At the Dacha

We have visited our current host mom’s dacha three times now, and it’s a notable experience. Before coming to this country, we thought a dacha was an elaborate Russian summer home. From our limited experience so far, we understand that most dachas are small properties, no more than an eighth of an acre, usually with a small rustic cabin, whose primary purpose is to grow food in a “kitchen garden.” They tend to be in what might be called dacha developments, side by side by side in neat rows, sharing services such as well water and power. There’s no indoor plumbing. Outhouses are located on the opposite end of each property from the cabin. We mentioned earlier that our first host family, who live in a village just outside of our training city, had a large garden on their property as well as another garden a short walk away. Dachas seem to serve the same purpose, of growing one’s own food, for apartment dwellers, as well as offering a nature break from the cement high-rises in which many live.

When we go to the dacha we’re out the door by 7:00 am to catch a marshrutka bus to a small boat dock. There we board a small low-slung metal boat with fabric roof that holds a lot of people, all heading out to their dachas. The main reason for the early start is that on Wednesdays, Saturdays, and Sundays, from 8:30 to 10:30 AM (and only those times), river water is pumped through the pipes in the dacha development, so everyone can water their crops. When we arrive at our host mom’s place, we first change into our dacha clothes: well-worn and oversized shorts, T-shirts, and plastic sandals. Then we clomp around getting hoses set up, and once the water comes on, we’re focused on getting everything soaked. Everything currently includes tomatoes, cucumbers, beans, squash, potatoes, onions, garlic, and lots of flowers. There are also fruit trees: apricots, berries, apples, peaches, pears, and a spectacular grape arbor that is bending with the weight of plumping fruit. We city-slickers have enjoyed watching things grow from the first time we were there six weeks ago during our brief “site visit” until now. It is currently the season for apricots and cucumbers, as well as some absolutely delicious berries, unlike any we’ve seen before.

The setting is quite beautiful. Across the river from the city, these dachas are surrounded by green trees and bushes that make them invisible from the river. Small river-lets snake between the different little islands, and many folks enjoy the option of jumping in to cool off.

At the dacha, after the watering is done, it’s time for breakfast. There’s a hot plate for cooking, and soup, eggs, salads, and of course potatoes, are all on offer, as well as coffee, homemade vodka, and juice. After breakfast, with bamboo fishing poles in hand, we’ve usually gone to our host mom’s second “dacha” which in this case is another similar-sized property, with no structures, used strictly for gardening – mostly potatoes. It is located on one of the river-lets, with a few planks propped up at the river from which to fish. Our host mom catches three or four times more than anyone else, and the fish range in size from two to five inches. When we return to the cabin, they are promptly cleaned, floured and fried up for lunch -- the smaller ones eaten whole.

The Tom Sawyer feeling is augmented when we must cross a different small river-let to get to and from this second dacha. We now call it the “chain raft” and here’s why. The 20- by 8-foot metal raft is attached to chains on either end, which are each permanently attached to small metal docks on either side of the river, about 30 yards across. To cross, we first pull on the chain that connects the dock we’re standing on to the raft in order to get it to our side of the river, and we board it. Next, we grab the chain that’s attached to the other side of the raft, and pull on it, which results in the raft’s moving across water. Mission accomplished.

Peter has become made the primary “shashleek” preparer, always considered a man’s job here. At the dacha it involves stacking a few bricks in two short rows and starting the BBQ fire with kindling from the yard, papers, and small pieces of firewood. Chicken parts have been marinated, and Peter skewers the meat alternately with onions from the garden, and then tends them on the fire until they’re done. They’ve been part of either breakfast or lunch on different dacha visits.

The last thing we did before returning home most recently was to shake the big apricot tree so that bucketsful of perfectly ripe and sweet apricots fell. We’ve been enjoying them both fresh and cooked into jam since. Apricot overload is possible, but not likely.