The falling rain froze on the ground that March, which marked the near end of my first year in our one room country schoolhouse.
My father got out the old wagon and hitched up the big plow horses to it to take us the mile that we usually walked to school each morning. My older sister and two brothers were ready to go as my mother buttoned me into my coat. "Now be careful," she said, "that's ice out there."
I took a step out the kitchen door and promptly landed on my behind. Everyone laughingly helped me up and I tried again, only to have the same thing happen. Puzzled, I attempted to get up by myself but couldn't. My parents decided to let the matter go at that; and I stayed home for the day, my brothers and sister riding off high up in the wagon behind the horses and my father.
I watched them go, still not really understanding what ice was, but only that they knew how to deal with it better than I. It took my feet until the next year to figure it all out.
Back in 1955 a call went out from the editors of the then Capper’s Weekly asking for readers to send in articles on true pioneers. Hundreds of letters came pouring in from early settlers and their children, many now in their 80s and 90s, and from grandchildren of settlers, all with tales to tell. So many articles were received that a decision was made to create a book, and in 1956, the first My Folks title – My Folks Came in a Covered Wagon – hit the shelves. Nine other books have since been published in the My Folks series, all filled to the brim with true tales from Capper’s readers, and we are proud to make those stories available to our growing online community.
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