October 18th

I was sitting down to write an entry about the lackluster lifespan in Russia when my hozyaika’s daughter came in and asked me if I wanted to go to the forest. I said “Why not? When?” Now was the reply. So I dropped what I was doing and joined the family in their brand new Volkswagen for an excursion to the countryside. We drove about 15 miles outside the city and found ourselves on a dirt road winding through tiny ramshackle dachas on small plots of land. There were all manner of elderly folks out gardening and planting and harvesting their plots. It was explained to me that in 1988 the harvest in Russia had failed, as it had so many times during the communist era. There were no vegetables, cheese, fruit, or milk in the stores and everyone was fending for themselves. Ironically there was no shortage of meat, but it wasn’t enough to feed everyone in a well balanced manner. So, Gorbachev, as part of his perestroika plan decided that those members of society who weren’t contributing directly to the production of goods should be given plots of land with which to feed themselves in order to take pressure off the productive members of society. Thus, all the professors at Russia’s Universities were given small plots of land outside of town. Sure enough, my host dad and mom, both being professors (geophysics and geology respectively), received their plots of land outside the city for free. Of course, now in a market society this land is quite valuable, so it really was a great “investment.” Amusingly, because of the way this land distribution was carried out, as we drove along the streets of this little village, Olga Arkeedevna was pointing out houses saying, “and there lives Professor of Geography So and So, and here is Professor of German So and So digging up her potatoes, etc. etc.” It was really quite an otherworldly experience. I can only imagine all of my college professors tending to their plots of land on the weekend after a long week of lectures. Next to our plot of land was a kalina tree. These red berries are something of a national symbol and also the subject of one of the most popular Russian songs of all time. So, I was given a pair of clippers and a bucket and I began to pick these berries. They smell horrible and apparently taste worse, but as Olga Arkeedevna explained to me, “When I was a child, my father loved these berries. In the 40’s and 50’s, when there was simply no food to be had, his family would have whole meals of only these berries. I can’t stand them myself but I pick them in his memory.” After that we went for a walk in the woods, mostly just to enjoy the weather but also to search for mushrooms, a pastime of Gena’s that I’ve mentioned earlier. Apparently it was a very dry summer so there were no mushrooms to be had, but the forest was very beautiful. It was a birch forest, with the white barked trees reaching to the sky and a layer of leaves and short grass covering the ground. The air was cool and crisp as we wandered through the trees and I was really enjoying myself. I was in the meantime getting a biology and mythology lecture to rival the best of them. I was told about plants that can heal cuts, plants that can bind wounds, how ferns work and how old moss and lichens are. I also found out that a sharpened birch branch can kill a vampire (good to know…). At one point, I came across a large pit in the ground where it looked like a tree had fallen recently. I asked if that was the case and the answer was shocking. I was told that it was the remnants of earthworks from a German defensive position in these woods north of the city during the battle here in 1943. I was skeptical, considering this was a public forest with no indication at all of its historic significance. Five yards further on there was a slit trench and next to it, an identical pit, about three feet deep and six feet across, with a sloped entrance facing away from where the Russian lines would have been. As we continued on, I saw whole defensive positions of these earthworks in almost pristine condition except for the timber coverings which had disappeared in the intervening 65 years. It was frighteningly eerie as I wandered through this silent beautiful forest imagining the huddled German troops waiting for the final assault of the Russians that would begin their long retreat back to Berlin. Apparently, these positions are so plentiful in the battle scarred Russia that this one didn’t even warrant special consideration after the all the bones and weapons had been collected (a recent undertaking here in Voronezh). All in all, a wonderful and enlightening experience.