1. GNIAZDOWO AND BABCIA
My grandmother's name was Stefania Haracz (do you know, from my stories here, Steffi's House? I named the house after her). Born a Pole, at a time when there was no Poland on the map, she spent her childhood in what is now the Ukraine (she spoke Ukrainian), in a village that was then part of the Russian Empire (she did not speak Russian, Polish was her first language). Once Poland gained its nationhood again, she moved back to southeast Poland in what was a massive exodus of Poles returning to Poland.
In my eyes, Stefania, or Babcia as I called her, was heroic. She was no "feminist." Subservient to my grandfather (who was some 15 years her senior), dedicated to her family, in all the years I lived with her, spent summers with her, I never saw her relax with any friends. (Did she even have friends?) She worked to keep the house and home and family afloat at a time when there was no electricity in the village (oil lamps for light, water warmed on the coal burning stove), or running water (she had a well outside, the toilet was an outhouse), no road leading to the village (she walked, or in the rare case where she needed more distant transport, she (and I as a young child) was ferried by horse and wagon, hired from a farmer nearby.
She'd lived in the south of Poland, she moved to Detroit then New York (she worked as a cleaning person, having dropped out of elementary school to care for her siblings when her mother died), then northern Michigan, then finally back in Poland, where she and my grandfather moved to shortly before I was born.
Her legacy was this: I felt loved by her. Really loved, without condition or reservation (a feeling not common in my rather shattered family). And I loved her right back. She was the one I would turn to, not with my thoughts, worries, or words, but with my heart.
* * *
My grandparents bought half of a small house in 1952, just after my sister was born. Close to Warsaw (an hour by train -- the local station less than an hour by foot), it was built in the hamlet of Gniazdowo (or the wider village of Kaliska). I lived there with my sister and my grandparents until I was three and deemed ready for Warsaw's daycare. Thereafter, I spent, with few exceptions, every summer with my grandmother (and sometimes by grandfather).
Gniazdowo had no stores, it had nothing really, just a few houses. But, it was bordered by a splendid pine forest on one side, the river Liwiec on the other, with meadows and farmland right outside the fenced yards of those who lived there.
The portion of the house belonging to my grandparents was small. (And really, I saw it as my grandmother's house, as my restless grandfather moved in and out frequently, having a passion for social justice, which took him back to the regions of his birth in the south often, and for long years, returning only as a sick old man, needing her care once again). It had a kitchen where we ate and played as tots, a bedroom for my grandparents, and a tiny room to the side of the kitchen where I slept with my sister. Babcia was a fanatic about cleanliness and entry to our sleeping nook during the day was out of the questions. She saw family members and village people die of disease. Germs terrified her.
My grandfather was a skilled builder of everything, and slowly he added to the house. A three season veranda where we ate in the summer. Eventually, they could buy the second half of the house. And when we were coming back from my father's six year diplomatic stint in New York, my grandfather added a second story -- with a vast attic space for my parents (who rarely visited, but still, it was there for them) and a small room for my sister. I stayed in the nook by the kitchen, liking the warmth, the noises from the kitchen in the mornings, and the east facing window that brought in sunshine to wake me up.
The Gniazdowo house was my sanctuary. My slice of heaven. Once I could ride a bike (age 7), I had complete freedom to come and go, to do whatever I pleased. Always outside in the yard, or by the river, or in the forests on dry days, my sister and I were sure to show up for meals. That's how Babcia kept track of us. I suppose if we didn't show up she'd send out a search party. But we always showed up.
When my grandfather died (in 1971), my mother helped Babcia sell the house, so that my grandmother could live in the city, closer to civilization, stores, medical care. Babcia must have been lonely in Gniazdowo. She was surely even more lonely in her small Warsaw apartment. She knew no one. Except for occasional family drop-ins, no one visited her. These were the years when she discovered books. With hardly any education, she read voraciously. Magazines, books my mother gave her -- she read them all. But she missed her son who had stayed in the U.S., and eventually she moved to be close to him in California. There, she died, just after my daughters met her on a brief visit out west.
My sister, who has lived in Warsaw all her adult life, wanted to return to Gniazdowo with her sons, in the summers of their childhood. At first she lived in a house a short stroll my my old grandparents' home. When their once home was up for sale, she sold her summer place and bought (at a very cheap price) the home she and I basically grew up in. My sister loves the place in a way that I no longer do: it is part of her adult world. Once I left to live in the United States, I never looked back. Gniazdowo belonged to my past. Like a great love who stayed behind, across the ocean.
2. TAKING MY FAMILY TO GNIAZDOWO
As important as showing Warsaw to the two younger families was to me, I'd say equally important was showing them Gniazdowo. They're in Warsaw for only four full days, but one of them had to be handed over to a visit to this hamlet by the river. This is the day for it -- the day for Gniazdowo.
Weather-wise, it's not ideal. They still predict some showers, and the high will reach only 62F/16.5C. But, it took some planning to fit the trip in. We can't do the train because, nice as it is, the trip would sallow most of the day for us. And since there are 11 people who need to get there, I decide to book a transport. At 9:30, a van comes to pick us up. A far cry from the horse and wagon rides we once had on dirt roads there!
First, there's breakfast.
(an enthusiastic breakfast boy!)
Then we pack ourselves into the van, and we are off.
After about an hour's drive, we arrive in the village. Just before 10:30.
(My sister and nephew, out to greet the kids, who bound in before us)
Gniazdowo: the place that has all my emotions from my childhood and adolescence locked inside. I went from being deadly sick to thriving here as a babe, then toddler, from being a city kid to a summer country girl as a child, and I had my romantic days here with my high school crush as a teenager. And then I left, and now I'm back, with these guys.
We tour the house. None of the American crew has ever seen it. And because my sister, along with Artist's help. put together odds and ends that were once in that house, it does have an historic feel to it. Snowdrop commented that it reminded her of touring a museum of "how it was long ago." But at the same time, it's comfortable. Informal. Livable.
(upstairs in the attic)
(downstairs where we will be eating lunch)
All the artwork in the house was done by my nephew or in some places by my sister. At the end of the day, I walk away with two of Artist's paintings -- of the meadows, the fields, the dirt roads, the river here.
The kids all want to play outside. And why not? There's an occasional raindrop, but nothing spectacularly wet.
My sister fixed a lunch for us -- a remarkable thing, given that she does not own a car and there are no stores nearby. It's all by train and bicycle or on foot. We have the first courses -- salads, herring, cheeses. An old friend who once played with us in the summer and whose grandmother lived in the house across the house, comes over with her husband. Remarkable... So many years, so much has happened...
We look over old family photos. One that hangs on the wall has an interesting story: it's of my mother in high school when she was just 15 (so from 1938). She is the one in the back row, fourth from the right. The photo was left hanging there when my Babcia sold the house and moved out. And it was still there when my sister bought the house from its next owner.
The rains, the drizzle seem to have stopped. We interrupt our eating and go for a walk.
I know exactly where I want to go: to the Julin forest where we picked so many mushrooms! We follow the path, to the River Liwiec.
It may be cold, but of course I roll up my pants and go in. The big kids follow.
It's deeper at the other shore. Snowdrop, the tall girl, urges them to come with her anyway. I say no. Wet pants on a cold day are not a great idea.
The little kids do not want to be left behind!
(one last toss...)
And from there, we cut through the forest of tall red pines...
To the fields out back, where I always find the loveliest meadow flowers...
(this one girl just can't have enough of flower picking! She has my genes for sure!)
(Just one more!)
More food at the house -- pierogi, pancakes, cakes...
And very soon, it's time to leave. With many many thanks and hugs for our hosts...
As we pull up to our hotel, I ask the travelers -- raise your hand if you did not doze on the ride back! Only 2 (out of 11) hands go up.
In the late afternoon, the kids come in to play quietly in my room and then we set out again. On foot. Past this mural that I'd posted here before:
All the way past the Square of Three Crosses, to a restaurant I'd liked before -- Alewino. In making a reservation for 11, I was given a smaller menu, with set appetizers shared by the table, three main courses to choose from, and two desserts.
I cannot fully express how good their food was. It has to be my favorite restaurant in Warsaw. And kind to kids too. And animated. It was a long dinner and the kids were great throughout all of it.
Three and a half hours later, outside...
(waiting for our Ubers, the kids were still going strong)
Am I repeating myself when I say -- what an incredible day it was? But of course, it's true. Memorable. For the ages.
with so much love!!!
