I spent One Hundred and Three days in mountainous retreat during the first phase of the pandemic. During this period 24 hours stand out.
For three months I was mostly... but not entirely, alone. You see the cabin I was renting was divided down the middle by a rather thin wall into two identical apartments. Each was perfectly sized for 2-5 people, or one. The thin wall meant I got to auditorially participate in the other side’s TV watching.
Fortunately there weren’t too many vacationers around to rent the other side so things stayed quiet. One week however the family which owned the house started living on the other side. I was confused at first, their house proper wasn’t far away. So after failing to make any sense of it I simply let it be.
Wanting to ingratiate myself to the rather cold landlady, and more than anything wanting to share some Americana. I baked a batch of Oatmeal Raisin cookies and arranged them on a plate with a little sign reading “ciastka owsiane”. As I headed out to church I knocked on the door to the other side and offered the plate with one of my few polish words “prosze”.
They invited me in, the kids were over too, but I declined explaining that I was on my way to church.
After a mass, and a fat hour at the internet spot beside the road I got home at sunset and began to boil some water when a knock came on my door. I was invited over to their side. My mind was a little concerned about pandemic protocol but there was nothing to do but go. So I did. It was a real Saturday party, and the whole family was there: mom; dad; the kids and their spouses; baby Gabriela; and even uncle Manolice.
By this hour their party was growing late, and the dad was well sauced. They had saved a plate of food for me and sated their curiosity with as many questions as they could push through the son-in-law come translator. The father told me in Deutsch that he had spent ten years working in Germany and learned to speak it. And while I understood, I told him the truth, “nicht sprekenz Deutsch”.
The father in his drunken delight impressed upon me that we had to go on a hike tomorrow, 9am it was agreed. And soon the party wound down. The kids went home, and left without a translator I shortly excused myself.
Ready and waiting at 9 am I sat, a few minutes later the son rolled up, the father opened the door to wish us well and beg off in his hungover state. We walked up the hill to a large house I had seen before. Threw rocks at the window until the landlady’s son-in-law came to the balcony in his sleepwear. He agreed to join us on the hike, so we sat and waited, he came out and took our coffee/ tea orders. Then he took me up to see the birch water!
Similar to maple sugaring. During the late winter a hole tapped into a white birch will produce effluent. Patrick claimed that his more than four gallon haul had taken little more than a day. He also said that the water spoiled quickly, I hoped we wouldn’t waste any! Unsurprisingly the water, which had slight milky haze to it tasted like a tree, in a very mild and pleasant way.
Shortly breakfast was produced and we ate and woke. Though I was already well woke and ready to hike.
We hiked up through deer trails to a forest road. Along this a joint was produced but I explained that it was no longer my cup of tea and declined to inhale. Then at the opportune spot we foraged some “Beer Garlic”. Much talk had been made of this springtime speciality. And I was excited to try it. Maybe it would taste like beer? Or maybe it would have a taste which was a good compliment to a tall pint?
It was a tender green leaf that shoots up from the ground like a tulip’s. And, surprise surprise... it tasted like garlic. It was quite good. But I had to ask. Why was it called beer garlic?
We quickly untangled the mispronunciation that was going on. It was bear garlic. Ooh. That makes more sense. Or more properly czosnek niedźwiedzi. They had a good laugh all day with me trying to pronounce that last one!
At the end of the hike we came to an open area with clear views all around the valley that holds Węgierska Górka.
We made it back from the hike in perfect time for Sunday Obiad. Rosół, chicken noodle soup, was followed by a goulash that had been prepared over the barbecue in a cast iron. It was delicious.
A little digesting and storytelling and then it was time for the new grandma to take care of baby Gabriela whilest us kids headed to soak in the hot tub. Brews and views while we soaked.
After a quick rinse and thank yous all around I was back to the solitude of my side of the cabin exactly 24 hours after I had been invited into another world. At rest for the first time all day I was amazed how I energized I felt. I was sure it was the effect of a full day’s socializing after 2 months of isolation.
I’d had a blast, and was high on the social overload of other human beings. It would be almost three more months before I got a chance to experience that feeling again.
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