Rebecca was born in Portland, Oregon, USA. She was always a quiet girl, seeming somewhat fragile. I have many memories of her, but the thing I remember most is that she was always drawing. As a child, she and our brother Jake drew a cartoon about a family of worms. When my husband was selling handicrafts at fairs and markets, she painted him an idyllic countryside backdrop five feet wide. When she died, a pad of paper under her bed held pictures of birds, landscapes and ancient artifacts.
Rebecca could speak entire sentences before she could stand up unaided. But she didn't want us to know. She wouldn't do it when anyone else was in the room. Finally, when she was about five, she had to admit that she could talk. Later, she learned to read the same way. When we asked why she had refused everyone's help, she said "I wanted to do it myself."
Among many other things, Becky was an anthropologist - just a few credits short of the degree. She worked for a while looking for and documenting Native American sites in government forests. She was vehement in her support of the underdogs of our modern society, including not only minorities and poor folks, but also non-human species.
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