Aphorisms, Trains, and The Vice President

What aphorism would you use? Better late than never. No pain – No gain. Every break through starts with a break down. My Peace Corps friend, Fran, says this is a silver lining story. You be the judge.

The Peace Corps calls, “Would you be available to come to Kiev and meet with Vice President Bidden? The Vice President wants to meet with Embassy staff and Peace Corps Volunteers during his visit.”

I jump at the chance, although in the back of my mind I know there are hurdles. Up until now, I traveled with the Peace Corps arranging details. All I had to do was show up on time. Now I am on my own.

Well, not exactly. I call Annya and ask if she can meet me at the Vakzal (train station). She helps me figure out the massive timetable that spreads floor to ceiling across the entire side wall. It would be intimidating in English. It's in Russian.

Next morning with ticket in hand, I arrive at the Vakzal about 40 minutes early. When I ask the information attendant what platform for my train, I am told it has not been assigned yet or at least I think I am being told this. I wait and ask again. Still no answer. Time is growing short and my anxiety is increasing.

Outside, I see a train across the way. Action seems better than waiting so I hike to end of the platform and around to the cross-over. “Is this the train to Kiev,” I ask a man? He does not know. A glance at my watch shows only 6 more minutes to departure time. I feel the churning of anxiety inside. What to do?

Just then the man yells in Russian, “Platform one. Platform one!!” I don't have time to celebrate understanding what he said. Across the way, a train has just pulled in. I am not so good at running with my artificial hip, but let's say I am walking very quickly all the way around to get back to track one. The heart is pumping real good. Yikes, I just make it. I did not know it then, but this incident was a sign of things to come.

I travel on an Electrechka instead of a regular train because it is much less expensive. Of course, the Electrechka is crowded with people sitting on benches three across that line each side of the car. It's the way ordinary people travel.

Arrival in Kiev was on a platform away from the Main Terminal. I memorized the location so that I could get there on my return. I'm thinking this is a very smart thing to do – right?

I walk up a long flight of stairs to the Kiev Vakzal area. It's a crazy mass of vendors, cars, trucks, buses, carts, and so many people scattering in all directions at once, like a disturbed ant hill. Is there really order in what seems to be chaos? The contrast to laid back tranquil Konotop gives me culture shock. I feel engulfed.

With the help of a few other Peace Corps Volunteers that I meet at headquarters, I get to my hotel. Strangely, I notice my overnight briefcase is partially unzipped. Either it spontaneously opened or I was pick-pocketed in the Metro. My shave kit is missing. Even when you are careful, it may not be enough.

The next day the Vice President comes on schedule. A room of about 200 Embassy staff and Peace Corps volunteers greet him. He takes a few questions. We are able to ask about health care reform in the US. He says that despite the rumblings in the Senate, he expects passage. He says that this time many forces are coming together knowing that change needs to be made. After speaking, he thanks us for our work on behalf of the USA and shakes many hands. I feel proud to be in Ukraine on behalf of my Country.

The rest of the day I spend with a group of younger volunteers. “Let' just hang out,” they say. None of us has eaten breakfast and it is nearly 12:30 pm so we set out to find an Indian restaurant. Ukrainian food is not spicy and we all are thinking cumin and curry!
Unfortunately we do not find it. Later we discover that if we had walked one block more, we would have stumbled right into it. Mmmmm – lesson learned?

Instead we discover a delightful Ukrainian outdoor cafe tucked away from the busy street. The food is fresh and the atmosphere is ever so pleasant. We “hang out” over lunch for a long time. All of us have stories to share and everyone seems happy with their site placement.

One fellow says that he was thinking of staying over another night, but now he wants to get back to his village. “Sounds silly,” he says. “But I miss the kids and people.” We all smile. We know how he feels.

I pick up a few things at the Peace Corps office and scurry up to the Kiev Vakzal. I have about 30 minutes before the Electrechka leaves for Konotop. Remembering where the remote tracks are, I climb down the stairs to the platform. “No people. Am I too early again?” I think.

I notice people far away on the opposite track. I am thinking, savvy traveler that I am, “I came up on this side and maybe I must go back on the other. So I trudge up the stairs in search of a way to the other platform. There is no obvious way. I ask several people in my best (though not very good) Russian. I get sent here and there, but still cannot find stairs down.

Panic churns inside again. Time is running out. I ask another man. He points down the way and fortunately mentions “Green” umbrellas. I understand the word green and see green patio umbrellas surrounding a building. Immediately I rush in that direction. I find the stairs. Hooray!

But as you may already suspect, while I found the platform, I missed my Electrechka. Suddenly I feel sad like a kid who is lost in a crowd. Now what?

I feel depleted. I call my Regional Manager and she coaches me in securing another ticket on a regular train – one that is going to Moscow, but through Konotop. Thank you!

As I rumble along, I am thinking, “Well I will always know where and how to get the Electrechka. I know where the Indian restaurant is located. And I have a greater confidence, that even when I don't know what to do next, I am resourceful enough to figure something out. Mistakes will be made, but then again lessons learned” Fran says, “That's the silver lining.” I have to agree, but why must there be a break down before there is a break through. No pain - No gain! Ugh!

POTOM! POTOM!

Three young women accompanied me through a day of Cossack Culture and a lot of fun

World class folk dance and song

Here I am surrounded by Ukrainian culture...Beautiful.

The reconstructed Church within the Citadel

Here's a Russian word for you - Potom. Potom means - later, later, we'll look into it later. As the weekend approached, I was in a “potom” state with nothing planned. Then as often happens in Ukraine, a wonderful adventure unfolded. I found myself immersed in Cossack history, folk crafts, dance, song and the President.

“Would I be available for a field trip?” All week long, the Center hosted 25 children for a day camp. There is a mix of able and disabled children. Everyone is included and seem to get along well. Main streaming in Ukraine.

I ask for more details about the field trip. Immediately I am jolted put of my “potom” mood. I am told, “Tomorrow, we will go tomorrow!” I start thinking in another Russian phrase. “Why not, it will be fun.”

The trip starts with a very long walk to the bus station. At least for me it seems very long taking us about an hour or more. None of the children seem to mind and we climb on to a crowded bus for the trip to Baturyn. I'm a puddle of sweat.

Baturyn is a national historical site. Located on a bend in the Syne River, settlements have been here since prehistoric times. Starting in 1995, Ukraine invited a Canadian archaeological team to join in excavating the site. Now the Cossack Citadel and Church have been restored. A small museum tells the story.

Baturyn was one of the capitals of the Ukrainian Cossack state. In 1708, it became the center of an insurrection against Moscow's control. The Russian troops massacred Baturyn's military garrison and civilian population. Experts say about 11,000 to 14,000 people, but numbers can be exaggerated or diminished for political purposes. Prior to Ukrainian independence in 1991, any research into Baturyn's history was politically taboo.

Take a look at the pictures. The Citadel encloses an open space, the Garrison and Church. The huge crucifix commemorates those that died. So much work that has gone into the restoration. Imagine digging 3 story deep trenches by hand. To learn more, go to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baturyn

While I was exploring Baturyn history, Konotop was getting ready for Ukrainian President Yushchenko.

A new Ukrainian Orthodox Church near my home was to be dedicated. I had been watching its construction and even managed to meet the night watchman on one of my nightly walks. He told me that the Church was being constructed with donations from America. He was gleeful to meet me – a real American! I was like a representative of the thousands who had made this Church possible. Later I learned that the Ukrainian community in Chicago raised the funds since many of their roots go back to this region.

President Yushchenko shows up on schedule...well he is a fashionable ½ hour late. The crowd is excited. I am escorted by three lovely young ladies. I met Anya at the Institute where she served as my translators. A few nights later I met her two friends over ice cream at a local cafe. Now the four of us are walking through the crowd seeking a better viewing spot.

Suddenly, we spot the Directors of the Institute and the Director of the Technical School along with several of their associates. Both had recently returned from visits to Ames Iowa. They were part of some kind of educator's exchange program. I had told them that my brother, Warren, had lived in Ames for many years and that his wife, Judy, had been on the school board.

Maybe because of my Ames Iowa connection, I am warmly embraced. “Kak della? (how are you?)” Smiles, handshakes and hugs from everyone. It feels like a family reunion even though I have just met everyone a week ago. Someone says in Russian, “He's got a Konotop family now.” I smile broadly.

The Ukrainian Orthodox clerics pray and pray. The President speaks and promises to furnish and altar piece in honor of St Nicholas from his own funds. I only get to see the president from afar. My fantasy of telling the President that I am a Peace Corps Volunteer fades. It's high noon and the sun is getting real hot. All of us are wilting.

“Let's go, “ say my three escorts. “We want to take you to the Battle of Konotop festival. You will see real Cossack culture.” I did not know we were going to a festival when I started my day, but then again – “Why not. It will be fun!”

The Battle of Konotop was a part of a larger struggle between Poland and Russia. It happened in an era when Cossack tribes within this region were vying with one another for a broader national identity. To say that it was a time of external and internal tumult, is probably an understatement. You can read more at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Konotop

The Russians suffered a stunning defeat. And today some Ukrainians recall this battle in the current struggles for identity amidst Russian influence. Other Ukrainians just enjoy the festival.
Here is a short version of what I have learned about the Battle of Konotop. It has dead horses in it too. The Russian Calvary thought it would sweep through the area on its way to battling with the Poles. But unexpectedly they met stiff Cossack and Tarter resistance.

One day the Cossacks – Tarter alliance managed to take back a bridge that the Russian Calvary had used to cross the river. Stealthily they dismantled the bridge and used the lumber to forge a damn. Of course in this flat land, the result was wide spread flooding. Remember how Catherine The Great got stuck in Konotop?

The next day the Cossacks and Tartars staged an ambush. The Russian Calvary stumbled. The harder they tried the more enmeshed in the swampy landscape they became. Historians disagree but as many as 30,000 combatants may have been killed. And that's not counting the horses who also sucummed that day. Again Konotop means dead horses.

Politics and warfare aside, the Festival is stunning. A huge stage features Ukrainian song and dance. There is not a moment without a performance. So much pride is being exhibited in this cultural celebration. I am mesmerized. Click here and become mesmerized yourself.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VUeam5Tqx0U

We wander through the Festival. “Won't you try your hand at archery,” says Annya? Men in Cossack gear have set up a target and a crowd is taking turns. It must not be so easy since I do not see many hit the target. I hesitate but she says, “wait here.” A few moments later she beckons me over to the line where people are awaiting a turn.

Standing there is Daniel, a young fellow whom we met on the Marshrutka ride to the festival.

What a ride. I count 48 people on the Marshrutka where there are seats for 16. We are stuffed. I do not have to hold on since human bodies hold me in place. Daniel hears my English and informs everyone that there is an American on board. “I love American,” says one woman. A young man offers me a swig of beer. Annya says that my presence added levity to what could have been a hot nasty ride.

Daniel is delighted to see me again. He tells me that I can have his place in line. I decline thinking that he has been waiting a long time for his chance. But Daniel insists. “You are my friend...my American friend.” Others push me forward and before I know what is happening, I am next in line.

Well, I did not hit the target, but I was close...real close!!! I think - Potom! Potom! Just wait until next year.

Kindness of Strangers

It was not a serious injury, but it hurt like hell. For a moment I got woozy and had to lay down on the sidewalk. Then I learned again about the kindness of strangers.

My story starts last Friday when I reported to the Hearts of Life Center, my primary Peace Corps assignment. Yelena has arranged a meeting with an interpreter whose name is also Yelena. Yelena II is a teacher of English at one of the local schools. She is a warm and engaging person with excellent translation skills. She gives her time freely so that this stranger from America can begin to understand something.

The three of us fall into an back and forth conversation. It's something you do not take for granted when your counterpart knows no English and you are shaky about your beginner's Russian. It feels good to have a full and easy conversation.

I learn more about Yelena and the Center. She has struggled raising a daughter with cerebral palsy. I am told that in Ukrainian society, people with disabilities are shunned. Yelena had hard times, but she also had ideas of how things could be better. Slowly a dream of a Center for children with disabilities and their families took shape.

I still need to learn more details, but here is what I know. She met other families with disabled children and shared her ideas. In the course of several years, Yelena's dream grew. A dilapidated building was located....if only they had funds for restoration.

A benefactor in the name of the Eastern European Mission came into the picture and provided funds. EEM is an evangelical Christian group out of California and has been active in Ukraine mostly with Bible distribution. Check out www.eem.org With the help of work teams from EEM and local workers too, the building was restored and now serves as a hub of activity.

“When can I start an English club”, asks Yelena? Before I can answer, she suggests, “How about next Tuesday!” She says that several other mothers from the Center are interested as well as leaders from other partner organizations.

There is no pretending that I do not understand with an interpreter present. So with a big gulp, I jump in, “Sure, I think we can get started next Tuesday!”

Actually, I think it's a good way to demonstrate value to my new organization and meet leaders from other community partners too. I am excited. Further conversation reveals that it will be less an English club and more of a beginner's class starting with the alphabet. We will meet on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

I get busy making materials and lesson plans. One of the grand things about the Peace Corps is the chance to try something brand new. In a few days, I will meet a room of strangers eager to learn something from the new Peace Corps volunteer.

My class goes well. Slowly I introduce the English alphabet and we even get to play games. Pick up an alphabet bingo card. Listen carefully to the word. With what letter does it start? When you fill the card completely, get a prize.

We move on to simple sentences. “ What is your name? How are you today? I am feeling great.” My first session had 5 students and my second grows to 8. I see lots of smiles around the room.

The next day I meet with other community leaders in a round table discussion. I tell them that I am excited about learning more about their organizations and Konotop. The Director of Children and Family Services invites me to join her family that evening at a community wide celebration of graduating students.

In the center of town, a platform has been constructed. About 3,000 people have gathered. I am told that even people without graduates come so that they can see who is wearing what. Every graduate is dressed like Americans do for prom night, but maybe even more so. Spiked heels are everywhere.

I listen to the speeches trying to see how many words I can recognize. I am struck by a segment of the program where they recognize parents of honor students before the students get their awards. I am told it is to thank the parents for supporting the education of their son or daughter. What a great idea.

After about an hour or so, I take leave of my new friends and begin my walk home. I am making my way through the crowds when it happens.

I trip over an uneven block of pavement and fall down on the sidewalk jamming the fingers on my left hand. “Damn, did I break something?” I start to feel woozy. I have to lay down. Strangers are stopping and looking. Some are asking me questions....I think. I wonder if I am going to pass out.

That's when familiar faces appear - two of the community leaders from my class. I am so glad to see them. Just a few days ago, we had been strangers and now it is different. They bring me water. They try to console me. I recognize few of the words, but I see the kindness in their faces. Nothing is broken and with my new friends surrounding me I am feeling better and better.

I sit up. They want to get me a taxi or walk me home, but I am feeling normal now and insist that I am all right. Sometimes it's hard to receive kindnesses and I don't want to be a bother. I stand up and take a sip of water. One of them says with a big smile, “Jud, how are you today?” - just as we had done in class. We all laugh.

I walk home slowly. As I climb the 4 flights of stairs to my apartment, my phone rings. Yelena has heard about my fall. She has asked an English speaking friend to call and make sure I am okay.

My first week....Strangers...new friends...concern and kindness.

Welcome to Konotop!

Transition...Again

Already, it's time for another transition. Training is over and I find myself in Konotop (accent on the first syllable). Of course, there is a story behind the name so please read on. Konotop will be my new home.


For 11 weeks Chernihiv had been like my Ukrainian cocoon. I felt safe and secure there. Slowly and steadily I became wrapped up in Ukrainian culture and language under the watchful and supportive care of Peace Corps staff.

I met my host family and received a warm welcome. I will never forget Luda and Pavil and Ksusha and Andre and Natasha and Valerie and Vitaly. You are imprinted into my memory...always.


I learned how to speak some Russian which surprised me. About forty years ago, I dropped out of the Peace Corps because of my lack of language comprehension. That time it was Portuguese and now it is Russian. I think Russian is harder, but then I am older...huh?
Imagine my delight when I learned that I scored “Intermediate One”. That's the second level. With further study, a personal and very functional goal is within reach – to be able to communicate in the native language. Hooray!! I owe a real debt of gratitude to Larisa who has been an amazing teacher, mentor and friend.


I also started new friendships with other volunteers. They are amazing people with deep commitments and a spirit of adventure mixed with a lot of fun. For example, I now have the entire collection of “South Park” down-loaded on my computer. They tell me I can keep my American irreverence alive and healthy by watching. Thanks, Jacob!!


It has been an exciting start. Ukraine was only a name on the map some 11 weeks ago. I use to figure it was some where beyond Germany and before Moscow. But now I know it as home. I am emerging from the cocoon of Peace Corps Training and like every volunteer, I will be place alone.


On June 18th, it became official. I was sworn in as a Peace Corps Volunteer pledging that:

“I will support and defend the constitution of the United States of America against all enemies, foreign and domestic, and that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same, that I take this obligation freely and without reservation or purpose of evasion, and that I will well and faithfully discharge my duties in the Peace Corps of the United States of America, serving Ukraine to the best of my abilities and demonstrating the respect and consideration due its people, so help me God.”


It was a spiffy affair with everyone dressed in what we use to call “our Sunday best”. A nice reception followed. Briefly I got to meet the ranking Embassy Liaison ( the new Ambassador has not yet been appointed by President Obamah). He congratulated me and then spoke Russian to my new partner – Yelena. She was all smiles. It was not long till we both were off to Konotop.

Konotop is about a 2 ½ hour train ride from Kiev. My placement is the furthest north of the new volunteers, not far from the Russian border. I guess they figured... ”Maine has lots of snow...why not Jud in Konotop!” Actually Peace Corps gives it a lot of thought and tries to make a good match. I think mine should be just fine. But why didn't I bring those snow shoes?


Konotop is a small city of about 80,000, maybe 100,000 depending on who you ask.


And here is that story I promised. I've been told that Konotop means horse dead. It seems that during the reign of Catherine the Great, she was inspecting her realm and got stuck in Konotop...literally. Back then the area was a maze of swamps. Catherine the Great must have taken a wrong turn. Soon her entourage was engulfed in the swamp. A bad situation got worse. The horses drowned. Some monarchs might have taken their anger out on the people, but instead Catherine the Great gave the town its name – Horse Dead. Maybe that is why they called her “Great.” I don't know for sure.


So here I am in my new town. Swamps are drained. Yelena walks me to the Activity Center which will be my primary site placement. It's not far from the center of town. We squeeze our way through the crowded Bazaar and down a gravel road.


I cannot help but smile when I see the brightly painted fence that surrounds the Center and grounds. It's painted in pastel colors....Wow! As I enter the gateway, I notice several beds of flowers growing. It's delightful. What a refreshing contrast to the crowds and dusty gravel I just stumbled through. It feels like an oasis.


The Activity Center is for disabled children. It's called “Hearts of Life” and is supported in part by a religious organization out of California. I do not know much about it and my role and responsibilities are yet to be defined.


But initially, I will be teaching English as a second language to a group of 6 volunteers and staff. I have never done it before, but it sparks my interest and creativity. I'll have a chance to learn more Russian too as I give instructions in my best Russian during classes. What a good deal! Russian and English. English and Russian. I have my first session in a few days. I plan to play alphabet bingo. Wish me luck.


So you see, the training cocoon is gone blown away with the summer winds of Ukraine. I am on my own in a new place. I think its time to stretch my wings. Transitions can be such an adventure...huh?

MARSHRUTKA METAPHOR

On my first day in the Peace Corps, our Country Director warned us about private space. She wanted us to be aware that all that we say and do will be observed. “You will be noticed and your personal space will shrink."

It sounded like one of those things that Directors are suppose to say to new recruits to prepare them for the uncertainties of a new environment. I gave it little attention. But as my training and living in Ukraine has progressed, I see the idea of “private space” as a kind of metaphor for what I am learning.

Take a trip with me on a Marshrutka. Just hop on and you will soon be closer to Ukrainian people than you ever thought possible. Personal space is shrinking. You must understand that a Marshrutka is a mini- bus that only seats about 15 people. It becomes a most efficient mode of transportation when jammed with 25 or more people. Of course, the price is right – about 18 cents for a one way ride. Most often it's standing room only. Believe me, I personally counted 27 people on a recent morning trip, but that's not all. The Marshrutka stops along the way. Three get off and another 5 get on. You feel the pressure? Always there seems to be room for more – ЕШЕ! ЕШЕ! That's Russian for more. Just one more!

Yet if you take a moment to observe, there is a marvelous etiquette practiced on Marshrutkas. Here is how it works.

As people get on, they are often pushed back before they have a chance to pay the driver. With people jammed in the isles and no room to move, Ukrainians have devised a practical solution. Money is simply passed forward one hand to another to another to another until it is deposited in the hand of the driver. Need change? No problem. The system works in reverse too. Hand by hand the change is delivered back to the proper passenger with rarely a word spoken. I marvel at the trust among random strangers. Everyone knows what is expected and they do their part. It's a little thing, but maybe revealing a metaphor for the trust and helpfulness needed among people.

Last week, three women who are hosting Peace Corps volunteers came to a meeting to discuss Ukrainian history. As they share, I get to thinking that I have scanned history much too easily. It is one thing to click through history on the Internet. Read about about millions dying of starvation -CLICK. Scan blurbs about the devastation during the Great Patriotic War (World War II) – CLICK. But it's another more striking experience to hear history face to face. Each of the older women tell their family stories. I will not include vivid details. Even now as I recall them, I am pained.

These women share how a father was killed and babies murdered and how people ate any living thing – cats and dogs – just to stay alive and many did not. They tell us about homes destroyed, neighborhoods that no longer existed, of children huddled through the winter in rubble filled foundations of bombed out buildings. So much of Chernihiv was destroyed.

To hear these words (and many more) choke in the throat and to see tears flow even after all these years, I know I am entering an intimate personal space. I am privileged to listen. In that room as the women speak, Ukrainians and Americans are joined together in common history, grief and aspirations.

Later that day, I take a Marshrutka to the center of town. It is crowded as usual, but it feels different. I am sorting through feelings from the morning's history conversation. As coins are passed forward, I notice the stoic exterior of many faces. Ukrainians do not show much emotion in public. It is rare to hear a conversation on a Marshrutka and rarer still to catch a smile. Why? It's so unlike Americans, but then their history is so unlike what we can imagine.

I wonder more about personal space as the Marshrutka rumbles on. What's behind Marshrutka stoicism? What more will Ukrainian people teach me? Maybe for me, personal space will shrink. And maybe it's okay. American and Ukrainian jamed together and learning more and more from one another. I think the ride has just begun.

The BEET Goes On...

Gardens are not hobbies in Ukraine though many people enjoy time spent in the garden. People turn backyards, side yards and every space into gardens. City folks work fields on the outskirts of town that have been sub-divided into family plots. Take a Marshtuka out of town and see families dotting the landscape for as far as the eye sees. All are digging . and planting without the aid of machinery. Why all this activity? Gardens produce food.

Ukrainian history has known hunger even starvation. During the 1930s, Stalin sought to collectivize farms. He systamatically disrupted farming practices and the distribution system. The result was what Ukrainians now call the Holodomor. That's Russian for "death by starvation."

The number is controversial but about 7 million died and maybe as many as 10 million. So strange that I never heard of the Holodomor until I came here to Ukraine. Please take a moment to learn more .... http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holodomor.

When I talk with my new Ukrainian friends, they carry stories in their family histories about the hard times. Many lost family members to starvation and many more were killed in World War II - especially here in Chernihiv where much of the town was destroyed.

I visited Valeri's home again. He invited me to see his garden. It was already planted with carrots, potatoes, peas, garden greens, cabbage. Tomato seedlings grew in protected frames. About ten chickens were in a coop and picking away at scraps. I am told that they produce a few eggs each day. Nearby quite a sizable strawberry patch was beginning to blossom. I am told that nothing compares to fresh Ukrainian strawberries. Maybe Judy, my sister-in-law, will visit and make one of her world class Strawberry Pies...if not this year, next!!

So many people from America ask me about Ukrainian food. Above all it is fresh. Frozen food aisles hardly exist. Processed food is rare.
Look at the salad. Doesn't it look fantastic? It's based upon tomatoes and cabbage and cucumbers. Add a bunch of fresh parsley and dill and you have a wonderful tasting salad. It is never loaded down with high calorie processed dressings. Maybe a little olive or sunflower oil. That's all. I have salad just about everyday....YUM!!


I have gained a cooking reputation even here in Ukraine. So far I have shared with my host family Russian Vegetarian Pie (shown above), Lemon Chicken and Italian pasta with fresh tomato sauce. Last weekend Andre, Natasha and Babushka came for dinner. I baked another Russian Vegetarian Pie. Even Babushka was impressed!! Afterwards we played Russian Uno. What is Russian Uno, you ask? Every time you lay down a card, you must say the number and color in Russian. I learn and Luda wins....AGAIN!!!

Now I have to admit that I was never a fan of the Beet. My mother tried to introduce all of her children to Beets and I was no exception. But for me, Beets just tasted like a mouthful of dirt.


So saying I was not a fan is an understatement. In fact I hated Beets. When friends heard that I was going to Ukraine, they often said..."Ahh, don't they eat a lot of Beets?" I would cringe and change the subject.


Of course my friends were right. There is no way to avoid the BEET in Ukraine. Luda made Borscht during my first week here. I have to admit that I sat down with some hesitation. "Here we go with my first cultural clash," I thought.

But to my surprise, I found Borscht to be pretty good. In fact I now request it and we usually have it for supper at least once a week. There is the traditional red Borscht and Green Borscht. Both are shown. I cannot say that I am in love with the BEET, but at least we are now friends.


Last week I entered a new phase in my affair with Beets. Luda made a beet, bean and potato vinaigrette salad. She served it with thick wedges of dark bread. I was skeptical, but again it tasted good, even YUM! Mom would be proud of me after all of these years. If you want a recipe, send me an email and I will be glad to share.

Our American

May 1st 2009 is a day that I will remember. It is the international day to celebrate workers and still a major holiday in Ukraine. But I will remember May 1st for another reason. It is the day that I was no longer just an American. I was given the title of “Our American.”

On May 1st, I am up early for language class. Every day we study from about 8:30 am to 12:30 pm. Then there is some homework and always the challenge of adding vocabulary. I have not studied so consistently for years. Mostly, it feels good to stretch this old brain.

Today, Andre and Natasha celebrate their wedding with a special dinner and family gathering. Andre is my host's oldest son. They were married yesterday at the state office. Afterwards, they visited a park and took many photos. Interestingly, they also visit the Memorial of the Unknown Soldier and the Eternal Flame in Chernihiv. I am told that because so many died in the past and because every family has deceased relatives whose bodies have never been found, a visit on a wedding day connects and honors family – known and unknown.

I hurry back from language class. Luda and I will take a taxi to the wedding party to be held at the bride's family home. Along the way, we pick up Andre and Babushka. The weather is still overcast, but Andre explains that the party has been moved inside.

As we arrive, Vitaliy, the bride's grandfather, snaps photos. He is 74 and spent many years in the Soviet military. I use my best Russian to introduce myself and to say “it is nice to meet you.” I ask Vitaliy if I may take his picture too. He nods...Da. It's a beginning.

We are ushered into a room where tables have been set in a “U” shape for dinner. It looks like an American Thanksgiving without the turkey. I am struck by the variety and presentation of so many dishes. All has been prepared by Natasha's mother. I ask Andre and Natasha, “How long has Mama been cooking?” They say, “Only two days.” (WOW!!).

The meal is wonderful. Ukrainians nibble on the dishes rather than load down huge servings. In fact the table is set with plates about the size of a coffee saucer. Just when I think the eating is over more hot dishes are brought in from the kitchen. It's a relaxing time as the two families eat a little and become acquainted. I am mindful that I stand out – not in a bad way, just unusual.

I use a trick to engage Vataliy (grandfather). With vocabulary cards in hand, I ask for help. It's a great ice breaker. He tells me the Russian words and corrects me when I stumble. We are able to connect and smile and laugh a lot.

Then Valarie, Natasha's papa, invites everyone outside for bar-b-que. Skewers of pork have been roasting on cherry wood coals. The smell and taste is fantastic. I find myself at a table with all the men and young boys of the gathering. Voldka is shared. All want to try on my big black felt hat. It is quite an unusual sight. I take lots of pictures. Some of the younger boys are able to translate a little and I just jump in with my elementary Russian. I am having a great time.

In the midst of all the fun, Vataliy grabs me in a big bear hug cheek to cheek and says something about Peace and the need for more Peace in the world. I agree wholeheartedly and he tells me we will be friends and then adds a word. A young boy tells me, “He says forever.” Before I can react, he turns to the others and says, “He is OUR American.”

Later, Valarie (the papa) gives a little speech. “I was worried about having an American in my home. I did not know how it would be. But now I see the good feeling. You are always desirable guest in my house,” he says. My eyes swell a little and with hand on heart, I say “Thank you....Thank you very much. My honor to be here.”

Gardens Everywhere...HOORAY!

As a child, I remember singing...”April showers will bring May flowers.” Here in Ukraine the flowering season has arrived surrounding even the most stark Soviet style building with a breath of freshness.

I arrived in Ukraine just one month ago on April 1st. Winter was winding down and temperatures soared into the 70s for a few days. It was enough to give a hint of spring green. While temperatures would dip near freezing in the weeks ahead, the seasons were changing. My friend Bob wrote me in mid-April saying that the ice was “mostly off the lakes” in Maine. I think Ukraine is ahead of Maine.

My first weekend in Chernihiv saw the annual Spring clean-up. Organizations from across this city of 300,000 mobilized some 20,000 people to rake up the winter debris. Chernihiv can really turn out people of all ages. Pride, I think. Paint was provided for benches and fences to be given a quick coat of color. Purple was the flavor this year.

My first weekend in Chernihiv saw the annual Spring clean-up. Organizations from across this city of 300,000 mobilized some 20,000 people to rake up the winter debris. Chernihiv can really turn out people of all ages. Pride, I think. Paint was provided for benches and fences to be given a quick coat of color. Purple was the flavor this year.

Interestingly, trees are given a coat of white wash. I have not discovered whether this is a cosmetic preference or has some utilitarian purpose. Either way it seems to be a wide spread practice.

The city housing is mostly comprised of with box-like apartment complexes that create an open space in the middle away from the highways and streets. Trees frame the space and benches and maybe a child's swing or two complete the park like area. Often in the late afternoon, I see babushkas (grandmothers or anyone who looks over 60), sitting and chatting with one another. I am told that they often spend hours recalling the old day. “Do you remember this?” “Da (yes), do you remember when...”

As the weeks progressed, I noticed small gardens popping up every where. On the side of an apartment, a woman turns the soil. She carefully works around the early spring tulips and daffodils. On the buses, I see men caring small shrubs and trees. I spied a few lilac and maybe cherry trees. Near my apartment, old tires are painted purple being turned into planters for lilly of the valley and hostas. I am charmed.

Ukrainian people love gardening. I love gardening too. I am feeling my first pangs of home-sickness - not because I am unhappy, but because I miss my garden. Sounds silly, but I am sure many understand especially my padrugas (friends), Ilene and Patti and Domenica. We would always get together to swap our various ideas for this year's “better than ever” garden. I will miss those times.

Now my house is sold and I am in Ukraine.

Today my cluster went to a Dasha. A Dasha is a country kitchen and garden. Many Ukrainians

go out to their Dasha to plant vegetable and maybe a few flowers. They have weekly outings to tend the “sod” (garden) and then harvest the produce

Ukrainians tend to be seasonal in their vegetable eating. When I go into a grocery store, I am reminded of Patman's in my boyhood. Warren and Pete, do you recall? Can goods lined the shelves behind the counter and a small area in the corner held the available produce for the season. Right now in Ukraine sorrel is available and I am enjoying “green” borscht.
The Dasha that we visited belonged to a famous Ukrainian writer of the late 19th century. Michael Katsoobinski wrote about the sorrow and pain of this life urging his people to not be passive in their living but to grasp each day for freedom. While he was writing, his wife tended a wonderful garden. Imagine the inspiration. Now it is a historical site managed by his great great grandson.

I may not be able to have a garden this year, but you can be sure that by the time next year rolls around and “April showers bring May flower”, I will have a small Ukrainian sod!! Somewhere! Somehow!

Ukrainian Pasxa

Imagine that you are at one of the Big Ten Universities, like Purdue. It's a bright day. The sky is cloudless blue and there is a chill that bites into your cheeks. You and hundreds, thousands of others are scurrying to the stadium for a game. Everyone is focused on making it there before the first kick-off.

Now transport yourself to Ukraine and experience Pasxa (Orthodox Easter). It is 5:30 am and the sun is not quite up. I quickly dress and pack a basket filled with foods. Typically, the foods include Pasca bread, kielbasa, colored eggs and anything else that the family might eat that day.

Luda and I wait for a taxi. She is on crutches and it is impossible for her to walk long distances. Together we take the taxi to one of Chernihiv's oldest and largest churches. The day is breaking as we depart. It will be one of those bright chilly Big Ten football days.

But to my surprise the analogy continues.

I immediately notice that the streets and walkways are busy. Hundreds, thousands of people are walking to church. Each family or couple holds a big wicket basket filled with Pasxa foods. One after another after another they form a procession scurrying just like the crowds at a football game. The difference is that many of these people will walk miles. Few have cars and buses will not be used on Pasxa. This is a holy time, a holy procession from every corner of Chernighiv. The sight and extent of devotion is remarkable.

We arrive at the church. It is one of Chernihiv's oldest and largest. A fence and gate encircles an inner courtyard. Today the gate is flung wide open. Kneeling at the gate are a half dozen beggars. Bibical images come alive as Luda stops, holds her crutches in one hand and bends down to places a few coins in a beggar's hands. I do the same.

In the court yard, families stand side by side in a winding snake like formation. All are focused on a Pasxa morning blessing. The baskets of food are uncovered. The priest and several acolytes slowly pass along the line chanting “Christ is Risen” and then in response “He is Risen Indeed.” Along with the chant, copious amounts of holy water are slung onto the food and families. All cross themselves and some fall to their knees in an act of humility as if before the risen Christ.

Inside huge crowds wander between pictures, statues and tombs of holy men. Slowly and devoutly prayers are muttered, the sign of the cross is made and often a kiss – a holy kiss is placed on the icon.

Luda has an advantage with her crutches. The people seem to part to give her space. I follow her in her prayers. A few candles are lit and placed on pedestal displays. Their reflection shines in the massive golden altar stretching from floor to ceiling and wall to wall.
I remember family and friends who I know are having difficult times. I think of the blessings we all havein sharing each day. After an hour or so, Luda asks, “Ready to go?” I am.

We pass by the beggars again giving a few extra coins . I take photos of the church and the priest blessing more families and Pasxa food. My Ukrainian church time ends as the blessings of Pasxa begin.

Sights in Chernihiv

Here I am with Ksoosha. She is 23 years old and has studied tourism at the Institute. She has been fantastic in helping me since she knows how to speak a lot of English. One afternoon, she and Pavil (Paul) took me on a sightseeing excursion. After a life time of looking at pictures of the onion domed churches, I was walking towards them in the golden sun light.

We were welcomed to Ukraine in a traditional welcome ceremony. The bread was the most beautiful piece of culinary art that I have ever seen. It was a shame to eat it. But we all were invited to partake in a kind of welcoming communion. Ukrainians are warm and welcoming. They have a saying that it takes the eating of 16 kilos of salt between people to become friends. While I may not ingest so much salt, I look forward to new friendships. Here is a view from the ramparts that surround one of the churches. I believe it is the Dniper River. In the early Spring all is waking up and fresh.

Magnificent holy structures. On Palm Sunday, they have the blessing of the pussy willows and weeping willows at the churches. Bunches of willows are brought to the church. The Priest takes a bucket of holy water and drenches the willows and the people holding them. Believe me, I got wet like a Baptist! The willows are taken home and a ritual flogging is performed so that the pain of the life will leave this family during this holy week and stay away throughout the year.

I can only hope that the pain of this life will be bearable for all this year and maybe stay away...for many more to come. Bless the pussy willows and weeping willows. Bless us all.

This is a memorial to all the people of Chernivol. After all these many years, the melt down of the nuclear reactor still makes the area inhabitable. Although I read that the animal population is on the rebound. The animals may not live so long, but without a human population they have an opportunity to fill the ecological space.

I believe this is the oldest church in Chernihiv. It is caught in the middle of a struggle between the Russian and Ukrainian Orthodox Churches. Who will have this historic church under their control? I find it remarkably beautiful. What do you think?