Two Stops Past Siberia

It has been a whirlwind of a week for Farmer Dan and I. We finished our national training series with a total of twelve sessions, 202 participants (many of whom were teachers themselves) and 15 communities served. I do believe we successfully sapped Dan’s brain of any and all knowledge he was prepared to dispense. Furthermore, his collection of relevant farming literature (all checked out, and soon to be returned to the Madison Public Library) served us well throughout.

 

Where in Naryn we spoke mostly to small groups in intimate places, Talas was all about the classroom. We gave two joint sessions, each serving two separate schools. By the time we were finished, it is no exaggeration to say that we were, officially, famous: the local radio station insisted on having us over for an interview. Through the marvels of mass media, we spread the word about composting: how to do it, and the many benefits. When it was all over, Farmer Dan leaned over to me and said with a grin, “it is as though we are evangelizers for the gospel of composting.” And how right he was.

 

We also had another experience in Talas that rivaled many of the others we had. Since one of Dan’s must-do activities was to bathe in a banya, Corey arranged for us to visit some of his friends, an ethnically Russian family who has one in their backyard. When we arrived there, Corey said simply, “the mother of the house speaks great English, and hosts volunteers for this kind of thing all the time. Still, I don’t know exactly what we’re in for.”

 

First off, it meant, for me, seeing the home of an ethnic Russian for the first time in country. From the first moment, the differences were everywhere. They had two yapping dogs in the backyard, but they were neatly tethered to little wire trolleys running along the foundation of the house. The building’s floor plan was not like a Kyrgyz home at all, but instead quite reminiscent of home. They had a red-headed, freckle-faced boy running around, passionate about showing us his toys and drawings. There were healthy seedlings growing in the windowsill.

 

But then, also like a Kyrgyz family, Nina, the matron of the house, said simply, “when you come to a Russian home, you must eat.” Then she proceeded to display a spread of mashed potatoes, beef stew, cabbage pie, and even a dish of horse radish. I had to wonder to myself, if I had had people like this around me, how vastly different would my service have been? Nina’s father in law was even there, a squinty old grandpa she just called Lyubyoshka. He insisted we match him shot for shot (three with dinner, two after we had bathed), and told great anecdotes, like, “the fall of the Soviet Union can be explained by one Russian proverb, ‘when you need to relax, go to work.’” He also showed us the many paintings he made, and ensured that the banya was incredibly hot.

 

Between dinner and the banya, I wandered into the garden, and my jaw dropped. They had a compost pile, and all their tools were hung neatly on the fence. Every single row was perfectly straight, and they even had over-wintered garlic already beginning to sprout. When we asked if they planned to rotate their crops to a new sport next year, Lyubyoshka just laughed, “I wouldn’t do it any other way.” Farmer Dan, for his part, had trouble picking his jaw up off the ground. “How can it be that these people already know everything I came here to teach?” Surely, a question for the ages.

 

But, folks, the dream couldn’t last forever. Yesterday morning, I dropped Farmer Dan off at the Manas International Airport outside of Bishkek. He had been so agreeable, so interesting, so laid back, such a perfect work partner, I wondered how I had ever gotten along without him, and, moreover, how I would do it once he had left. We had made an incredible team, spreading the word of the soil. At one point, Dan had laughed, “It is funny Car-car, we have never spent anywhere close to this much time together all at once!” And then, it seemed, it was already 5AM, and I was hugging Dan, sending him through the terminal gates.

 

But life moves on, and, in the Spring anyway, it does so with force. Congratulations to everyone who chipped in, as Trees for the Kyrgyz is now fully funded! The date for planting is April 16th, just a short ten days away. And speaking of ten, that number represents about how many more travel letters I’ve yet to send. How will you all ever get along without me?