I wrote the following for Dr A this past summer and wanted to somehow integrate it into regular Laura Ingalls Wilder biographical information to make the story more personal. I obviously can't use it all so perhaps if you could tell me which sections stood out to you or seem to be the strongest, that would be helpful. Thank you!


How a Little Girl in the Big Woods
Influenced My Life
By Dawn Westfall
June 9, 2008

“I’m sorry but you can’t check that book out. You need to be in second grade before you can start checking out chapter books,” the librarian kindly explained, peering down at me over the top of her glasses.
I already knew that but I really wanted to check out Little House in the Big Woods by Laura Ingalls Wilder. My mother had read it to me in kindergarten when she was still unable to walk after her car accident. I had listened and followed along with her, completely engrossed in the story of Laura and her family in the big woods of Wisconsin during the late 1800s. I wasn’t sure where she had gotten a copy but I was anxious to get my hands on it again and read it for myself now that I was in first grade and finally allowed to actually go to the school library in the corner of the front office. And I was ready with my reason.
“Oh, it’s not for me. My dad wants to read it. He likes to hunt and fish and thought he could get some ideas from Pa.” I looked at the librarian to see if she believed me.
“I see. Well then I guess it would be fine.” She wrote my name on the card, stamped it, and handed the book to me. I can only imagine the laugh she had later retelling that incident to the office ladies but I naively thought my story had worked and left the library happily carrying my prize.
That day I began my life as a reader. Of course I had read before then; I had been able to read the words for as long as I could remember. I had read the little books in pre-school and kindergarten, the words on the cereal boxes at home, the signs on the streets, and was even able to decipher my mother’s handwriting on the grocery list while shopping with her at Hy-Vee. But it was Little House in the Big Woods that showed me what reading could do. I re-checked the book out for several weeks in a row as I carefully made my way through the story. I studied the beautiful illustrations by Garth Williams and imagined being Laura as I read about her adventure with the bear, the dance at Grandpa’s house, and playing in the attic with the pumpkins. I used a thimble to make designs in the frost on our windows and my mother was not pleased with the mess I made pouring Mrs. Butterworth syrup over snow. I lay awake at night and thought I just might be able to hear a wolf howling at the moon. I reread the book several times that fall and my favorite parts even more, pulling it out after completing the pages in my red reading workbook. I read it before bed each night and long after my mother had turned off my light for the night using the bright light from the street light outside my window.
For Christmas that year I received my own copy of Little House in the Big Woods so I could stop checking out the school library copy. On the inside cover of the book was a list of the other books in the series and I thought I had struck gold. For the next several years I devoured the Little House books and any other pioneer story I could find. In elementary school I probably read the series at least a half dozen times. In second grade I was introduced to the Scholastic book order and the children’s section of the public library. I never looked back. I read at school, in the car, at night in secret, and on the weekends. My make-believe play centered on the books I read and my poor little sister was often forced to play some lowly character in my re-enactments. I slowly began to grow a collection of books of my own and my mother gave me a small book case in which to store them. They were among my prized possessions and I am certainly still a collector of books today. When I think of my childhood, it always includes an image of me curled up with a book in the big, antique, over-stuffed orange chair my grandpa had given us. Books gave this young girl living in a small town in Iowa a view of the world and all its wonders that she could not have experienced any other way. Books showed me there were other ways to think and live, as well as the endless possibilities that existed outside my sheltered life.
As I grew older, I discovered reading could do more than just entertain. Some of my favorite parts of the Little House books were the detailed descriptions of historical events or explanations of how things were made or done. I accidentally found the non-fiction and biography sections of the public library around third grade and eventually discovered how I could search for information about anything I wanted to know. Although the internet has certainly made this task significantly easier, I still love the search for information which has served me well as a student, teacher, and parent.
I began teaching reading about the same time I learned how to read. My dolls and stuffed animals were well-educated and had many stories read to them. Becoming a teacher of reading was probably inevitable and I can’t imagine doing anything else. I believe my love of reading has made me a better teacher. I am convinced that all my students, regardless of their “abilities,” will become readers if I can help them find the right book, just like Little House in the Big Woods was the right book for me. One of my greatest wishes for them is that they are able to find pleasure and fulfillment from reading.
For my birthday this year my mother gave me the chair from the living room in which I spent hours reading as a child. Thankfully it is no longer orange but it is definitely much smaller than I remember. I placed it in a prominent spot in the entry way with a lovely antique table and lamp, the wall behind it displaying old family pictures, reminiscent of my childhood. Shortly afterwards, I came down the steps and found my daughter Emily curled up in the chair, reading.