Rose Wilder's first year at Rocky Ridge Farm. She has moved there with her parents, Laura and Almanzo, to begin a new life in the Missouri Ozarks. Rose feels out of place as the new girl in her class, but gradually gains confidence, and Rocky Ridge truly becomes her home.
My rating: 7.5/10.
My Review:
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♥ "Well, you must stay to supper," Papa said. Mama cleared her throat. "We haven't much," Papa went on. "But what we have..."
"I ain't a-aiming to put no burden on you 'uns," Abe said. "No sirree. I brung you some meat in this here poke, to show no harm meant." He reached into a sack at his feet and pulled out a dead raccoon by the tail. Rose had seen the skins of raccoons that her friend Alva had trapped.
"I don't think..." Mama began. "I mean, I wouldn't know the first thing about cooking a... what is it?"
"Coon, ma'am," said Abe. "You folks ain't tasted no coon yet?"
"No," Mama said firmly. "I'm not sure we're quite ready for that."
"Ain't nothing to it," Abe said heartily. "Why, coon's some of the best eating meat we got in these here hills. Swiney and I'll skin it, and I can tell you just how to cook it."
Mama looked at Papa. The color drained from her face. But there was nothing more she could politely say. Abe would not take no for an answer, and Mama would never argue against the generosity of strangers.
.."It did smell good," Mama dmitted with a chuckle. "But that's the last time you are going to find a raccoon in my oven."
♥ It was wicked to hurt or kill anything that one didn't need. But Rose did not know Swiney well enough to scold him.
♥ The Land of the Big Red Apple was a name the railroad companies gave the Ozark Mountains, to persuade people to come there, buy land, and grow apples to ship on the trains.
Mama and Papa had come to Missouri to make a new future. They bought the little run-down farm, called it Rocky Ridge, and began to fix it up. They had been very lucky. The farm came with nearly a thousand apple saplings all heeled in, waiting to be planted. In a few years those apple trees would begin to bear fruit that Mama and Papa could sell. They would never want for anything again.
But for now, Rose knew they must make do with what they had.
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♥ Rose was sorry to see Abe and Swiney leave. But it had been a wonderful evening. It left her eager to meet the next day, and all the days that would follow. It was a feeling, like the peeping frogs and the lengthening days, of newness and change. Rose felt it rushing through her veins. The rustle of spring was everywhere, even in Abe's voice.
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♥ Shyly at first, then more boldly, the forest birds rehearsed their spring voices. The simple chipping and aimless twittering that Rose had heard all winter gave way to new songs, clear and sweet and hopeful. "Cheerio! Cheerio! Cheerio!" the robins sang. Brilliant red cardinals cred, "What cheer! What cheer! What cheer!" Little white-throated sparrows called out, "Old Tom Peabody, Peabody, Peabody."
♥ All the woods seemed to be a bustle of mysterious affairs.
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♥ "He was also burning off the fields and even the woods, too. Just letting the fire burn through perfectly good timber."
"Whatever for?" Mama asked.
"It's the most confounded thing I ever heard. He says folks here always burn off the underbrush and new fields in spring. They just let the fires go till they burn themselves out."
"But why?" asked Mama.
"They say it improves the soil, and clears out the weeds and stump sprouts. But I don't like it," Papa said. "It's a crime to treat good land that way!"
The roughness on his voice startled Rose. It was always so calm and patient. Even horses trusted Papa when he spoke. But fire was a monstrous thing. They were all terribly afraid of it. Rose still remembered the fire that had burned up their house in South Dakota many years before.
♥ Papa climbed into the wagon-box and pulled off the oilcloth covers. Mama's mouth flew open. Sitting there, still half in its crate, was a brand-new cast-iron stove. Papa crossed his arms and waited for Mama to speak.
"Oh, Manly!" Mama cried out finally. Her hand flew to her mouth.
"It isn't the best stove money can buy," Papa said proudly. "But when I do a thing, I do it right. It's got a hot water reservoir. Now you can heat water and cook at the same time!"
The stove was beautiful. A pattern of sprigged flowers and leaves spread all over the doors. The nickel knobs and pins gleamed in the sunlight.
Rose waited for Mama's face to melt into happiness. But her mouth was tight, and her forehead furrowed. Finally she said, simply, "No."
Papa's eyed widened. "No?" he said.
"Yes," said Mama, more firmly this time. "I mean no. I mean, you must take it back."
"What in tarnation?" Papa said.
"We cannot afford the expense," said Mama. "It's that simple. I couldn't bear to cook on it knowing we had gone into debt for it. You know how I feel. You will just have to take it back. I'm sorry. I know you only meant to please. But no."
Papa stared at Mama in disbelief. Rose held her breath. She had never heard Mama speak so to Papa.
"Now just a durn minute," Papa said, jumping down from the wagon. "I went to no end of trouble trading with Reynolds for fence rails and railroad ties. Prices are high now. There's never been a better time. One way or another, I'll pay for the blasted thing. Now quit this foolishness and let's get on with unloading it."
"Manly Wilder, you won't talk me into anything by cussing," Mama said. Rose flinched. "You can unload it yourself. You can install it yourself. But I'll cook in the fireplace like my ma did before I'll cook on that stove. It's a sinful, wasteful extravagance for folks as poor as us.
"I have a perfectly good stove already," she said, pointing to the little tin stove sitting near the porch. "How can we ever get ahead if we keep going deeper and deeper in debt?"
Now Papa's face was deeply creased between the eyes. He stared at Mama for a long moment.
"Dash it all, Bess!" he shouted. "Hang the expense. What's the difference if we owe an extra twenty dollars? It may as well be two hundred. If we can't pay it, Reynolds will give us more time. But I have my word and I don't aim to take it back."
Mama took a step back. "I just-" she began to say. But Papa's earnest voice drove on.
"See here," he said, "it's been more than fifteen years since I set out to find my fortune on the frontier. We can't live like sodbusters all our lives, letting the land grind us down year after year. I wouldn't wear out a dumb horse that way, not for any reason.
"Why should I let you wear yourself down, bending and slaving over a flimsy stove, worrying yourself half to death about fire? By jiminy, sometimes I..."
Then Papa ran out of words.
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♥ It was wonderful to be outside. In the cabin the hearth fire had gone out for the last time. There were no more ashes to carry or wood to gather in the slushy mud and snow of winter. The door and windows stood wide to the spring. The log walls were no longer a shelter, but a prison opening to freedom with every dawn.
Spring was hazy on the Ozark hills.
♥ "A chicken is a miracle of nature," said Mama. "And the salvation of any farm. A hen asks very little: a dry, safe place to sleep at night, sunlight, fresh air, water, some mash every day, and a place to scratch for worms and bugs and grasshoppers.
"In return, she is a factory for food. She gives us eggs for nearly two years. She gives us young pullets to fry up for Sunday dinner. And when she is old and tired, she cooks into a delicious stew with dumplings.
"Just think of it; a good chicken will lay an egg every day. Now I have twenty hens. If they lay a dozen eggs each day, and Mr. Reynolds will give nine cents the dozen, how much is that after a week?"
Rose was better at reading and writing than at arithmetic. She had to think a minute before she answered, "Sixty-two cents?"
"Sixty-three cents," Mama corrected "Now, how much do you think that is after a month?"
That was too complicated a problem. "Two dollars and more than four bits," Mama said, Rose looked at her in surprise.
"And in a year," Mama said, as she showed Rose how to multiply again, "that makes about thirty dollars."
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♥ Papa tipped the rain barrel over to dump out the old, stale water. Then he put it where it could catch rain running off the roof. Mama did not like to wash with spring water. Rain made better suds and it took less soap.
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♥ In the morning, Rose could not stifle a tiny sob when she looked inside the feed bag and saw the lifeless Little body huddled in the corner.
"I'm sorry, Rose," Mama said, hugging her gently. "That is the nature of wild creatures sometimes. Only a mother bird can properly raise its young."
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♥ Rose ran home, full of excitement. She ran through the Stubbinses' pasture, startling the cows chewing their cuds in the shade. She skimmed bushes and leaped over stumps. She laughed out loud when a frog she had startled kerplunked into Fry Creek.
But when she got close to home, she slowed down and walked. And she thought. It had been a wonderful day. She was very happy about her kitten. But a part of Rose felt hollow. She liked Alva's family. She had enjoyed all those people around to listen to and talk with.
Rose wished she had brothers and sisters to play with. She wished she could visit Alva's house more often. She imagined how wonderful it must be to live at Alva's house, to be Alva and have so many wonderful things to do every day. Rose wished Mama and Papa had a cow, so she could have milk to drink, and butter for her bread.
Then she blushed hot with shame at her thoughts. But she could not stop from having them. A long time ago, when Mama and Papa had decided to move to Missouri from South Dakota, Mama had told Rose they would have sheep and cows again. Soon it would be a whole year since they had left Dakota.
Rose could see it would be a long while before Rocky Ridge Farm looked anything like Mr. Stubbins' wonderful farm. When the apple trees came into bearing they would have everything they ever wanted. But that was years and years away. Rose did not know how she could ever stand the wait.
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♥ "That's enough for such talk, Rose," Mama said firmly. "Besides, people aren't stupid. They are just more or less foolish."
"He is more and more foolish," Rose said.
♥ Rose frowned.
"Don't pout," said Mama. "What must be done is best done cheerfully."
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♥ When the bell rang for afternoon lessons, she hated to put it down. Rose thought the people in books were more real than the people she saw every day.
♥ Rose stole as many looks as she dared at Blanche's beautiful lawn dress, her shimmering, curled black hair, her shoes and stockings. Rose hated to wear shoes, but all dressed up that way, Blanche was simply beautiful. And she seemed to wear a different dress every day of the week. Rose could not imagine owning as many school dresses as there were days in the week. She had one dress, and it must last the whole school term, until fall.
Blanche's father was rich. Rose had heard some other children say it. He owned Coday's Drug Store. Rose wondered what it must be like to be rich. She would have liked to own any one of Blanche's dresses, and she would like to eat chicken every day, and have butter on her bread instead of bacon fat.
♥ "Well, anyone can see that plain as day," Blanche said tartly. "It's all you do, is read and stare out the window and be teacher's pet. But don't think we can be friends just because you are so smart. After all, you're a country girl."
With that, Blanche flounced off to return her erasers. Rose's face stung as though it had been slapped. She stared hard after Blanche, boiling with anger. Alva was right, Rose thought. Town girls are stuck up.
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♥ Rose did not fit in anywhere.
But she was mostly content. She had grown to like Professor Katy. She enjoyed watching Paul and the older boys playing two-cornered cat. And Rose had been an only child all her life. She was used to pleasing herself.
♥ Then Coley chimed in. "They call this Missouri but they ought to call it the state of Misery, right, Ma?"
"I wish you would stop making fun of this fine country," Mr. Kinnebrew said. "We should use our own judgment and push ahead and not let discouraging words alter our course.
"I never saw a place yet that wouldn't raise a fair crop if farmed right, and I'm going to give this country a good tryout before I give up. I'll work till doomsday but what I'll succeed. I know we can make a good living if we don't lose our ambition."
♥ She lay down on her back on a wide, flat stone that was big enough for her whole body. The heat frmo the stone warmed her wet dress. She looked up into the sky, at piles of fat, white clouds floating above the trees.
She gazed at the shapes the clouds had made.
..Each time Rose looked away, the cloud had changed, tearing itself apart in shreds and dissolving into a new shape.
She turned over on her stomach and yawned. She stretched her arms out to the side and felt the warmth of the rock soaking into her body. That rock was alive. The heart of its life was flowing into Rose. She hugged it. Rose felt as if she were hugging the whole beautiful living earth and the earth was hugging her back.
She loved that rock and she loved that summery day. The warmth on her skin, the rich odor of the damp soil, the peaceful chuckling of the water, the lazy buzzing of insects, and the murmur of grown-up voices all filled her with peace. She could not possibly have an unhappy thought. It seemed to Rose that summer could soothe every care and heal every hurt.
♥ The flat, empty field Rose had helped plant with the pitiful little seeds in the spring had grown into a wonderful, mysterious place to explore. In it Rose found another world, far away from Rocky Ridge Farm, where she could lose herself without being afraid. Sometimes she liked to go into the corn patch and just sit and listen. It was a jungle of green, rustling with life. The waxy corn leaves shone in the sunshine. In the early morning, sparkling beads of dew clung to the leaves and trickled down into their dark throats.
Rose liked to walk down the shady rows between the stalks, listening to the whispering leaves and imagining that she was Natty Bumppo stalking wild animals in the deep, dark forest, or Robinson Crusoe exploring a deserted island.
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♥ Blanche had been unkind to Rose, but Rose dd not hate her. She didn't really ever hate anybody. She just thought they were more or less foolish, as Mama said.
But Rose did hate to be the cause of Blanche's tears.
..Rose did not see her again the rest of the evening. But as she walked home in the dark between Mama and Papa, the lantern throwing its quivery circle of light on the path, Rose remembered Blanche's grateful smile. It made Rose happy to think she could make someone smile.
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♥ Then Papa loaded the heavy sacks onto the wagon and drove into town. Rose and Mama stood outside and watched him go. Rose swelled with pride to see the food she had helped grow going off to market.
♥ Next Papa dug a shallow pit in the ground in a little clearing between two trees, close to the house. He began to line it with small stones.
"Why, Papa?" Rose wanted to know. "What's it for?"
"Curiosity killed the cat," Papa said. "Run and fetch some straw from the barn."
Rose made several trips, gathering up as much straw as she could carry in her arms. Papa spread the straw over the stones until they were all covered.
He drove the wagon up to the pit. It was piled with the keeping potatoes and the keeping onions that had been hanging from rafters in the barn to dry.
"Now you can help me put all this treasure into the pit," he said.
Papa used the shovel and Rose carried as many as she could in her hands.
"Don't take too many," Papa said. "They mustn't be dropped or bruised. One bad potato will spoil all the rest."
They kept puling up potatoes and onions until Papa said the mound was high enough. Then he sent Rose to fetch more straw. He spread a thick layer of it on top, and shoveled a thick layer of soil on top of that.
The pit had grown into a small hill. Papa dug a hole, just big enough to stick an arm through, on each side. He stuck his hand in to make sure he could reach the potatoes and onions. Then she covered up the holes with some stones and straw. He laid some boards on top of the mount, to make it harder for raccoons and other animals to dig into it and steal the food.
Finally, he stood up and brushed the dirt from his hands.
"All tucked in for winter," he said. "The soil and straw will save them from rot and frost, almost until spring. Anytime we want potatoes or onions, all we have to do is stick an arm in and pluck them out."
♥ One morning before the first rooster crow, Rose woke up with a start. A sound had disturbed her sleep, but she didn't know what it was. The soft, slow sighs of Mama and Papa sleeping came from their bed in the corner. A square of bright moonlight from the window lay on the floor at the foot of her bed. The wind was still and the woods quiet, as if they were listening, too.
Rose heard water dripping outside, like rain. But it couldn't be raining if there was moonlight. It was so bright inside that Rose could read the clock face. It was three o'clock.
Then Rose heard the sound again. At first she thought it was a train whistle. It was a wild howling, far away. Then more howling and baying, in different voices. Rose had never heard wolves crying before, but she thought for sure that was what it must be.
She crept out of bed and tiptoed across the cold floor into the kitchen. Fido got up from his sleeping place by the stove and stretched with a tiny moan. Then he tapped across the floor and stood at Rose's feet.
Far away the voices howled again. It was a wild sound that send shivers up her back. She opened the shutters of one of the windows and looked out. The cool night air flowed over her skin like water.
The whole world was bathed in the bright light of the harvest moon. Heavy dew dropped from all the trees. It gently splattered on the leaves. Moonrays fell like dark sunlight, dappling the ground with shadows. Down toward Fry Creek, fingers of morning mist were starting to creep up among the trees.
Far away the howling took up again. One of the horses snorted in her stall in the barn. The spring purled quietly in the gully behind the house.
.."The moonlight is lovely, isn't it?" said Mama. "It's as though you were inside a dream. You can see everything, but you can't see it either."
Rose sat cuddled up against Mama for the longest time, watching the mist floating quietly into the moon-washed yard. She wished that moment could go on forever.
But just then the rooster crowed. A new day was about to begin.