4/04/2016

It all comes together


It all comes together and takes shape.
The land where I grew up, the soil I was treading and viewing for 20 and something years. Dry, ascetic, plain landscapes with no one single mountain, only low hills. And the wind. Eternal wind. Sagebrush. 

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Very hot summers. Melting and sweating on the sun roads. Rivers. Cicadas, lizards and snakes. And frogs sang way a lot every June.
Mosquitoes.


Salty soil. White salt patches on the ground...

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Abundance of summer fruits. Many many fruits, watermelons...


I was growing potatoes in this soil with my parents and all kind of vegetables. Grapes. Raspberries, many sorts of berries...
Yes, I know something about potatoes and about plants, I'm tied to the soil.

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We lived in a block house. Each family had a flat. And we played in the garden and there was no fear at all. We played outside and moved freely in the town and our parents didn't worry for our safety. We walked a lot. I walked to the school and to the musical school, to the river to swim in summer, to visit my grandma.


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But then, everything has changed. I became a teenager and the country of my childhood didn't exist anymore.  I know it was a hard time for my parents.
We didn't go to our veggie patch anymore because water supplement was stopped. Old structures didn't work anymore.

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 Years later I went to see the place where our veggie patch was together with many other families. We had a summer house there. But when I went back I found just nothing. When I say nothing I want to say nothing. Anything was there.
No houses, no fences, no water pipelines. Everything was stolen and destroyed. 
It was a very deep feeling... I imagine, people have similar feelings when war destroys their houses.
It's very unfair and painful.
I understand that nothing remains forever. But it hurts, especially when you don't expect it.

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Our family didn't remain whole as well. Mom and dad had separated.
Even so, I think, they sow a good seed, a seed of good because we had a happy time together.

Last December I went home and asked my father to take me to the brick factory in the town. I went there for the first time with my class when I studied at school. All this time since I was child I kept this place in my mind and wanted to visit back again.
I remember I was mesmerized by over fired bricks and drying shelves..altogether it seemed a bit magic to me.
Brick factory remained there as well as dry, ascetic, plain landscapes with no one single mountain, only low hills. And the wind. Eternal wind. Sagebrush.