Perpetual Change

The Black Earth of Ukraine

Sorry about the last entry, I was late to get to Grandma’s house. We have been working on clearing the garden. Apparently, last year Babusya’s mother died (my host great grandmother, she was in her 90’s) and no one got much work done on the farm. Yet they reaped enough to have cans and cans of tomatoes and pickles and jams and juices, all of which are very good. My family keeps them in the basement. We live in an apartment complex but there is a basement where everyone keeps their stuff. Ukrainians farm everything. The land around the apartment complexes is all subdivided into kitchen garden plots.

One of my favorites is the raspberry jam, and they also have a sweet raspberry wine. I told them that at the restaurant where I used to work, we sold a very similar one for a lot of money. I have a new love/hate relationship for these raspberries though, because they got a little out of hand last year, so I have spent a lot of time clearing them the last couple of weeks and raspberry bushes are a little bit prickly. The work only makes my conviction stronger - farming is 10% knowing what you are doing, and 90% yardwork. So if you only half-know what you are doing but you work hard, you are still doing a 95% job. The funniest part is that in the last few days there have been occasions where I have had to stop working because my mom, brother, and grandparents start yelling at each other about how something should be done, and most of the time I am sent back to do what I was doing. It is really interesting to see them all interact. I can see the exact same behaviors acted out between my mom and hers and my mom and her sons. I don’t really think she likes working on the garden, as her 16 year old certainly doesn’t, but she knows she has to do it. I am glad that spring is here though (the weather has really been very nice and all the ponds are unfrozen), because it means some fresh vegetables. They say that Ukrainians have four food groups: beets, potatoes, carrots and cabbage. It does feel that way a bit now.

When I worked on the captain’s farm, they had a tool that they don’t seem to have here. I don’t even know what it is called in any language, but it is like a shovel with the head turned more than 90 degrees from the handle. You can use it very effectively to clear land, and I could have used it with the raspberries, but my host mother didn’t know of one. Maybe I should try to introduce them as a secondary project (just kidding, but you never know). I also tried to have a very limited conversation with Grandpa about his wine. It is not very good, but it is very complex and so I think it shows a lot of potential. They seem to enjoy yelling at each other more though. It isn’t really yelling, but it really sounds that way.

Speaking of yelling, I got my second verbal lashing the other day. It was quite funny really. We were clearing tree limbs that had been cut down. We were all taking handfuls out to a pile in the middle of the park out in front on the street, where it would all be certainly be burned later (now that it is spring cleaning smoldering piles of leaves and limbs are everywhere). Well apparently this pile belonged to someone, and it just happened that I was the only one out there when she decided to notice. The rest of the family was back getting more. She started yelling at me from across the street, walking towards me, and I was pretty sure I could guess what it was about with her gesticulating, but I played dumb and said sorry I didn’t understand. Well that didn’t slow her a bit, so I said, “I am sorry, I don’t speak Ukrainian” (in Ukrainian as is the rest of this exchange) She says, “oh, what language do you understand (in a very loud angry voice),” and I say, “I speak English.” Then she says, “You understand Ukrainian fine” and then launches into another tirade that I assume means “now get your stuff out of here.” So I backed down. I was quite proud that I could recount the story (satisfactorily) to the family; they were quite amused.

You know what else is amusing, the fir hats that everyone really does have. They come in a variety of types, but some of them are HUGE! I swear, they must be 2 feet across. Grandpa is still wearing his while we are in the garden. Most people have gone to their spring clothes though. I never thought of the need for spring coats, but everyone has one. Most of them are still quite heavy. Ukrainians have a general phobia about cold drafts. I was dying in my winter coat though, so I had to go buy one at the market, but that is another story. I did have the work coat I was given for garden work off the other day, it must have been in the 50’s at least (though everything is in Celsius which for all my time in Europe, I have never quite mastered). Babusya was awfully nervous that I would get sick. I didn’t really expect it from her because she was a doctor. She is exactly what you would imagine a Ukrainian grandmother to look like, really quite beautiful, and I bet she was a great doctor. All the doctors in Ukraine are state educated and the health care is state financed, so being a doctor doesn’t translate to wealth here. Though, they seem to be doing fine. Grandpa was an engineer so both very educated people, but when they talk to me, they talk VERY loud. My host mom keeps telling them that I don’t speak the language, not that I am deaf. They are really sweet people and they life at the end of a little lane with a well (I think where my mom was raised) and it is quintessential Ukraine.

Oh, and PS. No indoor running water (I haven’t figured out where the bathroom is yet), but they have these sinks that have tanks and you fill them with water and then push up on a plug that lets the water run out (like the soap dispensers in schools). It is very clever. A lot of people still rely on well water.

posted by jjs @ 8:00 AM