Saturday night, after our seminar in Ceadir-Lunga, Emily came back to Tvarditsa with me. It was a warm and lovely afternoon, and we rewarded ourselves for the day’s work with a glass of wine in the garden, relaxing and enjoying the quiet sounds of a Saturday afternoon in the village. Around 6, Anya came out to collect her geese from the stream and bring them back in for the evening. We followed her down the hill, enjoying listening to her tell us about the various plants that are sprouting – the peas here, the potatoes there, the many sorts of beans. The grapevines have started to flower and she indicated which ones will produce white grapes, which ones red, which ones are old vines, which ones are young and not yet ready for cultivation. She pointed out the walnut trees she and Georghi planted 25 years ago when they moved back to Tvarditsa.
We sat on a bench at the end of the garden, listening to the adolescent geese chatter and watching them hustle about, getting the last nibble of grass or the last splash in the stream for the day. At the call of “ba ba ba ba” from Anya they all perked up and started to waddle up the hill to their pen. I suddenly recalled a book from my childhood, “The Story of Peng” I think it was called, about a duck in China who was always the last one in line to get on the boat at the end of the day and thus always got a whack on the back from his keeper. Anya’s get a light whack only if they wander off the path and into the grapevines.
Back at the house, Anya asked me if I could go get some fresh bread from the store. This has become one of my regular tasks and I always enjoy it. I still get a kick out of watching the clerk make a notation of the family’s account in her ledger and receiving in return one or two huge loaves of warm fresh bread. They must weigh at least 5 pounds each, if not more. Carrying home two loaves at once is usually a decent work-out for my arms. When the ground is dry, I’ve started walking to the store via the gardens, walking down the hill behind the house and along the stream to one of the side streets. As I returned by the same path Saturday night, I was overcome with a sense of contentment – it was a beautiful evening, the gardens were green and peaceful, I felt so comfortable and at home with my simple and common task of getting the bread. I thought about the last few days, the GLOW seminar, the NGO seminar, feeling good that I’m doing something meaningful and productive. But what I liked best that week was sitting in the garden with Anya, talking about her farm, sharing my day’s experiences with her. There are so many moments, so many days of being unsure, uncomfortable, insecure, helpless and useless; so many days when I’m not sure why I’m here or what I’m supposed to be doing. But a quiet tranquil hour like Saturday evening rejuvenates me. The confusion and struggles are part of the experience, but they seem manageable again, and I think to myself “God, I love it here.”
Anka in Kyiv 