It was a time when children could still be innocent, as they truly were straight off the farm when they met maturity—whenever that coming of age happened to strike.
I grew up on a farm, the likes of which is rare in today’s world. My first real memory comes from when I was three.
Dad rented a big white farmhouse south of Brunswick. Narrow stairs led to a room of my own at the top. Mom had made me a dresser from orange crates and trimmed it in a skirt made of yellow calico with red flowers.
My mother instilled in me the love of reading. She filled quiet evening hours by reading out loud to me, which no doubt enabled me to read at age four.
She also designed and sewed my clothes until I started sewing my own as a young teen. I have her to thank for my love of color and working with fabrics.
Merlin and LaVera Mosel, my parents, each came from families of seven children. I am the oldest of seven. A lot can be said for character traits, not to mention old-fashioned work ethics, which ensue from that environment.
We had no time for selfishness, laziness, disobedience, or complaint. We each had our place of responsibility and our parents expected completion of assigned chores.
I consider it a privilege to have grown up where pasture vistas were a common sight.