In this, her second memoir, New Prairie Woman is Susie Rosso Wolf’s depiction of her journey from Los Angeles to the historical town of Three Forks, Montana. On these pages you will discover the grandeur of “The Last Best Place” through her writing, poetry and photography, the challenges of living in a twenty foot trailer in sub-zero temperatures and how love, perseverance, and the miracle of faith can lift a soul up from the depths of the deepest, darkest waters.
Born in Santa Monica, California, I was raised in the small bedroom community of Sunkist Park that borders Culver City, Playa del Rey, Mar Vista and Venice. I attended Venice High School, West LA Community College and California Institute of the Arts. My studies included English, English Literature, Poetry, Creative Writing, Choir, Classical Voice, Shakespeare, Musical Theater, Television and Film Acting and Art History. In 1980, I relocated to the Pacific Northwest and in 1982 I married Kurt Wolf in Corvallis, Oregon. During the course of our long journey together, I have remained devoted to not only my husband, but to my friends and family, and the arts. What defines me most is my passion for expression through art. I’m an avid reader, writer and poet.I also enjoy painting and photography. Additionally, some folks consider me a pretty good cook.
New Prairie Woman
Susie Rosso Wolf
Chapter Three, Con't
Our day was filled with love and laughter, giggles and screams, ice cream cones and stuffed toy prizes that Kurt won for the girls from the shooting gallery. Kurt was a real trouper that day as he escorted the lovely little angels onto the Ferris wheel, the roller coaster and into Kiddie Land to ride the small children’s rides with them as Brenda and I stood outside the gates and watched what we both considered a miraculous event. Smiling from ear to ear, we talked about nothing but how this day happened only by divine intervention and how it was because of Kurt’s good heart and loving nature that we were all here together, sharing love, joy and a few thrills too. We walked the length of my old stomping grounds as we peered into the gift shops and bait shops and had snacks in just about every food shop along the way to the end of the pier where fishermen and families, young boys with new poles and old men with old poles gathered to do what they have done for as long as I’ve been born and longer; drop their baited lines into the Pacific Ocean and pray for a bite.