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Books About Life on a Farm Written Especially for People Who Like to Read! "Highly recommended reading." The Midwest Book Review Reviews & Readers' Comments |
LeAnn R. Ralph Rural Route 2 Author E6689 970th Ave. Colfax, WI 54730 (715) 308-6336 |
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by LeAnn R. Ralph One October day we read a story in my junior high English class. Now, reading a story in English class was nothing out of the ordinary. But this particular story was "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow." As we took turns reading out loud, I could clearly picture all the sights, sounds and smells of the autumn countryside: bright blue skies arching overhead; golden stalks of corn rustling in the breeze; the sweet smell of ripe apples heaped in baskets. I had no trouble imagining what Sleepy Hollow looked like, either. About a mile north of our Wisconsin dairy farm two abandoned farms sat right across a dirt road from each other. Both places were overgrown with weeds and briars and trees that had begun to creep in upon the fields. The farms were isolated by miles of wooded ridges all around, and it seemed to me that the Headless Horseman could just as easily ride through those abandoned fields as he did the countryside of Sleepy Hollow. My mother liked to read stories, too, and I had enjoyed Sleepy Hollow so much that I could scarcely wait to tell her about it. But then, as I walked up the driveway after getting off the school bus, I realized something else that was extremely important about the story. For once when my mother asked, "what did you learn in school today?" -- which I never knew how to answer because to me, it didn't seem as if I'd learned anything that day -- I would finally have something interesting to tell her. "Hi Mom! I'm home!" I shouted, letting the porch door bang shut behind me. I set my books on the table and went into the living room. My mother looked up from her embroidery. Because of the polio that had crippled her sixteen years before I was born, Mom spent much of her free time embroidering. "Gives me something useful to do," she always said. "Plus, when it comes time for the fall bazaar at church, I'll have things I can donate." "You're awfully cheerful," Mom said, as she continued embroidering. "What did you learn in school today?" I flopped down on the couch. "We read a really good story. I even brought my book home so you could see it." "What's it about?" "It's called 'The Legend of Sleepy Hollow' and it's about this guy who's likes ghost stories but he's afraid of ghosts." My mother nodded as she drew the needle through the fabric. "His name is Ichabod Crane." "And he's a school teacher." "He teaches singing, too." "And then he meets this girl. Her name is Katrina Van...Van..." "Tassel," my mother supplied. By now it was beginning to dawn on me that Mom seemed to know an awful lot about the story. "How come you know so much?" I asked. If my mother had read the story, then there wasn't any point in me telling her about it, was there? "Go upstairs and look in the cedar chest," Mom said. "The cedar chest? Why?" "You'll see. You might have to go all the way to the bottom, though." Mystified, I went upstairs to the little cedar chest my mother's uncle had made for her when she was ten years old. I opened the cover and started taking out old pictures, cards, wedding napkins and even a few tattered newspaper clippings. Finally I reached the bottom where I could see a stack of booklets, like the kind someone would make in school. The blue, purple and red construction paper covers were faded, and each was inscribed with the name Norma Halvorson. 'These are Mom's!' I thought. One booklet was titled "The Blue Jay," and one was about dairy farming -- and then there was one that said -- "Did you find it?" my mother yelled from downstairs. "Yes!" I shouted back. "Well, bring it down here, then." I went downstairs and handed the booklet to my mother. While I looked over her shoulder, she slowly began leafing through the pages. Each one contained a picture and a neatly handwritten description in faded black ink. The pictures looked as if they'd been cut from catalogs or magazines. There was a page for Ichabod Crane. And for Katrina Van Tassel. Brom Bones, too. Even the saddle that had fallen off old Gunpowder, the horse, when the Headless Horseman had chased Ichabod. "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow", Mom murmured. "Boy, does this bring back memories." "How long ago did you make that?" I asked. My mother paused. "Well, let's see. . .I suppose I was about your age when we read it. . .I guess that was 40 years ago now." "Forty years!" "Seems like a long time, doesn't it?" Mom said. Oh, sure. And here I thought I could finally surprise her with something interesting I'd learned in school, except -- she'd already read it. Forty years ago. And still remembered what it was about, too. Wouldn't you just know it, though. Author's Note: My mother was 42 when I was born. She had been stricken with polio when she was 26. At the time, the doctors informed her that she would never have any more children because of the polio. Sixteen years later, I came along, and the rest, as they say, is history. . . |
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