[a place of the old days]

[a place of the old days]

Yesterday my friends and I went to my “dacha” – that’s Russian for summer house.

I haven’t been there in a couple of years due to work and the fact that it’s very easy to get there by car, but if one takes train, the journey itself takes about 2.5 hours (instead of an hour by car). And even those few visits since grandma was gone did not prepare me for the changes.

I walked the roads I used to roam on my bicycle. Back then the roads seemed so wide and long… now they seemed very narrow and the distances much shorter.

The trees have grown up to be big… and yet so small!

The house and the “sarai” (a little hut separate from the main house where we had a kitchen) look old and tiny as well.

And only the fern that my grandma and I planted just before she got sick grow in the small garden along with the weeds.

For my friends, it was just a place to visit. For me, it held so many memories that I nearly drowned in them.

Countless swims in the lake, hours spent on my bike riding through and exploring the nearby villages, planting veggies and flowers,  harvesting fruits, having tea playing lotto while listening to the rain drip-drip-dripping on the roof. Hosting so many friends who came over.

I miss those days. But I am thankful for the new memories that I was able to glean last night and save them in my heart and mind.

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