I grew up smack in the middle of the area that Laura Ingalls Wilder wrote about. In fact, my hometown is about equidistant from Pepin, WI, (Little House in the Big Woods) and De Smet, SD (Silver Lake, Happy Golden Years, etc.). Mom read the whole series aloud to my sisters and me, and we went to the Plum Creek pageant on a couple of occasions.
You can visit the location of the Ingalls' dugout on the bank of Plum Creek, but nowadays it's just a hole in the ground. The land along the creek is wooded now, but if you've ever been to a southern Minnesota plain in the winter, it's easy to imagine Pa, caught in a blizzard on his way back from town, only a few yards from home but unable to find it in the white-out. Pa makes it back, but most of the Christmas gifts don't:
Then he went to the big buffalo coat and he took out of one of its pockets a flat, square edge can of bright tin. He asked, "What do you think I have brought you for Christmas dinner?"
They could not guess.
"Oysters!" said Pa. "Nice, fresh oysters! They were frozen solid when I got them, and they are frozen solid yet. Better put them in the lean-to, Caroline, so they will stay that way till tomorrow."
Laura touched the can. It was cold as ice.
"I ate up the oyster crackers, and I ate up the Christmas candy, but by jinks," said Pa, "I brought the oysters home!"
Just in case you've never seen a white-out, here's a photo:
Those slightly darker streaks are trees.
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