Story of a girl born in Europe who lived in New York City since she was a kid. After making a few summer visits to her motherland, she starts to question where she really belongs. She decides to move to her birth country for one year to teach Englis...
* * * Sometimes, when it was late in the evening, and all the chores were done. The horses were in the barn. The sheep were laying on dry hay. And, the cows were milked. We sat around my grandparent's large, country kitchen and watched the sunset through a very large window, overlooking magnificent green, hilly landscapes.
We had this tradition not to turn on the lights, as not to disturb the beauty of the sundown, and the atmosphere of story telling in the grey shadow of the nightfall. I loved those magical, special evenings with my grandparents. There was something comforting and enchanting about them.
They were stories of people from neighboring villages, family ties or great, great, grandparents. Some people were still alive some were already gone. But all stories were equally captivating.
My favorite story was of my hapless great-grandmother Rosalia, who was a Countess. Regrettably, she wed a wealthy land owner, my great-grandfather Alozja. Since, according to Rosalia, "she didn't marry well." She was always unhappy and bitter that she had to stoop so low and say "I do" to a famer.
Naturally she should have wed someone of her status, nobility and class. Back then it was a known fact that it was better to get married to an elephant than to remain an old spinster. Hence, the sad story of her tears and misfortunes we had the pleasure of listening.
History writes that the area where my grandparents lived belonged to a tribe called the Vikings. A rather gallant and proud kinfolk that supposedly loved to fight. Maybe that explains why most of them are extinct by now. They liked to fight so much that they eventually killed each other off completely.
I loved to sit on the exterior side of a white, tile oven in which there was always a burning-coal fire. That's where my grandmother cooked, baked and prepared all of her dishes. She had the fire on even in the summertime.
Time off from school was the only time I and my sister visited our grandparents. When at the farm, we were just carefree, little girls, free from school, free from homework and, free from teeth brushing. I remember the teeth part particularly well. I was so happy about not having to brush my teeth. I am not sure but perhaps that is why later in life I'd made a special bond with our local dentist.
Our favorite pastime was hanging from rowanberry trees or playing house in Jasmin bushes. Our beloved food was our grandmother's hand-made, sour-dough rye bread with a fragrant, crispy crust. She baked the bread on top of aromatic calamus leaves. We ate the bread with her hand-made rich and creamy butter and salt.
Our favorite candy was sugar-coated jells. Sold at a nearest town's candy shop. We often walked three miles, by foot through the hills and valleys in order to get them. Every time for creatures of our miniature size, it was a great adventure.
If there was ever a second Neverland and another Peter Pan, he must have been hiding right there. In the land of morning fog, ripe wild strawberries and, evening mystic story-telling. Breathtakingly beautiful, hidden country side, situated just on the border of Lithuania.
Podlasie County, Poland.
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