One of Laura Ingalls Wilder’s great gifts as a writer was her ability to reconnect, at age sixty-three and beyond, with her childhood sense of wonder discovery. For readers of her autobiographical “Little House” books, it is pleasurable, if head-spinning, to share in the joy she finds in hard work and family camaraderie amid every hardscrabble pioneer situation. She details the “great fun” of watching Pa butcher a hog, render its lard, and make a balloon toy out of its bladder.
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