Written by Joanna Mokrogulska
I grew up in a very small village consisting of eighty-one houses. Mine was the last one—number 81. The house stood on a hill and was surrounded by trees, mostly birch. Nearby, there was a vast forest with both deciduous and coniferous trees. Today, this forest is called a national park and contains some of the oldest tree stands, including oaks, beeches, pines, and larches. There are also many heathers. People often go there to pick wild mushrooms.
As a child, I went there to pick mushrooms too. I loved collecting boletuses the most, but they weren’t easy to find. My grandmother or mother would prepare special wild mushroom dishes. Besides mushrooms, I also picked wild blueberries, strawberries, and raspberries—they tasted different from farmed berries.
I loved walking in the forest and breathing in the fresh forest air—but only during the day. I was afraid to go there in the evening. My grandmother always said that the forest is cheerful only until noon.
Our house was made entirely of wood. It had two rooms and a big kitchen. There was also a pantry and a large room upstairs. The rooms were very modest but cozy. The floors were wooden, with no carpets—just small, narrow rugs beside the beds. The furniture was meager, too. In the dining room, there was a table, a wardrobe, a wooden whatnot, and two small cabinets.
There was a wood-fired tiled stove (different from a fireplace) in the dining room, and an old-fashioned stone oven in the kitchen. The tiles were honey-colored, with small leaf designs scattered around.
We didn’t have a TV. If I wanted to watch a film or a program, I would go with my grandmother to the neighbors’, but we didn’t visit often—usually only on Sundays.
Water was a major problem. We didn’t have a well. We had to go to the forest and bring water back in buckets, sometimes several times a day. The water tasted lovely. We didn’t use it for washing, though—we collected rainwater for that.
Although the living conditions were tough, it was the most wonderful time of my life. My family had a large apple orchard, a vegetable garden, and some chickens, so we always had fresh eggs. The environment was peaceful—no pollution, no planes, no cars, not many lights. I remember watching the sunrise and sunset. As a child, I enjoyed walking in the morning dew.
The weather used to be better. However, I remember the storms—they were severe. My grandmother was afraid of them, and eventually, I became afraid too. We would place a candle in the window and pray. My grandmother even covered the sewing machine, believing the metal might attract lightning. Our house didn’t have a lightning rod and was surrounded by tall trees, which made storms risky.
Summers were hot—but not as hot as today. Winters were bitterly cold, with deep snow. My grandmother didn’t like winter. It was hard to keep the house warm, especially at night when temperatures dropped.
Her name was Theodora, though her parents had wanted to name her Theodosia. Unfortunately, the priest refused. He said he had never heard of the name Theodosia, so at the last minute, they chose Theodora.
She was short and a bit overweight, with brown eyes, fair skin, and brown hair. She was hardworking and loved country life. She adored her animals—cats, dogs, ducks, and chickens. Gardening wasn’t too difficult, but working the field was. Our family didn’t own a horse like others in the village. The land was hilly, and the labor was exhausting. She had to carry corn sheaves, hay, and even firewood on her back in large sheets. Her daughters helped with household chores and work in the field.
Every Sunday, she wore her simple but elegant clothes and went to church. I remember her tying on a headscarf and looking at herself in the mirror. Later, our whole family started buying her headscarves—she ended up with a large collection.
One day, I went up to the attic…
