Hello, God. It's me, Mara.

The days slip by as time flies on, it's wintertime and cold. Just thinking 'bout some cute stories that our dear friends have told. Pictures do fly across our mind, when we were kids, years back; we crossed pastures on way to school; our lunch was what Mom packed.  Away back then in olden days, we had a Prairie School. No modern things like gas for light nor air to keep us cool!

At recess time, we five children had whooping hollering day; in class we read, did math, spelling, and sometimes played with clay. The Golden Rule was taught back then, like in our parent's time. We studied hard, loved reading books but wished for our lunchtime.

The sweet west wind blew by our school near field of yellow wheat; it was a place where four winds met with trail for children's feet. We rode our bikes those two plus miles under the sky so blue. The distance shrunk as we biked on with far off hills to view.

Ms. Liza Jane was our schoolmarm. Her chair? A kitchen stool! We had our jobs, check this and that, made sure the stoves had fuel!

We'd say the Pledge then sang two songs; we did that every day. Piano? No. Record player, we'd sing along and sway!

Our Prairie School had well-tramped earth, recess had no game plan; school had two steps, teacher stood there; gophers watched us, then ran!

Our country school, though pretty small, held dreams for future plans; held heritage for those who'd come; of course, they were our fans. The teacherage was two small rooms, small kitchen and bedroom. Cistern in front, outhouse outback, kept clean with a stiff broom. A night or two in bad ice storm, Cloak Room was our bedroom! Wrapped in our coats, plus teacher's quilt; room cold and filled with gloom.

Homework was usually done at school, no silliness allowed; 'cause chores at home awaited us; gather the eggs, milk cows.

Love, Mara.