Pits | Public Republic
I had not set foot in the village of my father fifteen years. great ad That eleven of them have spent in America, certainly justifies me somewhat. Somewhat. Just whenever I came in Bulgaria, I was busy with many more fun things to do, people to see, somewhere I ... my times - always counted, and the village, anyway, there was nowhere to escape. Does what and to watch the village as a village - Dobroudja humus, old, winds ... But this time there was no way to give my mother - had to fix some hereditary stories after the death of my father's land ... My aunt had intent to sell its part of the property, even fields neznamsikakvo, deeds, etc ...
Emerging from Varna. Unlike my last memory, however, the road now is decent tarmac in places quite new. Early summer. Polyata- green and yellow here and there bright red spots poppies, Heaven: blue, oblatsite- cirrus.
The landscape is actually reminiscent great ad of glossy photo calendar open in June. At one time I even Prishta stop for a minute to touch corn fingers to snap the only two frames. Almost do it, but again I realized that I was wrong, because wasting my precious time with crap and pressed the accelerator.
The main road to Dobrich is pull to drive two kilometers in the dappled shade of something like a tunnel of walnut trees. Come sign of the village, which was neither rusty nor riddled with Brenneke, as the last time you let it shrink in the rearview mirror. Immediately after it settled see farmyard, then - new, beautiful buildings, high fences. From the main street turn right and go to what was left of the house of grandparents.
Somehow open the gate into the yard, but wild walnut, plum and trunks bushes making access to the ruins impossible. Huge acacia tree, however, "Robinia pseudoacacia", as he said one time, is in place. True - low-spirited, semi-dried and much smaller than I remembered it, but still outspread branches over what nature has not yet taken care. Roof - collapsed, external walls - half and overgrown with weeds, great ad weeds, weeds ... I go into one of the outlines great ad of the room on the ground floor. What once was a fireplace, is now home to a dark and evil nettles.
Go out and make my way to Robinia pseudoacacia. Looking at the core of its shell cracked nails stuck in him as a child. Just find them - rusty, but they're there. This tree, after the division great ad of property will remain in the midst of my aunt. I wanted to go up and see the big garden behind the house, but it is impossible from weeds and bushes. We get my mother back in the car, surrounding neighborhood and another street brings us back to the garden, which old each year planting corn. Half of it will belong to my father's sister. And it wants to sell.
Stop behind the elms, outlining great ad the end of the property. Our house is at the northern end of the village, which at one point in the history of Bulgaria was the northern end of the state. Border stones left over from Romanian are right next to the garden. Overstep the old fence.
There, great ad at its upper end to the old cornel tree sleeping peasant and sheep graze around him. In this place, to this dogwood found my grandfather a winter morning many years ago. Was Treasurer of the fleet in Varna was young. Were left to return to the city with the cart of another person who then claimed that he left at the top of the garden, and my grandfather was going down through the blizzard to the house. The official version of the end of my great-grandfather was a "white death". There were unofficial great ad and probably unjustified version, but far more dramatic. Will ever tell.
Animals are razshavat, great ad peasant primlyasva opens eyes to your finger tips his hat, began her iztrasva, stands great ad up. Looking now this person in our house ?! And why I felt embarrassed great ad that I woke him up? He cleared his throat, we present ... Has he been from time to time to feed the animals here, Sitter and property right.
His lands were not returned them, the timing was dropped, namsiko, great ad popsuva state and neighbor, where he told him not to come here to feed, so that was not his, namsiko, but he Sitter property, you ... My mother generously allowed him to continue to come and look after the property. What's left? Walk up to Fiat.
In an apocryphal story in one night on one of those apocalyptic winters, Jordan Jovkov gone through the same garden in which I stride now. Returning from Romania. Stay home. Morning my grandfather sent him with oxcart to Varna. Will ever tell.
We go to the village center. Stop in parka- acacia trees, great ad poplars and lilac, great ad an oasis from the summer holidays of my childhood. Games, great ad guitars, songs, great ad first kisses, first cigarettes ... I thought it was devastated, but not so. Benches in it now are brand new, well-mowed is maintained trees
