Vera Sytch's Posts
My turn to ask, "May I come with you?"
The rains had ruined our plans for the day, so the kids pulled out board games and the adults chatted. We were in Petryliv, a village in the foothills of the Carpathian Mountains in western Ukraine where my cousin Yuri* lived. It was August, and I had wanted to see the harvest being gathered. But the rains meant the harvest was delayed, and since we were leaving the next day, I would not see - or photograph - the gathering of the crops.
"Maybe we could go for a walk," I suggested to my cousin after the downpour was over. "Show me the local church or cemetery - something I haven't seen yet in your village." These were a poor alternative to seeing the harvest, which had been in full swing before the cloudburst, but what else could I do?
Cousin Yuri obliged, and we wandered down a muddy road toward the church.
My gregarious cousin knew everyone in this small village, so our walk was punctuated by stops to chat with people. As a horse-drawn wagon clip-clopped toward us, Yuri greeted the couple, and they stopped briefly to talk.
I learned that they were going to their field to collect the barley they had harvested, but not gathered before the rainstorm. Taking advantage of this unexpected opportunity, I asked unabashedly, "May I come with you?"
What could they say? "Of course...."
So I climbed into the wagon and grabbed my cousin's hand, pulling him on board, too.
As we clip-clopped past my cousin's house on the way to the field, my daughter Kalyna spotted me in the wagon. The couple stopped so she could clamber onto the wagon as well.
Up in the fields above the village, the couple's son joined them to help.
I learned how it's done as well and insisted on helping, much to the village woman's amusement.
While we gathered the barley, their horse, Chestnut, kept nudging closer to sample the harvested grain, so my daughter got an unexpected "driving lesson," thus keeping the horse's muzzle out of the grain.
When we were done filling the burlap bags with barley, we helped load the wagon.
What started out as a dull, rainy day ended up being a memorable adventure, thanks to the openness and hospitality of villagers.
* Since my cousin (on left) died recently, these pictures and memories mean even more to me.
"Maybe we could go for a walk," I suggested to my cousin after the downpour was over. "Show me the local church or cemetery - something I haven't seen yet in your village." These were a poor alternative to seeing the harvest, which had been in full swing before the cloudburst, but what else could I do?
Cousin Yuri obliged, and we wandered down a muddy road toward the church.
My gregarious cousin knew everyone in this small village, so our walk was punctuated by stops to chat with people. As a horse-drawn wagon clip-clopped toward us, Yuri greeted the couple, and they stopped briefly to talk.
I learned that they were going to their field to collect the barley they had harvested, but not gathered before the rainstorm. Taking advantage of this unexpected opportunity, I asked unabashedly, "May I come with you?"
What could they say? "Of course...."
So I climbed into the wagon and grabbed my cousin's hand, pulling him on board, too.
As we clip-clopped past my cousin's house on the way to the field, my daughter Kalyna spotted me in the wagon. The couple stopped so she could clamber onto the wagon as well.
Up in the fields above the village, the couple's son joined them to help.
I learned how it's done as well and insisted on helping, much to the village woman's amusement.
While we gathered the barley, their horse, Chestnut, kept nudging closer to sample the harvested grain, so my daughter got an unexpected "driving lesson," thus keeping the horse's muzzle out of the grain.
When we were done filling the burlap bags with barley, we helped load the wagon.
What started out as a dull, rainy day ended up being a memorable adventure, thanks to the openness and hospitality of villagers.
* Since my cousin (on left) died recently, these pictures and memories mean even more to me.
