Well, after a few hosting troubles, busy lives, and other things that are now in the past, here I am again. Not that anyone cares, except for a few weirdos out there (yes you, you know who you are) who are following the happenings in the Green Forest maybe a little too closely.

Having said that, I will dive right in to reporting on a trip I took not too long ago (ok, it was this summer, but that is still not too long ago). We did not have very much vacation this summer, but what we had we used up traveling, mostly. So it happened that I decided to get back to my roots, and teach the girly girl about it too. I took her to my grandmother’s farm, way up in the mountains of Transylvania. It is a beautiful spot, far away from traffic (in fact, the farm can only be reached on foot or horseback) and it still looks like it did when I was little, except the fruit trees are now so big that you can’t see through them in some parts of the property.

I have some great memories of this place: I climbed my first tree here, got spit in the eye by a frog (really, i’m not kidding, it hurts like hell), tasted the best spud (ever), had my first (and only) pet pig (I will never forget you Georgie), was crowned queen of the forest (by my innocent and easy to manipulate little cousins), learned that cats can’t swim (for real) and that there is nothing quite as liberating as chasing chickens (just try it, you’ll see what I mean). Of course there are many more stories to tell about this place where time just stands still, but it would take years to write about. I may have left this magical place years ago, but I still carry with me what my grandparents taught me: that life takes its course passing from season to season, and that the love and support of family is the only constant in an ever changing world.

For sure, my daughter did not have the same experience I had, you can’t live all the summers of childhood in two short weeks, but it sure was a new experience for her. She learned how to live without indoor plumbing, TV, gameboy, internet, and an electric stove. She also learned that other children in certain parts of the world don’t have what she takes for granted. Of course she knew that, theoretically, but seeing it live was an entirely different matter. She also had fun learning all about wild mushrooms, gathering fire wood, and daily tending to the cat family. Above all of that, she got to spend time with her grandmother and her great grandmother, and that in itself is an experience that is priceless.

I could not stay the entire time and watch her become a little farmer who does not run away from every little bug, but I did hang out at the farm for a few days. During that time, when I was not taking the cows in and out of the barn and looking for wild mushrooms in the woods, I managed to visit my grandmothers birthplace. I have always wanted to go there, but there was never enough time or resources. It is less than 10 miles from the farm, but, as it is in those mountains, it’s not easy to get there from one place to another. Finally, one fine August morning, my uncle was in the mood to drive us there.

My grandmother was born and raised in a small village called Apple Meadow. It has always been a small village, and, because of its very hard to access location in the heart of the Carpathian Mountains, it has survived almost untouched from Roman times, through world wars, until today. The Romanian people have dark hair, dark eyes, like all Balkan people. The villagers in Apple Meadow, including my grandmother, are fair haired, with clear blue eyes. Researchers believe they are direct descendants from the ancient Dacians, who were then conquered and colonized by the Romans, thus forming the Romanian people.

Grandmother always told us stories about her birthplace, how proud she was of it. This time I could see why. Agriculture in Romania is in a general state of ruin, except for a few hidden pockets. Apple Meadow is one such pocket. While the surrounding lands lay uncultivated and sad, the properties at Apple Meadow are practically shining. Every piece of land has its order, the hay is made and stacked up properly, the fruit trees are pruned and the gardens weeded. Grandma always told us that her people are the most hard working. Well, from what I saw, it must be true. It is even more amazing considering some of the cultivated land is on such steep slopes, that you wonder how they can stand on it without rolling off. And everything is still done by hand, just as it was hundreds of years ago.

We climbed on one of the hills, from where we could look around. I was out of breath just climbing one little hill, I can’t imagine how it would be to live there and daily have to go up and down, often carrying stuff on your back or with your hands. We visited Apple Meadow on a Sunday afternoon, so no one was working in the fields. As I stood there on top of the hill, looking from one neat little house to the other, breathing in the fresh mountain air, I thought that the people of Apple Meadow really deserved their break.