Guseva Raissa Kirillovna was born on September 13, 1929 in the village of Malaya Usa. Their family had eight children. Mom - Ekaterina Merezhnikova. Father - Kirill Merezhnikov. They lived poorly, but amicably, everyone helped each other and took care of each other. They worked on a collective farm, USSR - Dawn. Times were hard, difficult ... Education grade 4. Immediately after school, little Raya went to sow, plow, harrow. - "It was very hard ... girl, 11 years old, thin arms and legs trembled under the weight of the plow ... And try not to go to work, you will immediately get a belt. Together with brothers and sisters they collected rotten potatoes so that in the evening there was something to eat, threw hay, for cattle "- shared her memories Raissa Kirillovna. "- During the war years, they shared a piece of bread for the family ... each one a piece, and the elder brother once stole my bread, I was left hungry. Nobody felt sorry for me, because they themselves were hungry." (Raissa Kirillovna recalls smiling). Raissa Kirillovna is a woman with a capital letter! The villagers said that you will never hear a bad word, she will always help. About family – in 1958 Raissa Kirillovna gave birth to a daughter, Nina. After 8 years, Nina died of hypothermia. - In 1965, the son Sasha was born. She raised him alone. All her life Raissa Kirillovna devoted herself to work, her family, raising her granddaughters. The expanse of the steppe, the bitter taste of wormwood, And in the skies of the birds, cheerful trills. A bush burns in crimson near the canal, In a gilded solar font. Every yard here comes to life in the morning, Cackling is heard of the poultry. And the sun floods the whole space with Its warmth and golden radiance. You, old-timers, always remember Half-starved and angry hard times, When trouble fell on their shoulders, Bagryants, who marked the century. Exploding bombs, hungry orphans mouths, Frozen potatoes as a reward. Wounded soldiers, cotton wool and bandages And backbreaking work, and the word "MUST!" All youth is poisoned by the war losses are all immeasurable. And by performing the feat of labor, you proved that you are invincible. Taking the funeral - right on the fields, With tears, they watered our land, And feet - in blood, and hands - in blisters, And the slime on the road is a terrible porridge. Memories of a dark ridge, Victory history remained. For a long time you will remember the trouble, In a bloody line in the centuries fit. But shaking off the fragments, the ashes of the war, With tears, then watering the earth, Worked, raising the spirit of the country, Giving it big harvests.