Guest post by Barb Boustead

You had to know that the meteorologist would want to write about the most weather-related chapter in the book, right?

By summer 1881, an official weather observing station was opened in Huron, South Dakota, which is just 40 miles west of DeSmet.  That’s pretty close, considering that the terrain is pretty similar between Huron and DeSmet, and we can use that data to approximate what happened in DeSmet from 1881 forward.  The winter of 1881-82 indeed was a mild one in Huron and across much of the region.  In fact, it’s the 11th warmest winter (December through February) on record in Huron, an exception to a decade otherwise marked by cold and brutal winters.  Four of the 10 coldest winters on record in Huron came in the 1880s, and remember, that doesn’t count the winter of 1880-81 that surely would have been among the coldest, as well.  Wintertime precipitation (the melted-down equivalent of whatever fell out of the sky) was a scant 0.45 inches from December 1881 through February 1882, the 4th driest on record at Huron.  Snowfall wasn’t directly recorded back in the 1880s, but it doesn’t take a meteorologist to guess that a mild winter with little precipitation also had little snow.

My research has led me to investigate not just the Long Winter, but also several weather events within the LIW books.  Overall, she has been remarkably accurate in her description of weather events, except for her tendency to exaggerate cold temperatures as “40 below”.  Therefore, you can imagine how shocked I was to pull up the data from Huron in April 1882 to look for her “Unexpected in April” blizzard… only to find a mild month with temperatures that barely, and rarely, dipped below freezing.  Try as I might, I just can’t conjure up a blizzard out of any of the weather observations recorded in April 1882. When precipitation was recorded, the low temperature was near freezing at worst, and the high temperatures were well above freezing.  That is not the recipe for a blizzard, especially in April when the strength of the sun makes it harder to get daytime blizzard conditions.

Laura did compress and change the passage of years in These Happy Golden Years, as I discovered by researching other Laura weather phenomena.  So I got to thinking that maybe the April blizzard happened in 1883 or even 1884.  Still… nothing!  The temperature and precipitation reports just don’t match up to a snow event, let alone a blizzard.Then I thought harder.  With such a mild winter, perhaps the family had moved out onto the claim a little early.  Maybe the weather was so mild that March really felt like April.  So I pulled up the March 1882 data… and eureka!  I think I have found it… unexpected in March, rather than April!  After 8 days of mild weather from the end of February to the beginning of March, temperatures turned abruptly colder on March 4-7.  Roughly a half inch of precipitation was recorded over those three days.  Much of it fell on the 4th, when temperatures were in the process of falling from the 40s to the 20s degrees Fahrenheit, so some of it could have fallen as rain.  Temperatures continued to fall steadily through the 6th, with a low temperature of a chilly -6 degrees Fahrenheit.  The chilly spell lingered until the 14th, with lows in the teens and highs in the 30s degrees Fahrenheit.  My meteorological guess is that fresh snow would have helped temperatures at night fall to those chilly readings in the teens right after the snow storm.

Temperatures for the rest of the month were mild, except for one abrupt cold and snowy period on March 20-22. It isn’t out of the question that this could be Laura’s blizzard, too; checking the wind data will help me determine if one of these was more likely to be a blizzard.  Temperatures on the 20th fell from the lower 40s to around 10 degrees Fahrenheit, with about a quarter inch of precipitation on that day.  (Again, some of that might have fallen as rain before temperatures plunged below freezing.)  The temperature on the 21st was able to rise only a few degrees, to 16 degrees Fahrenheit, and the low dipped to 5 degrees Fahrenheit on the 22nd before recovering nicely to a high in the lower 50s (yep, that’s a 50 degree temperature swing in one day… ahh, life on the Plains!).  With such a quick temperature recovery, I suspect that the amount of snow on the ground was less than the storm in early March left behind, which is why I lean toward the first one as the blizzard of Laura’s memory.  Hopefully the fuller picture of data will make a more confident conclusion possible.

The chapter is a short one, an abrupt whiff of winter in an otherwise mild year.  Thankfully, everybody is home and the livestock is safe in the barn.  Some of the elements of blizzards from The Long Winter make a cameo appearance here.  The cloud from the northwest darkens the sky, the blizzard strikes rapidly with conditions that deteriorate immediately, and the blizzard lasts three days.  The three-day blizzard was a motif in The Long Winter, rather than an accurate representation of reality… but in this case, the snow and blowing and cold indeed might have lasted those three days.  Laura studies through the cold and dark conditions, adopting Ma’s “no great loss without some small gain” philosophy by being thankful that the weather made her want to stay indoors.

Making a new appearance in the blizzard world is Kitty, who provides comic relief as the blizzard morphs her into a wacky cat.  Those of us who have had cats as pets probably can envision the effect of a strange wind on a kitten, bringing on bouts of spastic running in circles, hissing, and hair on end.  (Or was that just my Camille?)

Unfortunately, the late and unexpected blizzard does catch a couple of greenhorns unawares.  The inexperienced young men froze to death beside a haystack, lacking the experience or sense (or energy?) to tunnel into the haystack for cover.  Their misfortune sparks an interesting discussion among Pa, Ma, and Laura about preparedness.  Laura is frustrated because nothing happened during the winter in town, when Pa was so prepared for it, yet the blizzards came when they were back on the claim and unprepared again.  Ma sensibly notes that those who live in blizzard country can expect blizzards.  The discussion is relevant even in today’s society, and maybe more so than ever, when so many people this year have been vulnerable to tornadoes in regions where tornadoes are a part of the expected climatology of the region.  Maybe I’ll expand on this thought in a blog entry soon .

Sensible Ma also notes that preparation gives some element of control; if Laura prepares to be a teacher, she might never become one, but if she does not prepare, she certainly will not be a teacher.  The tidbit of wisdom gets Laura thinking about Ma’s past as a teacher.  How did she get out of it?  By marrying Pa, of course!  Laura wonders if she could be so lucky.  Cue the foreshadowing romantic music.

Guest post by Jaime Brooks

Birthday parties are a way of life for us all. I cannot tell you how many parties I have attended, but I do remember how much fun they were. Try stepping into Laura’s world, she had only been to a few parties by the time she was 15. Her first birthday party was not a joyful experience. I wonder if this is why Laura was so worried about attending.

The chapter opens with Laura being indecisive about going to the party. She had only been to Nellie’s party years before, but she knows this party will be different. At school she learns that the party is for Ben Woodworth’s birthday, but the crowd does not talk much about it due to the fact that Nellie is not invited. On the night of the party Laura cannot sit still, she is waiting for Mary Power to arrive as they are to walk to the depot together.  Reading her favorite poem “Maud” does not even settle her. She takes one last look in the mirror. Her dress is blue cashmere, trimmed in red, green plaid. The skirt is full, gathered in the back and falls to the tops of her high button shoes. At her throat is a bit of white lace secured with Ma’s mother of pearl bar pin. She wishes that her figure was not round like a tree and that her arms and face was not round and curvy. Laura wishes she was tall and slender like Nellie Olsen. Laura thought that her eyes even though they are blue were too far apart, and they did not sparkle like Pa’s. Her hair is long and the weight of the coils of braids make her feel grown up, even if it is not golden. As she is admiring her hair she stops and realizes she is almost being vain about the hair. Laura goes to the window one last time to look out, just as Ma is telling her to sit down, Mary arrives. The girls walk to the depot on the cold January night. At the door they are not sure wither to just walk in or knock, Mary knocks but no one comes, so Laura decides to walk in. Just as she turns the knob, Ben answers the door; Laura is so upset she cannot even answer his hello. He leads the girls up stairs to where his  mother is waiting. Mrs. Woodworth is described as being as small as Laura only plumper. She was so friendly at once that Laura was at ease. Mrs. Woodworth shows the girls to the bed room to lay aside their wraps and take a look in the mirror, she then shows them into the parlor where Minnie, Arthur, Ida, Cap, and Ben are waiting. After some small talk, Mrs. Woodworth excuses herself to finish dinner, while waiting for older brother Jim Woodworth. Jim works downstairs at the depot. The crowd grows silent; Laura suddenly becomes very self conscious of her feet, while deciding she must speak up to keep the conversation going. She did not want it to be as uncomfortable as the social. But then there were footsteps on the stairs, the door opens, and Jim walks in. He looks around and asks “are you all playing Quaker Meeting?” after that the silence was broken and everyone laughed, and started talking. Jim was so much at ease that he asked “Supper ready, Mother?” “Yes it is” she said from the door way “Won’t you all come into the dining room?” Eight places were set at the table, and at each place was a steaming soup plate full of oyster soup. Mrs. Woodworth tells them all where to sit, Laura is so glad that her feet are under the table, and she has something to do with her hands she is no longer bashful. The table is set so beautiful; at the center is the silver castor holding cut glass bottles of condiments. The plate at each place was of white china with a wreath of tiny multi colored flowers around the edge. The napkins were folded to resemble a flower. The most marvelous thing was at each place setting was an orange, with its peel cut down, and curled like a flower.  Not only did they have delicious oyster soup with tiny oyster crackers, but they had fried potato cakes, hot creamy cod fish balls, and small biscuits with butter. Mrs. Woodworth urged generous helpings, and then she brought out coffee, with cream and sugar. She cleared the table one more time, brought out little plates, and Ben served his white frosted birthday cake. Laura was wondering about the orange before her. If they were meant to be eaten or taken home, she then tells us that she had a part of an orange once, and knows how good they taste. She thought perhaps she could take the orange home to share with Ma, Pa, Carrie, and Grace. Then everyone saw Ben take his orange, he peeled it then ate a section of orange with his slice of cake. Laura and everyone else then did the same thing with the orange.

Once the dinner was complete, Ben said that they would all go downstairs to play games. While they got up from the table Laura said in a low voice to Mary “Oughtn’t we to help with the dishes?” Ida asks right out to Mrs. Woodworth, but she tells them to go enjoy themselves. They play in the downstairs waiting room, for it is warm and brightly lit by the lamps. Drop the handkerchief and blind man’s-bluff are played till they are out of breath and find benches to sit on. Jim then says that he knows of a game no one has played before. They are all eager to find out what it is, when Jim asks them to come into his office. In the small office there was barely room for all of them to stand in a half circle. Jim told them to join hands and stand still. Suddenly a burning tingle flashed through Laura, all of the clasped hands jerked, the girls screamed, the boys yelled, but Laura. She was frightfully startled. The others begin to ask Jim what that was, how did the electricity do that, but Jim only laughed and asked Laura why she did not yell. Laura told him “what was the use of yelling”, Jim could not tell her. Finally the party was over and Pa had arrived to escort Laura and Mary home. Ma was waiting up for them, she could tell Laura had a good time, but it was time for bed. Laura would tell them in the morning about everything, but she did tell Ma about eating an orange that night.

This chapter shows how Laura overcame her fears, and her being shy to enjoy such a wonderful party. I wonder if Laura had not gone how she would have felt, she would not have ate a whole orange, or the other wonderful treats, or playing fun games.  She would not have had the pleasure of belonging to a crowd of people her own age. She would not have shared this memory to the rest of the world.

Guest post by Eddie Higgins

If ever I find my calendar getting booked up with several social occasions in one week, I indulge my inner Laura by saying out loud, “I am living in such a whirl of gaiety lately, I declare…”  I particularly love the “I declare” part.  The pleasure of a full social calendar can be immeasurably enhanced by actually declaring it to be so.  (Honestly.  I urge you to try it.  You may find an invite to a party arrives while you’re doing it, too).

If Long Winter was all about the struggle for bread, then Little Town is surely proof that once you have bread, there’s time to start thinking about circuses.  In this chapter we see a lot of circuses as the fledgling De Smet gets its ginger up and lets its collective braids down.   As a microcosm of all the good parts of Ingalls life, it has almost everything you could wish for:  Pa being better than anyone (as always), church, singing, fiddling, fun, food.  Oh, the FOOD.  More on than later.  And it has one of my favourite non-family characters, the clog-dancing, accordion-playing Englishman Gerald Fuller.  Best of all:  nothing bad happens in this chapter.  Ok, so there is some sadness – their first Christmas without Mary is the sober filling in the gaiety sandwich – but apart from that you can sit back and enjoy it all without so much as a sniff of a remark about beautiful settled weather or bragging about a glorious crop to cause any worry.

The fun starts with the secondary Literary.  Following Pa’s spelling triumph at the first, he defeats the little town again with a charade, presenting ‘Commentators on the Ac’s’ with the aid of his axe and two ‘common’ potatoes.   Here’s a question:  whenever I’ve played charades, there’s no dressing up but just miming of particular syllables (etc.) of a book or song title.  I’ve read descriptions of the more tableau-style version of charades that Pa plays here in other old novels – so what I’m curious about is when did the game of charades transform into the modern version?   Does anyone know?

Back to the Literaries.   How can they beat ‘that stunt’ of Pa’s, wonders Mr Bradley.  Good question, and it gives Gerald Fuller the chance to call out, “I say, there’s talent enough for a musical programme, what?”  in his (allegedly)  ‘English way’.  I LOVE this line.  I say, this is how English people talk, what?  Actually, there’s talent enough for two musical programmes  – for the third Literary, there’s Gerald Fuller’s accordion and Pa’s fiddle, and at the fourth, there’s Mrs Bradley’s organ and singing, and (of course) Pa’s fiddle.  Fortunately, Mrs Bradley turns out to be the kind of stalwart performer who doesn’t get put off when the whole town starts weeping during her act.  (I’d never heard of this ‘Backward, turn backward’ song, but I’m  guessing from the number of hits I got on Google it’s actually pretty well-known.  But if there’s anyone else unfamiliar with it, it’s actually called ‘Rock me to sleep’, and the full words, attributed to Elizabeth Akers Allen, are here:  http://www.bartleby.com/102/173.html.  Although it’s not my cup of tea I can see why it got to Ma, with her growing-up-and-leaving-home daughters, and it chimes neatly with the mood of sadness for the passage of time which hits Laura later in the chapter.)

As well as the Literaries, the new church is finished, and  Mrs “Sure, I’ll lend you my organ” Bradley has stepped in  again so the town can sing hymns, including Laura’s favourite, Hymn Eighteen (which, it turns out, is pretty catchy:  http://www.cyberhymnal.org/htm/g/o/o/goodoldw.htm, and the words do seem appropriate for a pioneering town ).  I love the way Laura whiles away the sermons by mentally improving Reverend Brown’s grammar.  This will be good practice, should she find herself having to get that teaching certificate anytime soon.

And the gaiety just keeps on whirling:  the Ladies’ Aid Society plans a New England Supper for Thanksgiving.  And what a supper. This is one of those gorgeous food abundance scenes – like the Christmas dinner in May, but thankfully, for the nutritionally-conscious, with more vegetables.  “In all their lives, Laura and Carrie had never seen so much food”; the contrast with the previous winter couldn’t be greater.  There’s a lot of buttery mashed stuff: potatoes, turnips, squash; there’s creamed corn, baked beans, assorted pickles and preserves, three kinds of bread, and chicken pie. For pudding, there’s Ma’s pumpkin pie, fruit pies and cake.   “Most marvellous of all”, there’s a whole roasted pig with an apple in its mouth.  And all this for 50 cents, which sounds a bargain to me, though not to Laura who is probably remembering that it’s two days’ worth of sewing buttonholes.   We get an implied Ma-ism, when Laura sees the pig and has to remind herself that a grown-up must never let feelings be shown by voice or manner, but Grace has to be hushed.  (Aw, poor Grace, it’s her first pig sighting, give her a break.  Come to think of it, I hope to goodness someone tells her it is a pig – Grace, see that curly thing on the end there? That’s a pig’s tail.)

Ma plunges in to help wait on table while Laura valiantly seconds Ida on washing up duty.  After a long and busy night, the exhausted ladies finally get to eat their own supper; thankfully, Laura’s marathon drying-up stint hasn’t deprived her of her some of that roast pork.  Meanwhile the men talk man stuff over by the stove.  Good old Mrs Bradley isn’t too tired to add a little organ music to the entertainment.  What a woman. Tears hopefully optional this time.

On the way home, there’s a curious little incident where we learn that while Ma can cope with being dragged all over the prairie, and doesn’t bat an eyelid when her husband comes home and announces they are moving either to or from town at a moment’s notice, it really riles her if you call a New England Supper, a sociable.  I’ve always wondered if I’m missing some sub-text here.  What’s going on?  It just seems so un-Ma to get snappy over being tired, given what she takes on the chin day-in day-out in terms of workload, discomfort, poverty, near-starvation, danger and the like.  Pa, we’re told, says “no more” (wisely, I feel).  Perhaps he’s seen Ma in this it-wasn’t-a-sociable mood before.  What is the difference between a sociable and a New England Supper anyway?

Before anyone can catch a breath, the Literary the following night is an educational debate on who was the greater man, Lincoln or Washington. Answers in the comments box please.  Laura has a fleeting moment of guilt for the study time she is missing, but plans to make it up over the holidays.  (Good luck with that.)

Christmas itself forms a low-key interlude, buried in the middle of the chapter.  Apart from The First Four Years, every other book has at least one ‘special’ Christmas chapter  (I had a quick look: “Christmas” in Big Woods, “Mr Edwards Meets Santa Claus” in Prairie, “A Merry Christmas” in Plum Creek, and “the Night Before Christmas” the following year, at the end of the book, no fewer than three in Silver Lake – “Christmas Eve”, “The Night Before Christmas” and “Merry Christmas” – “Merry Christmas” again in Long Winter, and “The Night Before Christmas” again in Golden Years).   Usually, Christmas is a big event for the Ingalls family, even when they don’t have much to celebrate with: people visit / Ma contrives a special dinner / they make presents out of nothing /they sing carols.  This is the first Christmas without Mary, though, and her absence has taken the heart completely out of what has always been an intrinsically family celebration, even when they had guests.  “That was all there was to Christmas”, Laura says flatly, although they have fancier bought presents than in previous years, including the eagerly-anticipated Tennyson’s poems for Laura.  But she misses Mary too much to enjoy them; Laura’s too old to find happiness in presents alone (remember when it dawned on you that getting presents wasn’t actually the best bit of Christmas?).  Not surprisingly, the attitude of the sailors in ‘The Lotos-eaters’ doesn’t sit well with Laura’s pioneer work ethic, and she’s in no mood for nuanced literary criticism.  Luckily poor old Tennyson was long dead before what must surely be the most hilariously disgusted review he ever got was printed.

Things look up a bit when Pa brings their first letter from Mary – I’m impressed the Post Office is open on Christmas day – but Laura’s mood is still sombre for how much will have changed before Mary comes back. Unusually, there’s no comforting ‘no great loss without small gain’ type maxim to carry everyone through – Mary’s gone, they all miss her, and they just have to live with it.  (Can I also make an embarrassing confession here:  when I was young and green, I’m afraid I thought, what, just a letter?  That’s not a proper present!).

Life gets upbeat again, as the family plunges back into the town’s whirl of gaiety (it’s a phrase you can’t use too often).   It’s interesting that in this chapter, the focus of the good times shifts, albeit temporarily, to external events rather than home scenes, where Mary’s absence is casting a long shadow.   The next Literary we hear about is a fake waxwork show of historical figures, hosted by the mysterious Mrs Jarley.  Who on earth is she?  Why, it’s Gerald Fuller (hurrah!), and Mr Bradley appears as ‘Queen Elizabeth’ (note no regnal number in those days!).  Mrs Bradley isn’t mentioned, which makes me wonder if she’s sneaked off to the church to have a go on her organ.

The next day, just as Ma is making her Declaration of Gaiety, a letter arrives for Laura – Ben Woodworth is having a supper party.  (Seriously, Laura gets out more often than I do).   I have another question, which is:  who here has actually tried slitting an envelope with a hairpin?  Either modern hairpins are weaker, modern envelopes are stronger, or I just lack manual dexterity, but I have trouble with this.

The chapter ends with a glorious Ma-ism, when Laura, panicked, asks how she should behave at a party:  “You need only behave properly, as you know how to do”.  Well, thanks, Ma, that’s a great help, thinks Laura.

And that’s it.  But I say, that party’s going to have to go some to beat the fun in this chapter, what?