Ukraine: 66 posts

Day 22 in Ukraine.

Sunlight’s soft ballet
through lace of old curtains—
glimpses of empty streets.

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Dusk descends quietly
Sirens wail through the stillness,
Stars fade from the sky.

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Awoken at night
Flashes tear through the darkness,
Dawn feels far away.

Another day arrives. Why is time flying so fast? A week ago, I had a dream about waking up in the middle of an explosion (it was only a drone shot down in the fields nearby). In my dream, my house was in ruins, my dress was torn and I didn’t know where to go. I ran inside a large building and up a staircase. At the top of it stood a man holding my passport. “I found you,” he said. “Let’s go to Japan and open a porcelain studio.” (I had no idea that this was my subliminal desire, but fine, I’ll take it.)

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I heard a dull sound far in the distance, a slight reverberation of the earth under my feet and then the air raid siren blared. Or maybe it was the other way around. Now I can’t remember exactly. People continued on their way to work and school without paying attention to the wail of the siren. The golden leaves in Poltava’s main park fell faster and settled on the sidewalks.

It was the first time I went into the city of Poltava after arriving in my grandmother’s village just outside of town. It was the first time Poltava had experienced such a devastating attack since the start of the full-scale invasion by Russia on February 24, 2022. Two ballistic rockets struck a hospital and a college and killed more than 50 people and wounded hundreds of others. The children who waited at the bus stop near the college were killed instantly.

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I returned to Ukraine after a long absence. After a flight, several trains and a sleepless night in a small town in Poland, I watched the familiar countryside roll past the window and felt like I was in a dream. I imagined this scene countless times. I dreamed about it only to wake up with tears. Now I was looking at orchards laden with fruit and freshly harvested wheat fields and I tried to remember every detail, every leaf, every blade of grass.

Many people asked me why I wanted to return now. I explained that I could afford to take some time off from work this fall, that I could buy a ticket, etc. These were all practical reasons, but they didn’t capture the essence of what propelled me to return. The place where we’re born shapes us deeply. For someone like me who lived most of her life abroad in many different countries, the idea of home can be difficult to define. Today I know that my home is the place that draws me back despite all of the practical considerations. Returning to Ukraine during war, living through the daily reality of rocket attacks, air raid sirens and near constant blackouts, I feel at peace.

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Syrnyky is a dish I order anytime I see it on the menu. Traveling around Ukraine, I ate these small fried cheesecakes at canteens in Odesa, diners in Kherson or fancy restaurants in Lviv and they have always been satisfying. In Kyiv, a restaurant chain called Puzata Hata, “pot-bellied hut,” has a wonderful oven-baked version of this popular treat. Syrnyky can be a great breakfast option or a luscious dessert, depending on what toppings you choose. Whatever way they are served, this dish is the ultimate comfort food.

Syrnyky are made from a fresh cheese called syr in Ukrainian. It’s a type of farmer’s cheese, with small, fairly dry curds and a sour flavor reminiscent of yogurt. The closest substitute is any soft white cheese, like tvorog, twaróg, quark, or even well-drained cottage cheese. Since the flavor of syrnyky is dominated by cheese, with flour being used merely as a binder, pick your favorite variety.  

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‘This is a tree of life.’ Pani Olga’s fingers traced the embroidery on a rushnyk depicting a fantastical plant. From its branches sprouted opulent blossoms. ‘It means that the embroiderer dreamed of a long life and a big family.’

‘This is Beregynya, a safe keeper.’ Pani Olga drew my attention to a figure, ample of hip and bosom, holding branches laden with grapes and flowers. ‘It was embroidered by someone to protect a loved one from harm.’ The image had none of the Orthodox sobriety and harkened back to the old animistic religion of the Slavs, who worshipped the spirits of plants, animals, birds and rocks.

From The Rooster House

A simple piece of cloth can hold a wealth of meaning. Rushnyk (plural: rushnyky) is a traditional Ukrainian ritual cloth, intricately adorned with symbolic patterns and motifs. Although at its most basic, a rushnyk is a hand towel, the word evokes much more to a Ukrainian. These cloths hold significant cultural and spiritual value in Ukrainian heritage, representing a blend of art, tradition, and identity. During much of Ukraine’s history, when expressing thoughts freely had dangerous consequences, a rushnyk served as a repository of encoded messages. It could be a declaration of love, celebration of freedom or of a yearning for escape.

Reading these secret messages in the embroideries on rushnyky became my obsession during my trips to Ukraine. I had a wonderful teacher and a partner on this quest, a lady I met at our local church in Poltava. Pani Olga plays an important role in my book The Rooster House, especially because of her knowledge about rushnyky and traditional arts. Thread by thread I unraveled the family mystery and became an avid lover of rushnyky embroideries.

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