When I was somewhere in the 8-12 years age bracket (12-year-old me didn’t look much different from 8-year-old me) I saw a dress in a catalog that cost $12, and I wanted it. I showed the picture to my mother, and she shook her head sadly. She had only recently, reluctantly, given up making pastel shifts with embroidered yokes for me, her last little girl; and this dress was more like something that Jimi Hendrix would have worn with bell-bottoms and a beaded vest. It was made of a stretchy synthetic fabric, with tightly fitting sleeves that flared dramatically below the elbow, and its color scheme involved huge blobs of primary colors.

Anyway, Mama said, “Well, if you want that dress, you will need to earn the money to pay for it.” The subtext being something along the lines of “I wouldn’t pay 12 cents for that monstrosity.” My next brilliant idea was to consult Aunt Helen, a most resourceful do-it-yourself type of lady, on how I could earn $12. So, I booked on over to her cabin and knocked on the door. I explained my situation to her and asked if she had any ideas for how I could earn the requisite $12. She stared at me for a moment and then said she would let me know if she came up with any ideas. I retrospect, I think she thought I wanted her to just give me $12. I wanted a job, honest!

I don’t remember if I ever bought that dress, but I do remember a few money-making schemes, most of which involved my sister Laura. Our favorite is when we decided to harvest honeysuckle nectar and sell it in five-gallon buckets. (Yes, five gallons). We gave it up quickly when the microscopic beads of nectar evaporated before getting anywhere near the bottom of that bucket. We just carried on popping the flowers and sipping the traces of sweetness, the way we always had, and temporarily forgot about earthly riches. Other money-making ideas including raising geese for their down (still not sure if the geese can donate the down and carry on with their business or not) and putting a clean tin can on a dresser for the purpose of collecting allowances and other windfalls. That tin can at one time held $14 dollars, and I’m pretty sure we bought two entire ponies with it.

Somebody (I always thought it was Nietzsche, but I can’t find it online) said, “There are no needs; only wants,” and I suppose he was right. However, whether I needed that dress, or those ponies, or whatever Laura and I were going to trade for all that goose down, is moot. A want, when keen enough, does a pretty good job of imitating a need. I am also reminded of a saying from an earlier generation that says, “a man’s reach should exceed his grasp.” I believe the same can be said for skinny, shy little girls with prodigious imaginations and great big dreams.