Seasons came and seasons went.  Slowly, yet faster than I could imagine, we became a part of the land as we watched our acres multiply from 160 to 400, our family grow, and our community flourish.  Two more sons were born healthy and strong, and finally our little Samantha joined us sturdy and ready to take her place among the women of the prairie.  The dugout gave way first to a cabin and then to a glorious wooden two story with four columns on the front porch...just like Charley promised me it would!  By the time our oldest son was 12 the neighbors had banned together to raise up a tiny school and hire a teacher...oh the pride we all felt as our children headed off to school.  With collective pride the church was added to our small settlement.  It’s steeple rising high into the sky as if to say to anyone within miles, “LOOK...they made it...these folks have
created homes and a community against tremendous odds.”

Looking in to the mirror I could see what the years of exposure to the sun and hard work were doing to me. I suspect I was aging faster than my city counterparts for sure.  But, somehow I didn’t mind for each wrinkle on my face was a wrinkle in time, OUR time, and stood for an accomplish in my life.  And my hands, tanned and worn were the very hands that plowed the fields, harvested the crops, canned the food, made the clothes, poured the candles, soothed the children, and represented all that I hold dear in my LIFE.  How could I look in the mirror and not see LIFE?  I would not trade one wrinkle for lily white hands for to do so I’d have to trade one event in my life and this I could not do...for I am a woman of the prairie, proud, strong, courageous and a survivor.  It is with pride that I pass this spirit on to my daughter and the children of my heritage that I will never know.  I never owned a parasol or pearls and I have never missed them for I have known the most exciting life a woman could ever have.

So...dear reader...you can see what this journey through time has meant to me for I am ONE of the MANY  “children of her heritage” that she never knew.  And it is with more pride than I can express that I acknowledge these proud Victorian women of my lineage who helped to carve out the rough landscapes of America and create the “HEARTLAND” which now feeds America and other countries.  No, they never possessed parasols and pearls but they did possess, courage, determination, strength, spirits of adventure, dedication to their families and the will to survive.  And so, now, as I look at their pictures
adorning the shelves and walls of my home, I pray that I possess just a tiny spark of their spirit and that I can pass it on to my daughters and grand daughter.


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The Electronic Writer's Group
(This article was published in the above on-line magazine in January, 2000
It appears under the tile "Parasols and Pearls")


Victorian Station
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