Russian vacation
“How was your vacation?”. People who don’t know me assume I go on vacation a lot. They think I’m jetting off, sipping Margaritas, snapping pictures of sunset on the beach. I go to Russia. To farm.
Normal people visit family for the holidays. In Russia, you visit family to work in the fields. I either plant potatoes… or un-plant the potatoes I planted in the spring.
How was my vacation? I cried in raspberry bushes. Sore, dizzy, bleeding from thorns, covered in dirt. Thanks for asking!
My family has a country house in Russia. Now, Americans hear “country house,” and they think Hamptons. Big porch, a pool, maybe a little wine cellar. No. Our country house is basically a potato field with a tool shed. I’m exaggerating – it’s a cabin. We’ve got electricity. There is cold water in the well, and a hole in the ground for a toilet.
I tell people we own a boat and they picture a yacht with a name like *Serenity* on the back, a captain’s wheel, champagne on ice. No. What we have is… a few pieces of wood tied together with a string and a prayer. I should start calling spade a spade: my family owns some floaty planks and a potato filed.
What’s the deal with the potatoes?
Well, I’m coming from a patriarchal muslim family. Our Logan Roy is my 85-year-old grandpa. As a 6-year-old he was walking miles in his bast shoes to steal rotten potatoes. Now, at 85, grandpa is still living in potato scarcity mindset.
He once found some abandoned ditch. Looked left, looked right, installed barbed wire over it, and proclaimed it his. Like some potato king. He just called it his. That ditch is now a potato field. It’s the size of 2 basketball courts.
So now we spend workdays working in a city. And on weekend we go a few miles north – to work on this land. “Vacation” doesn’t mean “relaxation.” It means labor… But at a slightly different latitude.
You know, Americans go to Cancun and think, “Wow, this is heaven!”. My grandpa looks at his land of potatoes and says, “I’ve made it. This is it.” Good for him. And me?
When ppl ask me “How was your vacation?”. I just nod and say, “Very productive.” I bled in the raspberries, I cursed the dirt, and I was overwhelmed with joy watching my grandfather’s proud smile as he surveyed his potatoes.