Missouri lay on the map as a giant question mark.  The St. Louis Arch, Kansas City barbecue & the mighty Mississippi were all I knew.  For this East Coast girl (PA for the first half of my life, and VA up until now), the “Show Me” state was a relative unknown.  Ok, so that’s not entirely true.  I have been to Kansas City – twice, and both soccer-related.  I can attest that they are futbol crazy people with some pretty great barbeque.  Both super-important and fun facts, but not relative to my current meanderings!  In fact, I just had to remind myself that Kansas City was actually in Missouri!  What I didn’t realize until I stuck my nose in my map, was Laura Ingalls Wilder’s home was on my route west! The “Show Me” state turned out to be such a fun surprise.  I had a bit of an agenda, but the unexpected will be what cements it in my memory.  The plan?  To start, head a little northwest from my current location of Paducah, Kentucky and cross over both the Ohio and the Mississippi Rivers just south of Cairo, Illinois. Turn west, stopping off in Mansfield to see the home of childhood favorite Laura Ingalls Wilder. The day would end in Springfield, and then continue on through the western portion of the state the following morning. I’m happy to say that Lexi the Golden and I did do all those things, and they were all great.  The experience proved to be somewhat like a really great dessert.  You ask the waitress what she recommends, and then wait to be surprised.  When it comes, the presentation makes your mouth water a little, but it isn’t until you take that first bite that you discover all the ooey unexpected goodness of chocolate ganache, nuts, cream filling or peanut butter (or all of it!) hidden in the middle.  Soooo satisfying and rich.  That was how I felt about Missouri by the time we reached the Kansas border the following day. I eagerly anticipated the crossing of the rivers.  First off, it made me feel like we were really making progress to know we’d be on the west side of the mighty Mississippi.  Also, just the name Cairo made me nostalgic for Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn.  While I wasn’t going to be rafting down the river, I felt equally adventurous and just a little bit mischievous. The experience didn’t disappoint. Wide, wide water at the crossing, as the road curved left onto a bridge that first crossed the Ohio.  The two-lane road, with intricate expanses of steel beams overhead, provided plenty of opportunity to look both left and right.  Barges gliding through the water, small islands of trees gathered like intimate conversations dotted here and there between the far-reaching banks of Kentucky and Illinois as I crossed the Mississippi a moment later.  It was easy to feel tiny in the midst of the greatness of it all.  I’m used to rivers – I grew up on the Susquehanna, and live relatively close to the Potomac in Virginia, but these were a whole different breed. With our feet (and our SUV) now firmly on Missouri ground, we made our way to route 60 and began working our way through land that was now flattening out a bit, with farmland become the predominant scenery.  No huge farms yet, but enough to warrant large farm machinery taking up most of the road now and again. Route 60 turned out be more of a highway, so we jumped off and decided for the long way around to Mansfield.  This is hardly ever a bad idea!  First off, the charming small town of Eminence welcomed us, with many a flag flying for the Independence Day holiday week.  It still boasted of old but well-kept storefronts with places like “Winfields Fine Food“, an old restaurant and soda fountain.  Just beyond we headed into an area called the “Ozark National Scenic Riverways“.  A complete unknown, but it sounded interesting.  So with little to no cell service to do any advance research, we just drove. Pay dirt for us both when we discovered beautiful rolling hills and narrow clear spring-fed streams and rivers, their banks and bottoms lined with mostly smooth sedimentary stones.  (When you have a dog who loves the water, finding a place like this is heaven – and zero mud!). We stopped for a hike and a swim at Jacks Fork River.  A well-kept campground lined the riverbank, and Lexi eagerly tested the water, happy to discover she could wade it gradually.  There’s nothing this dog loves more than water, and if there are rocks to dig and dive for, the better.  I’ll always remember this as the place where she finally learned to all-out swim, and if a Golden could shout with joy, she would have.  She wanted to stay forever. But Laura Ingalls awaited, and I wanted to be on our way.  I knew we wouldn’t be able to tour the house (no dogs allowed!) but just seeing the farm and grounds would satisfy my nostalgic curiousity.  I hadn’t really done much advance scouting for this stop, and truly only discovered  it when I looking at my Missouri map.  A quick Google search to read over what it entailed, and I was hooked.  So I left much to discover when we were there. As a child I obsessed over Laura, Mary, Ma, Pa and the rest of the family.  I truly wanted to live on the banks of Plum Creek, or on the prairie, beloved Pa at my side, exploring the wonders of the midwest in the late 19th century.  These people were as real to me as my own family, and I joyfully and eagerly read and reread each book multiple times in my childhood. It didn’t hurt that not long after I devoured the books, NBC debuted the television series.  Melissa Gilbert, now in full technicolor for me to see every Monday night at 8:00 p.m., was perfection in her copper-colored braids and calico dresses, tomboy as she was.  And that Nellie Olson.  How I hated her, and secretly relished the moment my brave and wise Laura let Nellie’s wheelchair rattle down the hill into the lake, proving that Nellie was in fact, faking her paralysis. So many memories of book and screen flooded my mind as we drove closer to the farm. Sitting serenely and humbly on the side of Highway A, a small sign confirmed we had reached Rocky Ridge Farm, home of Laura, Almanzo, and daughter Rose.  Turning in, it just felt like arriving at a friend’s house.  Just a few miles out of the small town of Mansfield, the farmhouse sits perched on a rise above the road.  It’s much larger than I would have expected, with its white-painted wood and beautiful stone chimney.  It has the look of a well-loved place that has been added to over the years.  The front steps and small porch actually face the side, with mature beautiful trees creating a small grove-like setting.  The overall feeling is both welcoming and pleasant as golden cotton curtains hang in the front room. We had the place to ourselves, save the woman who was just coming out the side door, letting me know that they were closing for the day.  Since I couldn’t go in anyway, I was content to wander the grounds for a while.  In its day, the farm was a dairy, fruit and poultry farm.  Chickens still remained, clucking away at Lexi as we walked past their coop and the barn.  The Wilders moved here in 1894, after a covered-wagon trek from South Dakota, in search of a new place to call home. They bought the land, originally 40 acres which expanded to 200, and built the house and farm. Laura lived here for 63 years, until she died at age 90 in 1957.  I loved that I was standing here, just steps from where she penned all of the “Little House” books, telling of her childhood and coming-of-age on the prairie.  She wrote and published the books between 1932 and 1943, enhancing the imaginations of children for generations to come.  And I think now, as I stand here admiring this beautiful place, how unusual a woman she was to set out on a course to write and publish the series at a time when women certainly didn’t have much to speak of for careers, especially those who lived and worked to keep a farm running every day. Lexi and I wandered happily around the property, transported back a century ago. I felt such a connection to her there, and relished each footstep on the ground that she trod for many years.  Behind the house, the terrain steepens a bit and a trail climbs the hill behind the barn.  We roamed for a while, taking in the fields of queen anne’s lace and brown-eyed susans, with golden afternoon sunshine painting the fields in the distance, carried through time. Sentimentally, I snapped off a single flower to take with me, knowing it would dry and wither in the car, but confident that it would find its permanent home on a bookshelf at home, tucked into the pages of my favorite Little House book. Content with our afternoon of discovery, Lexi happily bounded into the car.  We moved out for the last leg of our travels for the day, heading to Springfield to set up camp for the night. Truly, I reveled in all that Missouri had shared with us that fine July day!