Prairie Fires presents a vast amount of information, which can make some members hesitate in participating in the readalong.  If you’re feeling intimidated, it might be because you’ve been lulled into the belief that an attempt at narrative nonfiction must be a “difficult” read. Here’s where I’m going to try and ease your fears: no one, but NO ONE, can possibly know everything about any topic, and EVERYONE has a right to digest, pick apart, respond, praise, or question what they read, about Laura Ingalls Wilder. You don’t have to be a fan or an expert or even a historian to get something out of Caroline Fraser’s book. You don’t have to read the footnotes (pro tip: read one chapter at a time and ignore the footnotes until you re-read a passage that still has you wondering by the end of the chapter. You’ll thank me later.) Taken as a whole, Prairie Fires may easily become your most beloved or most feared read and that’s okay. So far, I’m undecided, but keeping an open mind.
    Full disclosure: I’ve studied Laura Ingalls Wilder’s historical context for decades, and for the last eight years, I’ve presented living history programs as an adult, but not-yet-famous Laura, circa the late 1890s. These programs are fully in-character, and interactive. From the first moments of each presentation, I invite the audience to pose questions to, and raise topics of discussion with, “Mrs. Wilder.” In these presentations, certain questions come up almost every time. Among them, my top two most asked questions are undoubtedly: “Why did you move so much?” and, perhaps most chillingly, “Why does Ma hate the Indians?”
    As fans, admirers, historians, and readers who discuss Laura, we must be very careful in our assumptions. We must remember that: Laura’s works are fiction, her memoirs and novels are not history, and her perspective as an individual whose interactions with cultures other than her own were extremely limited. We must remember that the incidents she fictionalized in her novels took place during her childhood and were heavily influenced by the adults around her. We can’t know everything, and we certainly don’t have all the documentation to prove or disprove any given theory. We KNOW that many records have not survived, and we KNOW that a lack of evidence doesn’t guarantee something didn’t happen. We must be mindful of our biases and our own lack of background and context before we take our speculations too far down any one road.
    Chapter two, “Indian Summers,” concerns the Ingalls family’s time in Missouri and Kansas, when Laura was between the ages of two and four. Of course, toddler Laura couldn’t possibly have any knowledge of the family’s real estate transactions, legal status, or intentions in relocating. Adult Laura may or may not have considered the implications of her father’s decision to attempt settlement in the Osage Diminished Reserve when it was not open to settlement for homesteaders, nor could she take any responsibility for the decision to become squatters. But we, as readers and admirers of Laura, certainly can consider these things.   
    In her assessment of this chapter in Laura’s life, Caroline Fraser attempts to dissect some of the questions many readers and scholars have asked: when, why, and how did the family make this move, and what motivated Charles and Caroline (and Henry, Polly, and Tom Quiner) to take up land in Missouri? She uses anecdotal evidence to explain why they gave it up almost as quickly, then discusses how the Ingalls family moved on to Kansas. Unfortunately, some pertinent details seem to be sourced from accounts of overland travel that occurred in an earlier generation and considerably west of the region concerned in the Ingalls family’s travels.
This may seem trivial, but I promise, it matters. Laura herself was guilty of a similar infraction when she wrote Farmer Boy. I don’t know why Fraser did it, but I can say with confidence that Laura as author was employing literary device to evoke a sense of greater distance between the past (1860s northern New York state and Almanzo’s youth) and the present (Depression-Era America circa 1933). Perhaps Fraser’s use of slightly outmoded accounts rather than those at the same time as Laura’s childhood was an oversight or unfamiliarity with the nuances in time and place that greatly affected the outcome. It’s a simple mistake to make. Did Fraser seek (inadvertently or otherwise) to perpetuate the myth of isolation and independence that Laura and Rose clung to? Probably not. Still, I’m keeping it in the back of my mind as I continue to read.
    There is one detail of the journey that most certainly is off: the assumed lack of travel companions. Having spent decades studying primary documents and innumerable secondary accounts of overland travel spanning most of the 19th century I find it highly unlikely that Charles and Caroline Ingalls ventured to Missouri from Wisconsin alone. The sheer peril of a family traveling such great distance by covered wagon and alone—at any point in the 19th century—was ill-advised and rare. If the Ingalls were alone at some point for a few days, I would not be surprised, particularly if an intended destination was only a few miles from the stopping place of one’s companions. Even then, hazards ranging from broken wagon axles and highway robbers to river crossings, tainted water  and venomous snake bites were very real risks. Two adults traveling with small children and a full wagon would be hard-pressed to overcome hazards like these without help; a month-long journey from Wisconsin to Missouri without additional adult companions and an abundance of supplies would be a fool’s errand. I have a difficult time believing Charles or Caroline would be so reckless as to attempt it.
    Furthermore, given all the discussion about the U.S.-Dakota War of 1862 and the ensuing fears (justified or not) that it inspired in white settlers, how exactly can we reconcile the idea that a family would venture overland alone for weeks at a time in the middle of disputed territory they knew belonged to Osage people? I’m having trouble understanding that logic. To Fraser’s credit, she explains the intricacies of the dispute surrounding the Sturges Treaty negotiations, perhaps more rightly called manipulations, and she cites various sources that go into greater detail. Incidentally, my favorite article on the matter is Penny T. Linsenmeyer’s “Kansas Settlers on the Osage Diminished Reserve,” which appeared in the Autumn 2001 issue of Kansas History. Linsenmeyer digs deep into the origins and extended negotiation of the Sturges Treaty using a wide range of primary sources. The article sheds light on a topic of perennial controversy in the Little House series as it presents a good deal more evidence of Osage side of the story, engendering empathy in the reader by the use of cold, hard, ugly facts.
    I prefer this approach to the reliance upon Laura’s memoirs that so many fans and biographers alike have deferred, and which Fraser herself cites. In her discussion of Kansas, Fraser states: “virtually everything known about the family’s experience in Kansas derives from the first twenty pages of a memoir found among Wilder’s papers, handwritten in 1930 on six dime-store tablets” (pg. 53). Fraser is, of course, referring to Pioneer Girl. I take exception to this, as the timeline alone (remember, Laura was a toddler in Kansas!) belies the authenticity of that part of the memoir. It’s a slippery slope and could make for further perpetuation of the myth that Laura’s work is a document of history. Of course, in terms of the Ingalls family’s particular experience, the memoir is virtually the only source we have, and that makes for an uphill climb when seeking the historical truth. I admire Fraser for the attempt, and am looking forward to seeing how her use of the memoir in conjunction with her research plays out for the balance of Prairie Fires. There is SO much to talk about!