Traveler, Writer, Aquarius, Peace Corps Volunteer
The evidence
<< previous next>>
After a short break, it was time for round two. My first task was to go to the far right hand corner of the field and clear a small strip of earth for planting peppers. The area was already home to a melange of parsley, dill, and carrots, but Tamara said that these were already gratuitous and needed to be dug up. The idea that fruits and vegetables grow in the ground is quite clear to me, yet I was overwhelmed every time I dug up a chunk of dirt and pulled out a carrot. At that time, each carrot I unearthed was the coolest thing in the world. After half an hour, I had a pretty nice pile and the area was relatively clean. Tamara gave me the good news that peppers, unlike tomatoes, don�t need holes, but rather just need the topsoil to be turned up and softened before planting in the shallow ground.
The next and last thing for me to do was dig another section of holes for Tamara to plant tomatoes in. This time around went slower than the first, as the ground on this side was harder than the first, plus the days labor was starting to catch up to me and the novelty of digging holes was starting to wear off. Again, Valery insisted I take a break, and Tamara told me to go eat some more cherries off the tree and then go fix myself another ham sandwich, which I did. Valery knelt by a small green plant and tore off a leaf, putting it in his mouth. �Go on,� he said, �eat it.� I followed his lead, took a large leaf, yellowish green, and ate. It was sour and bitter and the same time, but tasty and familiar, though I couldn�t place the name.
Returning to my work, nearing completion, it finally began to rain. Soft at first, it was enjoyable to feel the drops pelt my skin and dot my shirt. I finished digging under a light drizzle, and retreated into the cottage for shelter and another snack. The dirt floor and incomplete walls really do give it the air that it belongs more in Kosovo than Donetsk. Valery said he plans on working on it this summer. That will remain to be seen.
The rain increased and we brought the plates and food into the protection of the cottage. Undaunted, Tamara continued planting peppers and tomatoes in the field, on hands and knees, dark brown mud everywhere, long after Valery and I had called it a day. She looked at home there, in control, far different from her typical mien at home, clothed in a bathrobe, headscarf, and slippers, keeping the domestic affairs of the home in order. This was her idea, the dacha, her world. She had convinced Valery to buy it six years ago, and while they say it�s to save money by growing their own food, I think it�s as much, if not more so, for Tamara�s freedom and peace of mind.
Before we left, Tamara had me follow her back over to the cherry trees for a final treat. This time, however, we bent down by the strawberries, and I had a chance to taste them. Unless you�ve had the pleasure of eating something so fresh, so devoid of chemicals and pesticides and genetic modification, that you don�t want to completely wash so you can taste the soil as well as the fruit, you can�t know how truly delicious these strawberries were.
Finally, after getting everything together and loading the car, they invited me over for dinner and I accepted. Having lived with them for three months and being treated like a member of the family, it actually felt like I was coming home for a meal. It was a simple dinner, fried eggs, ham, and potatoes, but comfortable, and I enjoyed returning to the camaraderie and comfort of the dinner table, a world away from my apartment, where my only companion is my computer. It was like old times, Tamara and Valery and I talking after dinner about the typical subjects of life and school and the world and America, and even though we had the same conversation about the same things that we�ve had a hundred times, I didn�t mind. When I eventually called it a night and told them I needed to get home, they looked sad but understood. We had been talking long past the conversation�s lifespan, as if continuing to compete after the game already ended. On my way out the door, Tamara handed me a bag with dill and parsley and onions, and smiled. Valery and I shook hands, and the three of us shared an uncomfortable moment, like every time we say goodbye. But we know we�ll see each other again, because harvest time is just around the corner.
Other interesting stuff
Stay in touch
Lewkraine Productions
"Making the world a safer place to play."