Frontier Fantasies
A couple of days ago, Katie and I went running on the Arizona Trail, sprinting up rocky hills and slipping around shady, snow-covered corners. Katie told me that every time she stands at the outlook point with the rusty trailhead sign she is overcome by Laura Ingalls Wilder fantasies, imagining herself at that same trailhead in the 19th century. In the fantasy, Katie/Laura steps out of the chuck wagon in her flannel gown and long underwear to take in the splendor of Southern Arizona. After breathing in desert air for the first time, warm sun on her face, she promptly returns to the wagon, pulls out her diary, and writes: “February 23, 1876: Arizona!”
During our run I also learned that young Katie had elaborate daydreams in which she brought historical figures to school for show and tell—Laura Ingalls being one of the featured guests. She would protect the fragile historical figure, warning eager students to be gentle, “Laura Ingalls has never seen television before, be careful with her.”
But I think my favorite of Katie’s frontier fantasies is the dream that her and her true love would someday go on a romantic trip, perhaps even a honeymoon, out West to see the chuck wagon ruts. Nothing warms my heart quite like the thought of a young Katie (or, let’s face it, our current day Katie) day-dreaming about seeing those ruts.
Lately, I am lamenting the loss of things that were never really mine—imagined directions for my life that I wanted badly and could see clearly. I know that imagination can be dangerous, that is can torment people with a deep longing for impossible things. But there are impossible things that fill people up in good ways, the best ways, steadily supplying thoughts of hope and grandeur and solace. I think that recognizing the things that people long for can make us love them more. It’s certainly the case with Frontier Katie.
