Grzybow Farm- Week in Review

Last night I sat around a campfire, eating kielbasa and drinking beer with a taxi cab driver from Warsaw and a self described "Far-Right-Christian-Libertarian" who loves the Grateful Dead and translates movies from the 90's from English into Polish.  They know Eva and Peter and moonlight as apple farmers on a farm near where I am staying  The apples were just off the tree, sweet and ripe for the picking.

Earlier that day I had visited a school with Eva that had been damaged in the fairly recent flood. When the Wisla river rose, approx. 2,000 people were displaced, and are still in the process of restoring their homes and attempting to revitalize their fields. This particular school received a lot of aid, and is now renovated and very beautiful, and had an open, welcoming feel to it. With Eva as translator we had a Q&A with a fairly small group of 10-12 year olds who were there for an after school program, then I played guitar and led some drama games.  A group of Polish children can now stumble through the chorus of "I'll Fly Away.". 

Earlier in the week I went with Peter to pick up grain from another local farmer who lives about half and hour away.  He greeted us warmly and showed us his young goat, who Peter gave him a few months ago, and said she was doing very well. In fact, she sometimes jumps up on her hind legs and dances, and has been seen performing this trick on the roof of the shed which she can climb up to by way of hay bales! Does anyone else hear the start of a great children's story here? It was very cold that day, and when I was invited into the house I entered to find a lovely, modest home and a Grandma who was ready to feed me.  I had noodle soup, mashed potatoes, cauliflower, and tender pork.  Then a cup of tea and a chocolate covered gingerbread cake that resembled a donut.  The farmer came in, we chatted via Peter, and he wasted little time in telling me that his son recently "lost" his girlfriend, and if I were to marry him he has a lot of vodka ready for the wedding! He then showed me a giant jug of vodka, and we had a shot of Krupnik, Polish honey liqeur. It was all in good fun, and I said perhaps I would learn Polish and come back.

Grandma, who fed me the delicious meal and sent me away with another piece of cake for the road, was the only member of her family to survive the Holacaust. A Catholic Polish family, her parents had been hiding resistance fighters in their barn.  When the Gestapo found out, they killed the family, but her mother managed to hide her under pillows and blankets in the bed, and she survived, and was raised in an orphanage.

There is an old man who lives near Peter who is considered handicapped. I asked about it, Peter said he was beat on the head by a Nazi solider and suffered brain damage when he was 9 years old.
 
After the war, they converted the Synagogue into a cinema because there were no Jews left to worship there.

I mention this because as I hear bits and pieces I realize that just below the surface there are so many stories that tell of what happened here.  I had a dream the other night that my Bubby was alive, and living in Poland, and I couldn't believe I hadn't thought to visit her, until I finally remembered that she passed many years ago.

That said, there is what I like to call a direct line to the spirits here, and it is not all full of tragedy and pain.  There have been moments where I feel something get plugged in, like I get some strange and lovely metaphysical goosebumps while looking at the crazy full moon or staring at a tree.

In happier news there are so many kittens here! Holy hell! A pair of black kittens that were left in the ditch by the side of the road got moved to the cow stable, where they are happy little guys drinking warm milk, and there are 4 more kittens in the house. With so many cats running around I have seen 4 mice get eaten in the last week. Whoa, buddy. Snack time.

This evening we watched a fire show on the lawn near the driveway, performed by a group of at-risk youth who are here doing a weekend retreat.  The spun fire and played drums, and it was fabulous. They really want to milk the cows and make bread, too.

My evening ended by swapping songs on the guitar with Peter. I am teaching him Paradise, the old John Prine tune, and he is teaching me Wrobelki, a Polish song about two little gray birds that rub their wings together and fall in love.  It's very beautiful, but Eva says its kind of dirty. I think it's hysterical, made better by the fact that Peter still has a pronounced Swiss-German accent, so I may sing the song a little funny.

 Lastly, on the subject of language. I have decided that only speaking one language in this day and age is kind of like wearing a unitard- it fits great, but then you go outside and realize how ridiculous you look because you have nothing else to wear! Put that in your pipe and smoke it, and let me know what y'all come up with.

Til' next time . . .

yours truly,
Pippi Longstocking

"Next year the cows cannot have chairs."

Peter, the swiss born farmer I am working with, said to me yesterday, "next year the cows cannot have chairs." I believe he meant chains, but all I could imagine were giant poopy cows sitting on the ground watching tv or something.

By the way, I never realized how much cows shit. It's crazy. It makes me not want to eat them as much, I think because I realize I do not want to take care of them! (In my head I hear my mom's voice saying- 'just wait til you have a baby! that's a lot of shit!) P.S. Mom, something about traveling to the homeland and finding an absence of tangible roots makes me want to procreate.  Feel free to start making a baby sweater, preferably one with a very complicated pattern that will take a few more years to complete.

ANYWAYS, the last thing I have to say about shitting is this. The other night I helped Peter to clean out his old cow stable, which will be converted into a cheese shop (to make, not sell) in the next few months.  It was pretty intense. It stank to high heaven, and I was for real shoveling manure and cow excrement for a couple hours. As I was doing it I had what I found to be a hysterical thought, which was if given the choice of cleaning out a cow stable once a month or going to an all school faculty meeting, I think I'd opt for cow shit.  I don't mean any disrespect by that, I'm just sayin.

Besides making mental notes of the funny things Peter says, my days have been very full, but with time for an afternoon nap, which I love. My initial fervor has been tempered by the realization that the farm is under a bit of stress as it could use a few more hands on a daily basis, and the strain shows in places. Still, I am glad to be of use.

Eva, who is married to Peter, is running for Mayor! She would preside over 5,000 people living in the villages in this area if she wins in November.  She is clearly a force in this community already, one who leads with a firm, compassionate, guiding hand. With this in mind, put it in your head that the current mayor asked her to come in for a meeting, and then basically threatened to blackmail her and fire a local teacher who supports her if she does not back down! Whoa- mafia village tactics! She continues to run.

My daily partner in crime here is Derick, the farm manager, tall and lanky and recently returned to Poland, after squatting/living in Holland for the past ten years. He smokes a lot of cigarettes and is a archetypal jack of all trades.  I see in him some alternate universe version of Townes Van Zandt in his later years, minus the guitar but with the same penchant for drinking. It's a little heartbreaking.

This evening I watched Polish television and played some guitar, and had a snack of bread and cheese. I have decided that I might make a decent farmer, but would prefer to grow beets and cabbage and cucumbers and just pickle things in my backyard.  And maybe have a few goats. I will be here for at least another week or so, and will continue to brave the coming winter and try to fit in a bike ride.

The Polish is coming along slowly, and every day a few more words wiggle their way into my brain. Today I started missing Sushi, and listening to music at the kitchen table with a full french press and a few roomates lounging around. If someone could airmail me a bloody mary from King's this sunday, I would be much obliged. xo, Lindsey

I just touched an Udder

So folks, welcome to my new life. Ever wanted to spend your days on a gorgeous farm on a one lane country road, getting ankle deep in cow shit, going to choir practice, eating fresh cheese and butter and homemade bread for breakfast, all while learning Polish? Now is your chance! Buy a ticket to Warsaw, and I'll see you soon!

After two days in Krakow, I said goodbye to my dear childhood friend Ryan Shupe, and set off for the next phase of my journey. (A quick note on Ryan- one of the best travel partners a lass could ask for.  How many cappuccinos, kebabs, crazy train rides, and bike adventures can two people share together?! He will be sorely missed.) Krakow was interesting and beautiful, though I did not get to see all of the sights, such as the old Jewish Quarter or the crazy salt mines, but I hope I will be back! Actually, some of the highligts of Krakow were as follows, and then I will get back to farm girls stories.

- going into a bar, a Polish man asked me where I was from, I said "Seattle," he slapped me on the back and yelled, "fuck you! I live in Burien 16 years! I love Seattle!" That was the night Ryan and I briefly danced on the bar. Enough said.

-A long, very interesting/moving conversation with a Chicago native named Mike, whose grandparents, also Polish Jews, survived the war. He is the second American my age who I have met in Poland, with a similar story. It felt good to connect with him.

-Last but not least, a hip hop street performance set to the final song from Dirty Dancing. I have no words. It was brilliant.

So, to get back to my story- after saying goodbye to Ryan I climbed back into the jaws of Poland's sketchy and poorly marked transportation system, but managed to make it to the small village of Sanniki, about an hour and a half outside of Warsaw.  I was greeted by Ewa (Eva) the generous, grounded, amazing woman who runs a farm and learning center near the village with her husband Peter.  Peter is an organic farmer from Switzerland who moved here 20 years ago after a friend invited him. He bought the farm, house included, for $2,000. 

They have 5 daughters, a herd of goats, two horses, a barn full of cows, a handful of cats, and small gang of dogs.  Grandma Victoria lives here, who only speaks Polish, but we make coffee together and sometimes go outside to check on the cats or the apples.

My first evening here, I was told that a group of volunteers were staying in the guest house with me, which is like a large old dorm style house with a kitchen, den, and lots of bunkbeds. I came downstairs to find a group of 5 men from Warsaw who greeted me warmly, offered me beer, and proceeded to ask me my life story.  They could not believe they were meeting an American girl in a small village, and thought I was both brave and crazy.  Turns out they were a group of accountants from Citi bank. Now THAT surprised me! They were there to help re-paint a school locker room that had been badly damaged in a flood several months ago. Many nearby villages were damaged, and are still recovering. The next day I was able to go with them and help them paint, and in the process I ate a lot of sausage, drank some beer, and made my first Polish friends. I am hoping to see them in Warsaw, where we may visit the old town and go to a soccer match.

That night, after they had gone, I met Derick, who works as the farm manager, and Kathe, his good friend who lives in Torun. We hit it off instantly and had a great time "making photos" and feeding the animals.

Today began around 8 o'clock, we had a long breakfast including tea, fresh cheese, tomato honey, bread, and coffee. I helped with cheese making, learned how to milk the cows and the goats, brought in some straw, drank more coffee, helped scout out a new stable, dropped Kathe off at the bus station, and then sang with their small local choir for about an hour.

The stars are very bright here. The air is cold. The leaves are still turning, and the ground is covered in their yellow dresses. The house is painted blue; there is wagon full of pumpkins in the front yard.  Things are old, and things are just beginning. I wish I could speak more Polish. I wish I could bring my friends here. I smell like goat.

Much love, and more later.

The long train from Lodz

I shall now go backwards in time, like some kind of latter day Christopher Lloyd.  My traveling companion and long time family friend Ryan and I arrived in Krakow at midnight thirty this evening, rolling into this lovely Polish city in a fog as thick and magical as a perfect milkshake poured over the night. How we managed to get here is a mystery to me.

At 4:00 this afternoon we embarked from the gritty industrial city of Lodz, and what was supposed to be a direct train ride turned into a 4 stop, missed connection day of mayhem that left me at one point on the verge of tears in a Mcdonalds in the Central Warsaw train station.  That said, we finally made it on the correct train, and I lay and looked out the windows into the night as the train rushed towards the promised city. We were greeted in Krakow at the hostel by a lovely girl at the front desk, who had set out a plate of food and a glass of champagne in the kitchen on a candelit table for us both. What fortune! What bounty!

Prior to this we had been in Lodz for the last 2 nights, but I digrees. Let us go back to the last few days in Berlin, for the sake of continuity.

Berlin was chaos, it was trashy sexy, it was Turkish delight and techno fever dream all jumbled together like some kind of awful puzzle. It made me feel a little like I had lost myself, which was a humbling reminder that some big cities are too full of movement and sound and fury for me. I did watch a soccer game between Germany and Turkey in a local corner pub in the neighborhood I was staying in, and learned it was a huge match as there is a very strong Turkish population in Berlin. Germany took Turkey 3-0.

Also, my friend Matteo the acrobat returned, who had so graciously offered for me to stay in his apartment while it is in between renters. So for about a week I pretended I lived in a fourth floor walk up.  He took Ryan and I to Potsdam, an area outside the city with castles, the old military and housing quarters for US troops following the war, and an island designed by a queen which looked like it was straight out of a Jane Austen book. There were swans, and peacocks, and rolling fields and beautiful walking paths lined with trees.  It was a welcome return to nature, if just for a moment.

We spent many hours dissecting, discussing, and philosophizing, and I was captivated by his stories and worldliness. He told us about hearing of the wall coming down, huddled around a radio with the rest of his East Berlin circus, while in the middle of Russia on a tour. He was twenty years old that year.

We spoke of the importance of knowing one's roots, and honoring the passing down of these deep memories through generations. I can feel a sense of grief coming up, this internal sand dune shifting around like some great wind is trying to lift it up.  So, knowing that the wind is a blowin', it was time to travel to Poland.

Now, I will devote another post, dear reader, to THE story. But, I will tell you now that my Bubby, Ruth, came from a family of Polish Jews who lived in what is now Belarus, just west of Minsk, prior to WWII.  At that time it was still Poland. She left for Manhattan in 1935, and was the only member of her family to survive.

I am traveling back to a land of ghosts.  From my visit to the Jewish Museum in Berlin I gather even more information and the knowledge falls into place that my family did not stand a chance. Poland was absolutely decimated- concentration camps lie near several cities in Poland, housing projects stand where the Ghettos once stood, cemeteries are overgrown and full, and Minsk was a large deportation center for work camps and forced laborers.  I thought, ignorantly, that I might go to Poland and meet people who reminded me of Bubby, or looked like her.  But all the Jews are gone.  Thank god for Brooklyn.

The train ride into Poland was both uneventful and absolutely profound. It was the most beautiful day I can remember in ages, and for hours I watched the countryside through the window, young forests breeze by, with small villages dotting the landscape. I paid respects to my family, listened to music I loved, and felt in a strange way, like I was home. Or in the least, could recognize that land that once was a home.

Ryan and I had decided to check out Lodz, which is the second largest city in Poland and a fairly poor, gritty, industrial place.  When we walked through the tunnel in the train station we noticed the graffiti, 'fuck the reds' in spray paint on the wall. Parts of the city felt a little intense, though the main part of town is a 3 km, broad avenue with lights strung across the streets, nice cafes, and statues of famous Polish musicians and artists claming space on sidewalks. It is custom to rub the nose of the statue as you walk by, we noticed. 

What Lodz does have is a thriving film school, and with it a strong artistic subculture and young vibe.  If anyone is looking to attend an interesting university, this school is famous for graduating a number of now international figures, such as Roman Polanski. Apparently, David Lynch also filmed 'Inland Empire', here.

We shared our hostel dorm with a Czech priest who was studying for his priest exam, and who wore a lot of cologne and smoked cigarettes and drank beer on the deck.

On Sunday Ryan and I went for a four hour bike ride around the city, on a bitterly cold day, to visit the Jewish Cemetery and sight of the former Lodz Ghetto.  The Lodz Ghetto contained 200,000 Jews. of which 900 survived.  The cemetery is the largest in Europe, and to give you a sense, contains 200,00 graves and 180,000 headstones.  We were not allowed to take photographs, but what I was felt like miles and miles of graves within a forest, protected by a stone wall running around the perimeter. There is no family to care for the graves, and it was both heart breaking and enduringly peaceful.  Trees grow, grass is high, things live among so many who are gone.  There is a ghetto field, marked by rows of metals plates which bears the names and age in Hebrew of 43,000 residents of the Ghetto, who died during the war.  In the Synangogue at the entrance to the cemetery were stacks upon stacks of these simple head stones which are still waiting to be set out.

It's a lot to digest, and in Poland you can feel there has been great loss, not only during the war, but following it as well.  It seems to be changing though, and so far people have been friendly and it has felt very real, which I appreciate.  I will be in Krakow for a couple days, and look forward to walking along the river, perhaps riding bikes (life is always better with bikes), and sampling a LOT of vodka.  Until next time . . .

Berlin, baby.

Well, my journey to Berlin started out with the gift of a noseflute (sort of like a kazoo you play with your nose) from Mick, and we had a short jam session before I boarded the train.  My last 2 days in Bad Oeynhausen were lovley- Mick and I went to Bali Therme, the fancy mineral springs with attached sauna in town, and I ate Schnitzel for the first time. (Deep fried and breaded pork cutlet.) I said goodbye to Igor, the short, vodka soaked Russian clown who tried to kiss me every time he saw me, and Adam, the extraordinarly talented musician Polish musician in the show.  Adam would giggle while making chocolate pudding in the shared kitchen of the house they provide for the performers, then yell, "pudding!" and giggle his way into his room. Hysterical.

Berlin has been a whirlwind of street art, subway stops, bike rides and war remants, kebabs and pastries.  My first night I met Collin and Sebastian, the very sweet couple who let me into my friend Matteo's flat, where I have been staying while he has been out of town. Matteo and Collin are trapeze artists who have worked with Teatro Zinzanni, so over chinese food dinner Collin and I talked about our favorite gay bars in Seattle, like Pony!

I have been staying in West Berlin, in a neighborhood that was described to me as "sort of like Queen Anne." I think this is a fair assessment- it is quiet and tree lined, with nice grocery stores and a few local corner pubs, but nothing compared to the Wialliamsburg-esque chaos and flair of the young East Berlin neighborhoods.

I have seen the Reichstag and the Brandenburger Tor (the large gate modeled after part of the acropolis) walked around the zoo after drinking a beer in the cafe (they have polar bears! and a monkey house! and a panda!) God help me I ALMOST bought stuffed animals at the gift shop, but decided I could live without the green alligator.

I went of a guided bike tour of East Berlin, took photos of the wall, saw checkpoint charlie, and learned a great deal about the city. I recognized the bookstore from the final scene of the INCREDIBLE film The Lives of Others, and enjoyed chatting it up with my adorable Toronto born tour guide. Leading bike tours in Berlin is a pretty sweet job!

I went to a free piano concert at the Berlin Philharmonic, and checked out C/O, a fabulous photography museum which was featuring an exhibit by the photographer Peter Lindbergh. Went inside Neue Synagogue, took photos of an exhibit on Holocaust survivors living in Israel, and spent some time at the Jewish Holocaust memorial, as well as the memorial for gay and lesbians victims of the Holocaust. That one made me cry.

I ate Currywurst, which is basically a hot dog with ketchup that has curry seasoning and hot sauce in it, and learned that this famed street food came about during the time of the Berlin airlift, when curry was one of the few spices they dropped down to the city. Wow!

I went to a local bookstore with books in English, and although I didn't find anything I wanted, I was amused by the conversation between an Israeli student and the aging British tranny named Sophie who owns the shop. As I walked in the Israeli kid was exclaiming, "Welsh girls are so slutty!"

I stopped and heard Tarantella music being played as part of an Italian demonstration near the Embassy, logged many miles in different neighborhoods, and have enjoyed trying Liverwurst, cheap German wine, thick dark bread with gruyere, and pastries from the various corner bakeries around town.

My friend Ryan is meeting me this evening, and we will be heading to Poland in a few days. I would still like to check out some famed Berlin artists squats and get strange postcards, and visit the Jewish Museum, which I have heard is an incredibly powerful place.

Character of the week award goes to David, the early twenty something, portly Russian-born Israeli tourist on the bike tour, who showed up wearing tight running pants and a t-shirt which read, "suck on my chocolate salty balls." He had a fairly pronounced speech impediment, and his inhaler kept falling out of his pocket. I kid you not.

Things I love about Berlin: bikes, cheap beer, friendly Germans, history, art everywhere.  Pretty sweet place to become an ex-pat, if anyone is in the market.

Until next time, this is Red, signing off.