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Ruth Sanderson My Journey as an Illustrator - A Monson Childhood I grew up in the small town of Monson, Massachusetts. I lived there from the time I was born in 1951 until I was 18 and went away to college in 1969. When I was growing up in Monson, my favorite place to play was the woods. I spent many happy hours with my friends at "Cat Rock" which was a beautiful spot in the woods not far from our house on Main Street. My imagination came to life there, and I believed there were magical creatures living in the tangled underbrush that I might catch a glimpse of if I was very lucky. I still believe that, I must confess. My other favorite place was the library. I was a shy child and books were a way to identify with characters that were brave and got to do exciting things. One of my treasured possessions was a battered copy of Grimm's Fairy Tales that once belonged to my father. I read the stories over and over. My grandmother, Ruth, was the librarian in Palmer for over 40 years. My sister, brother and I spent many hours with her at the library when we were quite small. I remember being in awe at the tall stacks of books and the varnished wooden walls and desks. When I was older, I walked from our house to the Monson library. After moving from picture books to chapter books and novels, I fought over Black Stallion books with my best friend, Judy McDonald (sometimes she won). We anxiously awaited each new adventure, for the series was written during these years. After reading the stories, we would gallop through the woods on our imaginary stallions. When Judy moved from downtown to a farm up on Munn Road near the Wales border, our adventures in the woods expanded into Brimfield State Forest and Dean Pond. One of the most magical places in the woods near her house was an abandoned theme park. I remember singing songs from The Wizard of Oz!" as we walked the few miles to reach that dirt road which was our gateway to adventure: "Lions and tigers and bears, Oh, my!" At the end of the long, tree-lined dirt road a pink castle loomed. Of course it was locked, but it was easy to get into the old park through the woods. Inside were many buildings in miniature, big enough to stand inside, but small--there was Santa's workshop, a little church, a miniature railroad. My favorite was a fieldstone cottage -- probably intended as a fairy-tale house --perhaps the home of the Seven Dwarves. The place also included a Frontier land -- a main street with a boardwalk, saloon and hotel, and covered wagons left abandoned to rot in a field. I don't believe the place ever opened to the public. But my imagination was opened there. The broken glass that crunched under our feet was music to our ears as the dust motes danced in the slanted beams of sunlight coming through the shattered window panes. The combination of my love of fairytales and actually getting to play in a magical fairy-tale play-land, overgrown and mysterious, without a doubt had a profound effect on the direction of my life. My love for stories and especially horse stories fed into another passion -- drawing. From the time paper and pencils were available I drew the object of my dreams--the horse. I even conducted a Saturday morning art class in 4th grade and attempted to teach my friends how to draw horses as well. Finally, after years of begging and cajoling, when I was 13 my parents bought me a horse. Of course, we kept him at my friend Judy's house. The happiest times in my teenage years were spent trail riding with Judy and her younger sister, Susie. There was Taffy, the trusty pony belonging to Susie, Judy's big chestnut mare, Ginger, and Ricky's horse, Satan, a little black gelding who lived up to his name. My horse was a sweet bay gelding named Duke. The McDonald's farm had practically everything from the song -- pigs, chickens, and cows. It was a great place to grow up. We had a 4-H club, put on horse shows, and galloped at breakneck speed through the trails in the woods. A low branch once swept into my face and my glasses flew off into the underbrush, and are probably there to this day because I did not find them. Perhaps the fairies hauled them off and made a few windows for one of their dwellings. Sadly, when I was a senior in high school, a drunken hunter shot and killed my beloved horse, Duke. My childhood was over. I found solace in drawing and painting. A number of times during winter vacation in art school I went to the old theme park and took pictures of the decaying wagons in the snow, which were amazingly still there. A few years later I believe vandals torched the whole place. Now there are houses in place of the pink castle and the stone cottage. But the magic of their memory is alive in me and is reflected in my books, especially my original fairytale, The Enchanted Wood, which is in great part homage to my love of the Monson woods. |