We all, at times, have had a longing that Robert Burns so well
expressed when he said, "Oh, wad some power the giftie gie us,
to see oursel's as ithers see us."
And lately I have had a glimpse of how we, as a class, appear
to strangers, not merely strangers so far as acquaintance goes,
but strangers to our life and customs.
"Little House" author
Laura Ingalls Wilder
(1867-1957)
Friends from Switzerland, motoring through from San Francisco to
New York, broke the journey by a visit to Rocky Ridge Farm.
Their account of the trip was interesting, but part of it has given
me a picture of farm folks which is not at all pleasant to look upon.
"So many farm people from adjoining states were camping at
Colorado Springs," said Mme. Marquis. "And they brought so much of
their work with them that I do not see how the vacation could do them
any good. They brought such quantities of luggage, everything from
their washboards and tubs to their talking machines. The women did
the washing on those glorious mornings, rubbing away on the
wrinkle-boards, and they spent the most of the time left sitting
around in camp talking to one another.
I heard one woman say, "No, I haven't been up on Pike's peak. It
costs $2 to go up, and that's too much money.And so, having come all the
way to the foot of the Peak, they missed the whole climax of the trip,
because it would cost a couple of dollars more.
Vintage Postcard
Manitou and Colorado Springs, Colorado
(1919)
It seemed to me that they worked hard all their lives, and at last they
had reached the point where they were able to leave all their cares
behind them, to get their own motor cars and take a trip for
pleasure and adventure. And then, at the last moment, they let
their lifelong habits of pinching the pennies to spoil it all.
And, oh! Those farm women looked so warn and tired."
The Man of the Place and I once went on a picnic fishing trip
with a family who were friends of ours. After listening to
Mme. Marquis tell of these women on their camping trip to
Colorado Springs, it brought back to me the feeling of
disillusion and utter weariness I experienced then.
I had expected relaxation and rest; but instead there was the
cooking, the care of the children, the washing of many dishes and the
making of beds, all to be done in the most difficult manner possible.
If we had stayed long enough so that I had been obliged to do a
washing I believe I would have wished to feed myself to the fishes.
Once was enough. It was never again for me.
M. and Mme. Marquis were making the journey across the United States
in a car for the sake of becoming acquainted with the people at home, and
we took them with us to camp-meeting and to an all-day singing, to picnics,
and on short trips here and there.
"What do you think of us?" I asked M. Marquis. How do we impress you?"
"Well, if I can explain," he answered with his delightful accent. You are
very nice people. I have studied the faces in the crowd, and they are good
faces, fine and beautiful, some of them. But you all seem to take your
pleasures so sadly. You appear to be quite happy and contented, but very sad.
There seems to be a spirit of sadness over it all. Do you not feel it?"
I was obliged to admit that I did, even within myself, Do we always
carry our work and our sorrows with us, as we did on the fishing party,
and as the tired farm women did at Colorado Springs?
Is it a constant, unrelieved carrying-about-our-burdens that has caused
our lives to be permeated with sadness so that it is felt by a sensitive
person seeing us for the first time?
Another thing was revealed to us about ourselves during the visit
of these strangers. That is that we have grown careless in our manners.
They had time always for an exquisite courtesy, being never too tired
or hurried to show their appreciation of a favor or to do a kindness
when the chance came. Their courtesy never failed, even when the
machine broke down on rough roads, or in the rush of farm work
in which they eagerly took a part.
"We are all so careless about those things," said the Man of the Place
to me. I think we ought to try and do better.""Yes," I replied.
Let's take the time to be at least as nice as we know to be.
And after this, when I go on vacation,
I am going to leave my 'wrinkle-board' behind.
After all, vacation is not a matter of place or time. We can take a
wonderful vacation in spirit, even though we are obliged to stay at home,
if we will only drop our burdens from our minds for a while.
But no amount of travel will give us rest and recreation if
we carry our work and worries with us.
"A Spirit Of Sadness Over It All"
(September 1919)
From the book, "Little House In The Ozarks
A Laura Ingalls Wilder Sampler
The Rediscovered Writings"
Laura Ingalls Wilder
Edited by Stephen W. Hines
Guideposts Edition
(1991)
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