Rita grew up on a farm in central Illinois. Her family worked hard, raising animals and crops so the rest of the country could eat. They milked cows. They learned to be inventive, creative, and resourceful. This kind of lifestyle was always a mystery to me. The only taste of this kind of life I had was sometimes watching programs on TV like Lassie. We got meat from the butcher shop, and milk from the cooler in the grocery store. Kids I used to play with would sometimes talk about what it must be like to grow up on a farm.
I have made some trips with Rita to where she grew up. I’ve seen the little schoolhouse that held all grades in one classroom, with the out houses. I’ve been to the church with the bell and in fact even had a chance to ring it. I’ve been to the fields where she helped plant corn, beans and other vegetables. I’ve seen the implements her dad has made for her so she can make dolls. He recently made her a special rack for baking and curing, using scrap metal and a welder.
As we’ve worked together to get her story written, I’ve discovered that practically every picture she has as a child has a doll somewhere in it. She loved dolls as a kid, and loved children. She still does. There are pictures of her with her younger brother and sister, holding and caring for them. Rita was born to be a dollmaker.
I hope you enjoy reading about her, I certainly have. I got one extra benefit:
I married the farmer’s daughter . . .
Larry