After stopping at the train station (our pre-arranged rendezvous point) to pick up (okay, this gets complicated…) Silvija's dad's best friend's Ojar's son-in-law Janis (whew!), we headed out on the dirt roads to the piece of land Silvija's dad had reclaimed.
After stopping at the train station (our pre-arranged rendezvous point) to pick up (okay, this gets complicated…) Silvija's dad's best friend's Ojar's son-in-law Janis (whew!), we headed out on the dirt roads to the piece of land Silvija's dad had reclaimed.
After stopping at the train station (our pre-arranged rendezvous point) to pick up (okay, this gets complicated…) Silvija's dad's best friend's Ojar's son-in-law Janis (whew!), we headed out on the dirt roads to the piece of land Silvija's dad had reclaimed.
Latvians have a deep, almost spiritual connection with the white birch. In retrospect, it's almost ironic that Peters' brother-in-law from his first marriage had bought a house on a piece of property in Connecticut that was on an old birch tree farm. Even then, Peters couldn't ignore the seductive siren song of the soft wind whispering through the birch tree leaves.
Latvians have a deep, almost spiritual connection with the white birch. In retrospect, it's almost ironic that Peters' brother-in-law from his first marriage had bought a house on a piece of property in Connecticut that was on an old birch tree farm. Even then, Peters couldn't ignore the seductive siren song of the soft wind whispering through the birch tree leaves.
Latvians have a deep, almost spiritual connection with the white birch. In retrospect, it's almost ironic that Peters' brother-in-law from his first marriage had bought a house on a piece of property in Connecticut that was on an old birch tree farm. Even then, Peters couldn't ignore the seductive siren song of the soft wind whispering through the birch tree leaves.
Nothing is more noble than the tall white birch!
Nothing is more noble than the tall white birch!
Nothing is more noble than the tall white birch!
After swatting really big mosquitoes and admiring the birches, we carefully made a U-turn on the little dirt road (did we mention the gullies on both sides?) and headed back towards town. Our next stop was to swing by Silvija's dad's neighborhood where he grew up as a child in Koknese. Latvians are all sentimentalists—when Janis took care of the paperwork for Silvija's dad's land, he named it the name of his childhood home, Robezkalni (literally, "Border-hills").
After swatting really big mosquitoes and admiring the birches, we carefully made a U-turn on the little dirt road (did we mention the gullies on both sides?) and headed back towards town. Our next stop was to swing by Silvija's dad's neighborhood where he grew up as a child in Koknese. Latvians are all sentimentalists—when Janis took care of the paperwork for Silvija's dad's land, he named it the name of his childhood home, Robezkalni (literally, "Border-hills").
After swatting really big mosquitoes and admiring the birches, we carefully made a U-turn on the little dirt road (did we mention the gullies on both sides?) and headed back towards town. Our next stop was to swing by Silvija's dad's neighborhood where he grew up as a child in Koknese. Latvians are all sentimentalists—when Janis took care of the paperwork for Silvija's dad's land, he named it the name of his childhood home, Robezkalni (literally, "Border-hills").
Silvija's dad's old home was still there, looking much as it had those many years ago. Of course, someone else lives there now—Silvija's dad didn't say much, but there was a sense, we're sure, of not being able to go home. Even when Peters' mom returns to Latvia, her old home, Mordanga, still feels like home—yet, there too, is a deep abiding sense that the past is gone forever. The future is in the hands of the next generation.
Silvija's dad's old home was still there, looking much as it had those many years ago. Of course, someone else lives there now—Silvija's dad didn't say much, but there was a sense, we're sure, of not being able to go home. Even when Peters' mom returns to Latvia, her old home, Mordanga, still feels like home—yet, there too, is a deep abiding sense that the past is gone forever. The future is in the hands of the next generation.
Silvija's dad's old home was still there, looking much as it had those many years ago. Of course, someone else lives there now—Silvija's dad didn't say much, but there was a sense, we're sure, of not being able to go home. Even when Peters' mom returns to Latvia, her old home, Mordanga, still feels like home—yet, there too, is a deep abiding sense that the past is gone forever. The future is in the hands of the next generation.
Across the road however, it was possible for just a few moments to Silvija's dad to feel at home. His grammar school friend still lived there, and the house, fitted logs grayed over what was surely at least a century, looked just as it had, if a bit more worn than last remembered. That mattered little as Silvija's dad chatted away.
Across the road however, it was possible for just a few moments to Silvija's dad to feel at home. His grammar school friend still lived there, and the house, fitted logs grayed over what was surely at least a century, looked just as it had, if a bit more worn than last remembered. That mattered little as Silvija's dad chatted away.
Across the road however, it was possible for just a few moments to Silvija's dad to feel at home. His grammar school friend still lived there, and the house, fitted logs grayed over what was surely at least a century, looked just as it had, if a bit more worn than last remembered. That mattered little as Silvija's dad chatted away.
The day was hot and sunny—we were sorely in need of a bit of shade, whether natural or artificial, and sustenance. Janis (whose parents still live in Koknese—and where he works during the week) knew the perfect spot for us to turn in and enjoy some hearty Latvian food and chat over cold beers. Poor Peters, our designated driver, he had to drink juice!
The day was hot and sunny—we were sorely in need of a bit of shade, whether natural or artificial, and sustenance. Janis (whose parents still live in Koknese—and where he works during the week) knew the perfect spot for us to turn in and enjoy some hearty Latvian food and chat over cold beers. Poor Peters, our designated driver, he had to drink juice!
The day was hot and sunny—we were sorely in need of a bit of shade, whether natural or artificial, and sustenance. Janis (whose parents still live in Koknese—and where he works during the week) knew the perfect spot for us to turn in and enjoy some hearty Latvian food and chat over cold beers. Poor Peters, our designated driver, he had to drink juice!
latviski
↗