Sunday 29 April

As the internet café is on the way to the church we took the children with us and took care of the daily business there. We enjoyed a good sacrament meeting and again watched a session of General Conference dubbed in Russian. This time it was the Saturday afternoon session which we had watched in Kiev. It had an even greater impact on me than it did the first time; and again tears welled up at Elder McConkie’s final testimony and at the closing song, “The Spirit of God.” Dasha prepared some peelmenni for a snack after church.

After some relaxation and reading we met at the Dodges’ apartment for dinner with the missionaries. Before dessert the missionaries gave a lesson. Anny Tyutyunnyk took a turn teaching and bore fervent, emotional testimony several times. Stan had been suffering from a stomach problem since morning. Susan and he returned to the apartment while the rest of us further discussed the lesson and had dessert. Dasha called her father’s brother, Valeri, in Krolevets and talked to his wife, Olga, to see if we could visit Grandma in the nearby village tomorrow. Olga urged us to take the earliest bus and they would be waiting for us.

When we had all returned to our apartment we found that Stan was doing no better, in spite of his having taken several of the usual stomach medications through the day. Pharmacies were closed and we had no translator anyway, so I asked Paul to come over and help me give Stan a priesthood blessing. The blessing started with “Jeremy Stanislav Peckham, … .”


Monday April 30

Lacking an alarm clock Susan and I spent much of the night checking our watches and dreaming about getting up early. At one point I was having considerable difficulty trying to find my way out of Trolley Square (we never go there!) because I needed to be at the bus stop in Sumy at 6:10 am. It seemed improbable that I could make it so I consciously pulled out of that dream.

I reality we caught our scheduled taxi at 6 am and met Natalie at the bus terminal at 6:10 to buy tickets. We expected the 6:40 bus to get us to Krolevets in about two hours. We were not aware of the circuitous route it would take and the long stops along the way. We got off the bus close to 11:30 and were told by Dasha that we were in front of her uncle’s apartment building. It looked much like ours and every other in this part of the country.

We ascended the stairs to the 5th floor and were warmly greeted, introduced and welcomed by Valeri, Olga and their two children. Their one-bedroom apartment was nicely decorated, especially the living room where a make-shift table had been set for the ten of us. Olga and her daughter brought freshly-fried eggs to complete the offering of sausage, bread, hashed potatoes, their version of a chili sauce, home-made cherry compote juice, sliced oranges and lemons, and cookies.

We enjoyed the meal very much and even more so the company. We became acquainted with them, and they with us, around the table. Valeri is a warehouse worker and Olga teaches kindergarten. Their daughter, Anya, had just completed professional training as a cook and confectioner, with a specialty of cakes.

Some of us then gathered as Anya took us through several large albums of family pictures. Those involving our children, their parents or their grandma were pulled out so I could film them.

We had brought a pedigree chart and a family group sheet which Olga consented to fill out to the best of her and Valeri’s knowledge. While we were thus engaged, Grandma called and wanted to talk to the children. She began crying while talking to Stan. We offered to have a taxi bring her to Valeri’s place but she said she would just cry. I said that she could cry there or cry here; it didn’t matter. We knew the children needed to see her and say good-bye, so we piled into and taxi and Valeri’s car and traveled the 12 kilometers to her home in Buyvalovo village.

When we entered the fenced yard there appeared Grandma Nina in her dress, sweater, wool stockings and her brightly colored head scarf. Susan and I were a little apprehensive about what she would think of us and the adoption. But she took us on a tour of her humble home and property, including the pigs, chickens and turkeys. There were apple trees, cherry trees and a kitchen garden, in addition to large field in which other things are planted. Of course, she had only outdoor plumbing.

She welcomed us into her living room. She stood less than five feet short. Her face and hands were weathered and worn by decades of maintaining a farm. Although she is only about fifty-eight years old we could see that life is hard here for the common people and the struggles have caused her to appear much older. In her eyes, though, was a sparkle amidst the light blue we’ve come to love in her grandchildren’s eyes. Her smile cut through what I imagined to be some sorrow at losses endured over the years to display some gold.

She showed us many of the pictures she had of the family, which I filmed, and added more information to the genealogy records. She then slipped outside and we followed her to her cellar where she emerged with a bag of large white chunks of what was identified as lard (maybe saltpork in our lexicon) which she prepared for us to take with us. Before she was done we also had a couple of dozen eggs from her chickens.

It was time for us to leave for the bus. After Grandma hugged each of the children good-bye we exchanged well-wishes with her. She was very excited that the children would learn to speak English like our interpreter, Natalie. We thanked her for her influence and blessing in our children’s lives. She clasped my head in her hand and as she shed tears she kissed my cheek maybe ten times in rapid succession. Then she did the same with Susan which brought tears to her eyes, as well. She told us what hard workers the children were, how much they had helped her and how much time they had spent with her. Then she kissed us the same way again, and then at least once more. I was incredulous at what I was feeling for these people after such a short time – two hours with Valeri’s family and one hour with Grandma Nina. She and I walked through the gate with our arms around each other. We hugged and kissed some more. She invited us all to please come back sometime.

At the bus station we took more pictures of Valeri’s family with us. Olga gave us two huge jars of her cherry compote, along with four jars of homemade jam. We arranged to take them to lunch while they are in Sumy on Friday to see what sex Anya’s baby will be, and then bid them a loving farewell.

All along the way on the ride back to Sumy we saw in the fields people from all towns and villages with shovels planting their annual crop of potatoes. This is the time when the staple of this country is planted. One of the issues noted in the court decree removing the rights of the children’s parents was the fact that the children were left with nothing to eat while the parents had failed to cultivate their land. Valeri and his family had put their planting off a day to host us.

A day or two ago I had expressed a sensation to Susan, which she echoed, of feeling as though we had been through years compressed into weeks. The depth and breadth of today’s unexpected experiences and emotions crossed years, if not generations, in a matter of three hours. We emerged from the wringer with a few tears dripping from the rollers.