Funny how the mind works. I woke up this morning with a two-decade old memory stuck in my head. So I had to go through some old photos until I found tangible evidence that I wasn’t just dreaming.
Back in 2004, I hitched a ride with a Ukrainian farmer and his shepherd dog across some furrowed farmland outside of Zhytomyr, close to where my mom was born before collectivization, near fields that my grandfather ploughed.
Poor Ukraine. Always struggling to survive. Borderland of trouble. It’s a wonder anything grows
on such a blood-soaked land.
I’m a city person, born and raised where streets are paved, dogs are leashed and streetlights keep the night away. But some of that kulak farm blood still runs through my veins.
Peace to you, dear farmer. Thanks for the ride. Thanks for sharing your rich land with a stranger. I still feel the connection.
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| Red stone in a field once the foundation of my grandfather's windmill |
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