Life South of the Platte

    It is said that age two has a significant amount of psychological significance. I put a great deal of faith in this belief. I was two when my parents built a new home and moved off the ranch-Though Dad continued to ranch, I was left with only a pocketful of memories: the hired hand picked me up out of  red ant pile, the rooster that attacked me, tumbling down the basement steps, my father's plane crash-I guess it is also true that we remember the traumatic events at a very young age.
     Moving left me with a  hollow spot. While I heard about the country happenings, I didn't get to experience them. For example, there was the rural women's Union Aid Society. These women served at the North Platte Canteen during the war. They served angel food cake to the soldiers coming through on the train. They contributed to polio by earning money at their ice cream socials held in  July. They used the milk train to take canned produce to Omaha for the orphans at the Nebraska Children's home. They also had summer picnics, showers for new brides, and did quilting together. How homey. They even held a bizarre, selling homemade goodies and crafts once a year.
    Then too, the country school was just down the road a mile with the south hills and fields surrounding the playgrounds. At Christmastime, they had a stage for plays and during the spring, played hop scotch and jumped rope. An Oregon Trail marker sat out front. Cars went past at regular intervals with people they knew waving. I can picture the kids walking home in the rain and picking up frogs and earthworms and snow as high as the big red barns.When the school wasn't having classes, there were socials-decorated box lunches where a guy bought the lunch and ate with the girl. How romantic and nostalgic
   The other link was Banner, the country church-surrounded by the same tall hills and corn fields. I remember riding there in our car-It had blinds for the windows, and I recall sitting in a musty basement room eating cheerios.I can hear the songs they sang. Moreover,I see the people on Sunday afternoons during the war. They used the school and church for neighborhood get together s. 
   Not one to let life pass me by, I so longed to live these experiences, that I spent four years writing a book about a family that lived on our place. I got to be in the minds of my characters, thereby reliving the past that I missed. Those four years were so wonderful that now I'm doing a second book. Trauma causes terrible feelings, but in my case,  the ending is marvelous. I'm back on the farm. "The Rag Princess" is a never ending series of stories. I will live each event to the fullest. Join the ride and read along with me as I write.