I turned and reached out into the river to fill my little bucket with water, when somehow, I lost my balance and slipped into the rushing, foaming river. I had on my red riding cloak and hood that Mother had made for me out of waterproof material and as I had landed on my back, my cloak held me up so I floated down the river like a log. After this episode the Indians called me, "The Girl That Floats."

Mary Ann's journal offers a rare glimpse into a pioneer childhood. Her companions were Native American children Rolling Thunder and Little Slow Horse from the nearby camp, while the woods were shared with wild neighbors like rattlesnakes and mountain lions. Through her vivid storytelling, Mary Ann transports us to a world we could scarcely imagine, immersing us in the wonders and dangers of an upbringing that was a tapestry of adventure, friendship, and the untamed beauty of the outdoors.

As I look back through the long years that have passed since then, I can see the place as plain as if it were only yesterday. The little log cabin, the log stable with the rail fence surrounding it and the lodges and wigwams of the Sac and Fox Indians clustered together in the vale below. I have no words to make you understand just how beautiful the scene was. In fact, there is no one but a poet who could describe the place and do it justice.