I had a conundrum when wrapping up my last post. I was recounting the journey to my cabin in the woods. Preceded by a strange day of travel seeded through with tension and the calamitous unknown I had arrived. I wanted to write “I was home”.
But I couldn’t write that. It wouldn’t be true. You see I had arrived after dark in a new and entirely unknown place. I didn’t feel at home... not yet at least. The feeling is only true for me now one year later, looking back on all that transpired. And having the feeling that this place was my home.
The place of course is Żabnica Skałka. I figured that out on my first day there. It was a beautiful and tranquil place to behold, dripping pines, the sound of rushing mountain streams. I wandered through the little crossroads, gandered at the bus schedule. Shopped at the little convenience. I discovered a spot by the side of the road where I could pick up a cell signal. It was only a twenty minute journey to the internet. I messaged my family to let them know I was alright. Made a plan for the next day to walk down to town and shop at the supermarket. I was blessed with one of those Polish spring days which is all sun. The 5 mile walk was a chance to appreciate the local topography and see the sights: a wooden church, a war memorial... well two actually, and always the stream with it’s song.
Gradually I settled in. I watched a little Polish TV, and used my smartphone to translate the news crawl. Nothing much was happening, so my tensions and fears began to fade into a default backbase of pandemic life. I made my cabin feel like home. Watched the endless mists and rains. Baked chocolate chip cookies.
When the weather was fair I explored the mountains around the bowl I was in. Żabnica ( meaning angler fish in Polish) was technically the village I was staying in. However the center is really a mile away. Żabnica Skałka ( the second word meaning rock in Polish) was a little crossroads where three streams joined together. It was also the bottom of a bowl surrounded by mountains on almost all sides. Only the narrow path carved out by the water led down to the rest of the village. It felt like a good place to be if a nuclear bomb was going to explode somewhere. It was a good place to be during a pandemic too.
On that later theme. I had been quick and fox-like in my dash to a burrow. I was curious to know how the rest of the country was experiencing the pandemic. I’m not sure if I cared so much for me as I wished to tell my friends and family back in The States how Poland was reacting. Life in the mountains went on as usual as far as I could tell. But slowly I became aware that the government bureaucracy was making changes. The schools closed and school-at-home programs filled the daytime schedule on state-run TV. The local bus stopped running. The television clued me in to the latest hashtag and my first few words of Polish #zostanwdomu. (“remaining at home”). By early April we had reached Poland’s most locked down state. Still it was light compared to other European countries, there were no movement restrictions or curfews.
My trips to the internet spot every couple days kept me topped up with downloaded podcasts and readings. The embassy kept up a drumbeat of repetitious emails. There were repatriation flights. Occasionally I would be struck by pangs of lonesome homesickness and wish I were on one of those jets back across the Atlantic. But when those feelings passed and I had time to consider things evenly it seemed that the best and safest thing was to stay.
I was keeping plenty well in all the most stereotyped pandemic ways. Gardening, tending a sourdough mother, training for a marathon, watching all the neighbors’ business.
In fact I became smile neighbors with the people on both sides. A few brownies and chocolate chip cookies go a long way.
I was told that my kitty-corner neighbor was an Australian man. The opportunity to speak English was thwarted however by his reclusiveness. I waited till he was out in the yard on a fine day to stroll over and say hello. That day never came. I saw his car moved and smoke rose from the chimney but I never saw the man himself. Finally I worked up the courage to walk over and knock on his door. . . No response. But wouldn’t ya know it, the very next day as I came back from a run, there he was. We spoke for about 15 minutes and he offered any help I may need, a ride into town etc. Being self-sufficient I declined his offers. That evening I realized... I should have asked for a book!
As I settled in more and more the only anxiety in my mind was about extending my rental, bit by bit. I didn’t really know what my plan was, nor when things would get better. So when I had limited vision I communicated what I knew and we pushed back my leave date. But I also recognized that this was a vacation rental cabin, and that the next time I tried to get another month the landlady might tell me that it was already booked! My interactions with her were generally a little awkward and cold. Sometimes her son-in-law translated, but the energy was the same. One time she said to me, disgustedly, “learn some polish!” Fortunately the stepson was around, or I wouldn’t have known what she said!
This has the intended effect. I had been dillying in my head back and forth whether or not to learn a little polish with all my stay-at-home time. I downloaded a few audio lessons and started doing 20 minutes of study a day.
Learning the alphabet came first, what to do with all those ‘cz’s ‘ł’s, ‘ę’s and so on. Once I got that down I practiced reading words when I found them, I eventually mastered the name of every side street along my 5 mile bike route to town, even if I didn’t know what they all meant! Then I started to learn to count, I found a little YouTube video and would practice it when I was down at the internet spot. Despite having learned the alphabet, my mouth was still novice at the Slavic forms, and I practiced 1 to 10 for a few weeks. Lord knows what the locals thought as they saw me pacing back and forth by the side of the road counting to ten again and again.
Because the one store in Żabnicy Skałka was a little convenience store with most things behind the counter, words were a big step up on the routine of pointing
saying “Nie”
Pointing again
Saying “tak”
For every item I wanted.
I distinctly recall one day asking for Jello. When the shop lady responded to ask me which one, I was able to ask for green Jello (my favorite). I was so proud of my new language skills.
After the numbers and colors and days of the week, came a few verbs and adjectives and nouns.
I was putting some language skills under my belt, but I still had no one to talk to. I was totally alone. A day or two without uttering a word to anyone was common. And phone calls only broke the lonesomeness so much. But still I was keeping well, and through all the experiences I felt more and more a sense of place, a little cabin to call home.
**PS: the title of this post uses the polish word for 3. Trz. This was one of my biggest hang ups in the numbers. Where’s the vowel sound? Well sometimes Slavic words don’t have any. T is a soft ‘t’ sound. And “rz” pronounces as the ‘sh’ sound. Try sticking these two sounds together. If you’re adding an ‘i’ sound between the t and the rz your cheating! Try again. Here’s the YouTube video I referred to in the post if you want to hear how it’s done.
