Travelogue 7-10

Home away from home.

The walk up from the valley.

Travelogue 7-10

Dateline: Molokova, Russia; April 9, 2010—Back home in Alabama they are already dealing with 80+ degree days. And here I am in Molokova, a small town less than an hour from the former closed Soviet city of Perm. A cluster of log cabins of ancient vintage interspersed with modern two story weekend getaway cabins with double-insulated windows still lie wrapped in a heavy mantle of ice and snow from the long and weary winter. It would be hard to express the beauty of this Ural Mountain snowscape. Take the most endearing scenes Currier and Ives created and you have an inkling of this pre-Siberia Russian area in early spring. Stands of birch trees punctuate the broad sweeps of jagged pines reaching for the breathless blue of a pollution-free sky.

The Ural Mountains stretch 1,000 miles south from the Arctic Ocean to the Aral Sea. On Sabbath they drove me a few kilometers from Molokova to the top of our part of the Urals and we looked down upon a very wide river, upon which you could see many people walking. The river is much more even and smooth than the pock-marked and torturous highways here. This Ural range marks the conventional dividing line between what is commonly considered Europe and the vast beginning of Asia. Now, calling them mountains, at least in this area, might be wishful thinking. They find their match somewhere between America’s ancient Smokies and the diminutive Arbuckles. Never heard of the Arbuckles? They form but a slight rise in the road in the midwestern USA. So here we have hills called mountains draped with their evergreen shawls, and the white, white snow.

Each day since we arrived, the sun has widened the road we traverse from the village to the lifestyle center where we have been staying. Still, in the shadowed valley between our “home” and the classroom/cafeteria/dorm, the evergreens stand sentinel over their hoard of show, holding the sun’s warming rays at bay so the ice remains thick and snow grasps the retreating winter, daring not to let it go for in its surrender, it also finds its demise. Frankly, it is a blessing to walk this icy part of the path considering other parts in the meadow. Up there, a part of the path where the snow has vanished has been churned to thick, deep mud. But you dare not leave the widening path for the snow is deep elsewhere. A few times I have made the mistake of trying to “snowshoe it” over the crust and ended up with a boot full of snow.

Each night we have a hard freeze and the one-kilometer traverse in the morning is much easier. The mud is ice hard, the water that was flowing the afternoon before is again locked in night’s embrace. The forests surrounding this area are said to shelter bears, wolves, moose, deer and a multitude of other wild critters. It is nothing less than a dream to be here. Steven Grabiner, the vice president of OCI, and I are the only ones staying in the center. At night the only sound one can hear outside is an occasional whisper being passed from tree to tree, whether discussing the two strange speaking visitors below or wishing each other a good night’s rest, I know not. Whatever, I feel more than welcome. But all of this is not the best part.

I have lived in many places, traveled to many lands. And when in quiet reverie I consider the places where I have been the happiest and the places where I would as soon forget, the best was in the middle of the Mojave Desert. Why? Oh yes, I loved watching the sun turning the Big Sheep mountains beyond Marine Corps Base Twentynine Palms pink and purple each evening. Loved running from Joshua Tree National Monument at dusk, lizards and Roadrunners scurrying out of my way. But it was, and always will be, the people that add the most enjoyment to my life. Every aspect of 29 Palms I loved. And here in Molokova I have found another comfortable refuge.

Somehow during my travels of the last two weeks I seem to have done some serious damage to a nerve serving my left leg. Walking is at times can be excruciating, standing is a challenge, and I totter about like an old man. And all these lovely people hover around, keeping me from falling over, helping me put on my boots if I’d let them, offering me rides to the lifestyle center. One of the therapists gave me a series of hot fomentations, another supplied me with two hot water bottles, and the overall manager gave me three cayenne pepper plasters. And one night they fired up the banyo, the Russian sauna. In this part of the world, most people have a banyo. This project has two.

The first we went to was a very small log cabin of unknown vintage. The banyo professor, the name they give to Boris who prepares the banyos for service. The kind people did it here because it was very near where we were staying although the whole walk through the snowy fields and valley to their homes. All day long the logs had been burning, heating the air and the log to their very hearts. It was hot. Once a good sweat was evident, they would beat any willing banyoite with clusters of birch and pine branches, intermittently dousing us with cold water. That accomplished and the heat rising, we would retire to the outside and rub ourselves down with snow. I would lie down and make snow angels in the deep, refreshing crystals. That was the best night’s sleep I have had in a while.

This work in Molokova was begun by a man who owned a furniture factory. He was making a good living but it wasn’t what he wanted to do with his life. So, he sold his business and bought the property in Molokova and began building. This is an entirely selfless ministry he has created and around him he has gathered a dedicated staff, numbering less than ten. And then there are the students, taking the six-month course in medical missionary work. The sanitarium can accommodate 16 to 17 patients and since December, they have had 60 patients. Four of the staff are therapists so they stay relatively busy when patients are here. For our time, they had no patient sessions so they could devote the time to our classes. We would teach all afternoon.

Next winter I plan to return to Molokova, when the nights are long and the temperatures drop to nearly 50 below zero Fahrenheit. It does get cold. Right now it is still light at 9:30-10 PM.

That’s about all for now. God’s blessings,

Don