Marisa Pastrovich didn't grow up in Litchfield. She grew up in Springfield, graduated from Sacred Heart-Griffin, went to Illinois State University for agricultural education, and met a man from a farming family whose roots in this community go back seventy-five years. By the time they graduated, the destination was settled. "We always knew Litchfield was going to be home and where we would want to raise our family and raise our kids."

They took a two-year detour through Monticello first — she commuted to Rantoul High School, where she taught ag education and advised the FFA chapter, her husband worked for FS — before coming home for good around 2007. Teaching jobs were scarce. Marisa had worked in childcare throughout college. Her close friend Jennifer Helgen was building Lily Pad Learning Center, and asked Marisa to come on as director. Nine years later, she still is.

The center serves approximately 150 children from six weeks through age twelve — licensed for 149 — and sits squarely in the Litchfield community. It's where children begin before they begin. "We serve quite a few families in the community, and we are very proud to do that."

Three of her own children make up one of those families, who span the full sweep of the district: Tucker is a graduating senior headed to Lincoln Land Community College's diesel technology program, having spent two years in the SCI building and working through nearly every ag and auto class the high school offers. Tessa is a freshman on a more traditional university track. Teagan is in second grade and says she wants to be a teacher, though Marisa adds with a smile: "Who knows?"

Three children. Three trajectories. That range is precisely why Dr. McClain’s's invitation to join the Community Planning Committee landed the way it did. Marisa wanted a seat at the table for every kind of kid — the one headed to a four-year university and the one headed to a trade, the one with a plan and the one still looking. She'd watched CTE programs change young people's lives as a teacher. She was watching it again with Tucker.

Inside the planning sessions, she found what she'd hoped for: real range. Community members with no children currently in the district, parents of students across grade levels, school employees, and outside voices all sitting at the same tables. Brad Skertich from Collinsville and a superintendent from Troy brought facilitation and an outside perspective. The structure was tight — a handful of meetings with a lot to accomplish — but the atmosphere was open. "Everyone was really open about giving their opinion, and then everyone else who was at the table gave that person time to share their thoughts."

Her daughter, Tessa, sat in on the final couple of meetings as a student representative. She went in nervous, uncertain what would be expected of a freshman in a room full of adults and administrators. Coming out, she told her mother: "I'm really glad that I got to talk to them. I feel like they really listened to what I had to say, and I'm really glad that I got the opportunity to share my thoughts."

Marisa's biggest concern now is the same one she raised directly in those sessions: keeping the momentum alive. Strategic planning has a well-known life cycle — enthusiasm peaks early and fades without sustained communication. She believes the antidote is transparency. "We need to keep the public informed of where we're at, where we're going, what we've been able to accomplish, what we're working on next, and what help they need from us."

The work that makes pathways visible — middle school career day bringing community speakers into classrooms, the Lincoln Land career fair where students are bused over to explore post-secondary options, the counseling work Karen Cress does with freshmen at the start of their four years — needs to continue and be seen. Not every kid knows what's possible. Showing them is the whole point.