These are the memoirs of a man of Amy's father's age who sent her his memories in Lativian. Amy translated them into English and put them together into this lovely little book.
My mother's parents had a house in Cesis, Latvia, with (for my size at the time) a very large garden, maybe something like 3,000 square meters (about 3/4 acre). It was surrounded by a purple lilac hedge that was so thick you would have needed a bulldozer to break through it.
Rising above it like a signpost in the hedge, proclaiming that this was Grandmother's garden, was a large chestnut tree, quite a sight when in bloom, lit up with hundreds of white “candles,”* as its blossoms were called.
And then there was the white lilac gazebo on one side of the garden, where we often sat. The attraction of this gazebo ("laubite," in Latvian) was not so much that it was visually prominent in the garden—except for the short time it was in bloom—but the cool shade it offered all summer long. Here, we played “Black Peter” or “Snakes and Ladders” and had our morning and afternoon tea.
But when it was in bloom, you can let your imagination loose! Spring in that garden was simply stunning, with all the fruit trees blossoming first. Then came the lilacs and the flowering cherries in the adjoining Wintergrava Park. It was like somebody had spilled a giant perfume bottle. Add nightingales on a calm night, and it was made for all the romance one can handle.
When I think of that gazebo, I remember a whole lost world. It was a child’s paradise to spend the summers in that garden.
By the time this garden and the old house became
part of my memories, it was already a well-established horn of
plenty with large apple trees; rows and rows of red, white, and
black currants; and gooseberries. There was also a big patch of
raspberries and cherry and plum trees. Grandmother's brother,
who lived across the lane, had a garden twice the size. My
grandmother often expressed regret about the time they bought the
land: my grandfather had fallen short of cash and could not buy
an extra block of land, like Grandmother's brother had.
Early spring, with all its beautiful fruit tree blossoms, was also worrisome for the gardener, because frost was always possible at that time of year. Over the generations, the farmers had learned what to do when they noticed the signs of imminent frost: during the previous autumn, fallen leaves had been raked into mounds placed strategically around the garden. Now they could be lighted, to smolder and protect the trees from a spring freeze, creating a blanket of white smoke during the night. The mixture of smoke and fruit blossom scent produced another pleasant perfume for my memories of spring.
(I did not want to include the images from the book- but I found this photo.)
Early spring, with all its beautiful fruit tree blossoms, was also worrisome for the gardener, because frost was always possible at that time of year. Over the generations, the farmers had learned what to do when they noticed the signs of imminent frost: during the previous autumn, fallen leaves had been raked into mounds placed strategically around the garden. Now they could be lighted, to smolder and protect the trees from a spring freeze, creating a blanket of white smoke during the night. The mixture of smoke and fruit blossom scent produced another pleasant perfume for my memories of spring.
(I did not want to include the images from the book- but I found this photo.)
...
One of my fun pastimes was watching for things to ripen, to go
looking for the very first strawberry, plum, or cherry. There were
apple trees known as "Clear White," an early-ripening variety; the
apples were very white and very juicy. Or when the time came to
dig out the new potatoes, we cheated the plants a little, just
scratching the soil away, taking a couple of tubers, then patting up
the soil and letting the poor potato plant go on ripening the others.
While my grandfather was alive, the garden had no shortage of
manure, as he kept a horse and a couple of pigs, hens, ducks, and at
one point a couple of large gray-and-white geese.* The garden,
especially the field behind the house, produced bumper crops of
potatoes, swedes (rutabagas), cabbages, and beetroot. In today’s
terminology, it was a self-contained ecological niche, a no-waste
economy in its natural simplicity. All waste—human, animal, or
plant—was subject to time-proven methods of recycling. It was no
wonder that the garden produced enough to meet all the family's
needs plus surplus to sell. Naturally it was a very labor-intensive
economy, but the quality was way ahead of today's commercial
products.
I remember a trip to a swamp that had white moss. Grandfather used a garden fork to fill our wagon with it, and then we drove it back home. Grandmother and I spent the next couple of days on our hands and knees spreading the moss over the strawberry beds. It made the two long strawberry beds look white; the moss was carefully placed so that no berry would touch the soil, keeping the berries clean and the moisture in the soil. I can still see the dark green foliage and the large red berries on their white background.
...
Cesis was very much a postcard town with a long and rich history. The oldest historic monument was the ruins of the castle of the German Livonian Order. A tower was still standing, and visitors could climb a stone staircase winding around the inside, to be rewarded with panoramic views of the town. The tower was topped with a conical red tile roof. You could see Grandmother’s farm from there.
I remember a trip to a swamp that had white moss. Grandfather used a garden fork to fill our wagon with it, and then we drove it back home. Grandmother and I spent the next couple of days on our hands and knees spreading the moss over the strawberry beds. It made the two long strawberry beds look white; the moss was carefully placed so that no berry would touch the soil, keeping the berries clean and the moisture in the soil. I can still see the dark green foliage and the large red berries on their white background.
...
Cesis was very much a postcard town with a long and rich history. The oldest historic monument was the ruins of the castle of the German Livonian Order. A tower was still standing, and visitors could climb a stone staircase winding around the inside, to be rewarded with panoramic views of the town. The tower was topped with a conical red tile roof. You could see Grandmother’s farm from there.
...
To the best of my knowledge,* my grandmother died in 1956. The Cesis of my childhood has also vanished with the times. Maybe there are still some of those familiar shapes in the skyline as a reminder of my childhood.
*Sending letters to Latvia from the free world was not considered safe for those in communist Latvia in the 1950s, so those who had emigrated did not write letters until some years later.
Thank you, Amy, for sharing these stories with us.
We love you to bits.
GJ
To the best of my knowledge,* my grandmother died in 1956. The Cesis of my childhood has also vanished with the times. Maybe there are still some of those familiar shapes in the skyline as a reminder of my childhood.
But I'm sure the white lilac gazebo is no longer there.
*Sending letters to Latvia from the free world was not considered safe for those in communist Latvia in the 1950s, so those who had emigrated did not write letters until some years later.
Thank you, Amy, for sharing these stories with us.
We love you to bits.
GJ
