Opaps p3: Earliest Memories, cont'd

[p. 3]

The next image is early in the morning, when I have crawled into bed with my father, and he sleeps on until daylight and the working day. My mother has already risen and is washing laundry. The wash tub is on a stool next to the large clock, and a small oil-burning lamp is on the corner of the clock's cabinet. My mother has on a coarse linen sleeveless blouse. The bed and the clock are next to the inside wall, and past the clock is the door to the next room, where the Kikuris family lives. For a long time I was forbidden to touch the big clock with its counterweights.

Here it would do to describe my father, with a peaked cap on his head and a colored whip handle, with a stitched leather grip, and, I believe, a water-proofed [latv. 'pika'] overcoat, going out to the Jamaiki estate to work for Baron Sreder [Schroeder?] as a coachman.

I need to add that my father had rented the Kalnieki farmstead out from Kleperis, the farmer who owned the Muizaraji farmstead; that might have been on a twenty-year lease beginning in 1885, or a 25-year period beginning in 1880.

It would also be appropriate to mention among my early memories the time I got my 'little stump'. At one end of the old living house was a pantry with cellars and shelves, and tiny windows. Then there was the kitchen with the bread-oven, the front of which opened into the kitchen, but the back protruded out into the main room. In front of the oven [or stove] was a low place, above which chains were hung, and pots hung on the chains. The cooking pans were small, but the water kettles and the pots for keeping scraps for pigs were large. A hand-mill stood in the corner, by the outside door.

In the center of the building was the door to the main room, where I had my accident. My mother climbed up to the loft, which went above every room but the kitchen, to throw down some firewood for baking bread. One log fell and landed on my right little finger (Ansitis), crushing the tip. The base of the fingernail survived, but the part from the first joint down was flattened, which was why it was called my 'stumpins'. The vein was harmed, too, so I couldn';'t bend it fully. There was pain and crying, but the most frightening part was-the bleeding. Later my mother would say that I could never be lost, that I could always be identified from my little stump.

Thinking about one event, another dawns in my memory. Writing about the fireplace, the time comes to mind when the Muizaraju threshing-barn burned down. That was located about 500 paces, along the walking path, from Kalnieki. I saw men running with tools to put out the fire: with axes, hooks, shovels, and buckets, making what seemed to be a great deal of noise. I followed along as far as the corner of the granary, and with great excitement watched the flames flaring up into the dark night. The view didn't last long; probably I was sent to bed so that I wouldn't think to go closer to the fire.

In the place of the threshing-barn a large shed was put up: the threshing barn had served its purpose, and grain was no longer trampled flat and dried there, but put into a 'gepelis' (gepele? = winch), a horse-drawn threshing machine. The threshing barn at Kalnieki was not needed at Kalnieki either, and while Muizarajs was renting there, he rebuilt it as a storage barn, so I only knew it as a shed (skunis).

There wasn't a bathhouse building (pirts), either. I don't know if there was one previously, or how it ended up. My earliest memory is of my mother bringing me along to the pirts at the Blaku house. I remember that it was completely unpleasant and unbearably hot in there. Somehow, having gotten loose, I ran to the pond outside, but then I got caught. There were only women and children there. The women were stocky, with large breasts, but there were no children for me to play with. The only reason I got away was that my mother and Anna, the farmer's wife at Blaki, were good friends, and enjoyed talking; they must have gotten carried away in their conversation and forgotten me until I'd reached the pond.

These are the brightest memories of my early childhood. Like drawings on a wall, they fade and crumble, soon making the picture distorted and unclear; the same happens to our memories with the passing of years. Only those moments are preserved which made the deepest impression, and touched our consciousness most sharply. Those moments may fade, but they are never erased.


				*The Memoirs of Jacob Kalnin, 1889-1986* *Opaps p3: Earliest Memories, cont'd*



	Home \| p6 \| p43 \| p42 \| p41 \| p38 \| p37 \| p36 \| p49 \| TOC \| p40 \| p48 \| p48a \| p84 \| p47 \| p39 \| p5 \| p4 \| p1 \| p3 \| Mailbag \| Contact Me \| p2


		This page completes the "Visagras Atminas" section.



		[p. 3] The next image is early in the morning, when I have crawled into bed with my father, and he sleeps on until daylight and the working day. My mother has already risen and is washing laundry. The wash tub is on a stool next to the large clock, and a small oil-burning lamp is on the corner of the clock's cabinet. My mother has on a coarse linen sleeveless blouse. The bed and the clock are next to the inside wall, and past the clock is the door to the next room, where the Kikuris family lives. For a long time I was forbidden to touch the big clock with its counterweights. Here it would do to describe my father, with a peaked cap on his head and a colored whip handle, with a stitched leather grip, and, I believe, a water-proofed [latv. 'pika'] overcoat, going out to the Jamaiki estate to work for Baron Sreder [Schroeder?] as a coachman. I need to add that my father had rented the Kalnieki farmstead out from Kleperis, the farmer who owned the Muizaraji farmstead; that might have been on a twenty-year lease beginning in 1885, or a 25-year period beginning in 1880. It would also be appropriate to mention among my early memories the time I got my 'little stump'. At one end of the old living house was a pantry with cellars and shelves, and tiny windows. Then there was the kitchen with the bread-oven, the front of which opened into the kitchen, but the back protruded out into the main room. In front of the oven [or stove] was a low place, above which chains were hung, and pots hung on the chains. The cooking pans were small, but the water kettles and the pots for keeping scraps for pigs were large. A hand-mill stood in the corner, by the outside door. In the center of the building was the door to the main room, where I had my accident. My mother climbed up to the loft, which went above every room but the kitchen, to throw down some firewood for baking bread. One log fell and landed on my right little finger (Ansitis), crushing the tip. The base of the fingernail survived, but the part from the first joint down was flattened, which was why it was called my 'stumpins'. The vein was harmed, too, so I couldn';'t bend it fully. There was pain and crying, but the most frightening part was-the bleeding. Later my mother would say that I could never be lost, that I could always be identified from my little stump. Thinking about one event, another dawns in my memory. Writing about the fireplace, the time comes to mind when the Muizaraju threshing-barn burned down. That was located about 500 paces, along the walking path, from Kalnieki. I saw men running with tools to put out the fire: with axes, hooks, shovels, and buckets, making what seemed to be a great deal of noise. I followed along as far as the corner of the granary, and with great excitement watched the flames flaring up into the dark night. The view didn't last long; probably I was sent to bed so that I wouldn't think to go closer to the fire. In the place of the threshing-barn a large shed was put up: the threshing barn had served its purpose, and grain was no longer trampled flat and dried there, but put into a 'gepelis' (gepele? = winch), a horse-drawn threshing machine. The threshing barn at Kalnieki was not needed at Kalnieki either, and while Muizarajs was renting there, he rebuilt it as a storage barn, so I only knew it as a shed (skunis). There wasn't a bathhouse building (pirts), either. I don't know if there was one previously, or how it ended up. My earliest memory is of my mother bringing me along to the pirts at the Blaku house. I remember that it was completely unpleasant and unbearably hot in there. Somehow, having gotten loose, I ran to the pond outside, but then I got caught. There were only women and children there. The women were stocky, with large breasts, but there were no children for me to play with. The only reason I got away was that my mother and Anna, the farmer's wife at Blaki, were good friends, and enjoyed talking; they must have gotten carried away in their conversation and forgotten me until I'd reached the pond. These are the brightest memories of my early childhood. Like drawings on a wall, they fade and crumble, soon making the picture distorted and unclear; the same happens to our memories with the passing of years. Only those moments are preserved which made the deepest impression, and touched our consciousness most sharply. Those moments may fade, but they are never erased.



		Translated by Peter Kalnin Feedback, submissions, ideas? Email pkalnin@hotmail.com.