We are approaching the end of our second summer back in Russia. Life seems pretty normal here compared to the news we hear from back in the States. I have not been able to keep up with all the events of Charlottesville, so I am not informed enough to offer any in-depth insights. I have only picked up fragmented reports. I thought America seemed so divided when we left last summer. The political race was heating up; it seemed like it was a different campaign from what I had ever observed in that there was a deeper bitterness dividing the “sides.” I vaguely recall past elections when the former adversaries would come together for a hand shake, or congratulations would be sent to the victor and usually there was an assurance by both sides on the need for all to work together for the good of the country. It seemed this time the election was barely over before the cries of Russian hacking and Russian collusion started. I still thought that, while it was taking longer, eventually the healing would begin. Clearly I was wrong. The divisions now seem deeper than just political differences given the brutality of the last week of news. The nation seems more fragmented than simply divided. I really do not know how to explain these things to my Russian friends, because I do not understand what is going on in America myself.

In Russia life goes on at the same pace. This past weekend was the celebration called “Day of the City” in Luga. Many cities in Russia have a day set aside around the anniversary of their founding to celebrate the good things about the city. In the weeks prior to it the workers clean up, repaint and “spruce things up.” Luga was founded in 1777 by Catherine the Great. So this year there was an unveiling of a monument to her. It is a very nice statue. My understanding is that the violence in Charlottesville began in protest over the removal of the statue of the Confederate General Robert E. Lee. Then it devolved into other issues of rights and free speech over which there was no agreement. Russia went through its own days of violent disagreement especially after the fall of Communism. In the 90s Boris Yeltsin was essentially selling off the resources of the nation to the highest bidders. He was widely disdained here but supported by the West, especially America. Statues were destroyed, buildings vandalized, and crime soared. It is quite different in Luga now. There is a statue across the street from our apartment of Vladimir Lenin, the leader of the Bolshevik revolution and the first clear leader of the change to Communism. Go down the road and there is the new statue of Catherine the Great who was empress of Russia 1762-96. A recent history I just finished calls her reign “The Golden Age.” Some people here still revere Lenin; others loathe the violent and atheistic regime they believe he led. Others have great admiration for the Romanov dynasty, while some point to the lavish and hypocritical life many believe she lived. Somehow folks in Luga have learned to accept their history, and most would agree both leaders had their flaws. No one seems to think a statue in their honor indicates moral and political perfection. Both, the Romanov dynasty and the Bolsheviks, have their place in Russian and Lugan history.

The celebration is about food for adults and games for the children for the most part. We enjoyed walking around and seeing folks. There were huge agricultural and military vehicles and machines on the street outside our apartment, as well as some small arms for kids to see and feel what a real Kalashnikov is like. The agricultural machines represent the work to be done in peace, and the military vehicles represent the protection of the people. They were quite impressive.

I don’t recall cities of this size in America celebrating their anniversaries like here. Why bring in the huge vehicles and arms to the celebration? Russian history is very different from American history, as I have discussed before. After church on Sundays we often go to the little cafe across the courtyard from our apartment for lunch. We all five can get a pretty good meal and ice cream for dessert for a little more than twelve dollars! The first time we went there I saw a picture on the wall in the dining room of downtown Luga from many years ago. It was one with the old cars from back in the forties on the street. I thought if you switched out the Russian Orthodox Church in the middle of the picture and photo shopped in a First Baptist, it could have been of a small town in South Carolina in the forties! But then something caught my eye: the street sign. It was forbidding parking in the street as best I could read. Nothing strange there, but the sign was written in German. It was taken when the Nazis had taken over the city. I thought what would it be like to see an old photo of the town in which I was born back in Pickens, S.C. if the street signs were not in English. How would I feel if my grandparents had shared stories with me of when the Nazis ran their lives and made them learn their language? When I was growing up I heard folks talk of men (and some women) who “went off to war.” That was always the phrase. All my ancestors in the last hundred years went off to fight wars in other lands. In Luga, one fought for your own city. Luga was granted the status of “Hero City” by the Russian government. They eventually were overrun by the far more numerous Nazis, but they held them off long enough for St. Petersburg to get prepared to some degree for the coming seige. They also maintained a militia which pestered the Germans who beseiged St. Petersburg with what was essentially guerilla warfare. War is awful. The older I get the more I hate it. But I think it is different when you know you are fighting for your land, your family, the land of your friends and extended family. You are fighting for your life and the kind of life you passionately want preserved. The ancestors of Luga didn’t “go off” to war; they fought for their farms on those very farms. Celebrations of present freedoms mean a lot more, I think, when that is your history. It’s games and food, but at a deeper level it is more than that. I shudder to think it could take war on our own land to make Americans more appreciative of the freedoms we now have. Maybe freedom of speech would be exercised with more discretion if we saw first hand the alternative of speaking a foreign tongue in our own land.

On a personal level we continue to adjust. I still do my walks around town, practice my Russian as much as possible and enjoy family time. We finally found a church where we belong. I have mentioned in a few blogs that our church was an important part of our life in America, and we have not been able to find a Russian Orthodox church that seemed, well, a good fit. But a taxi driver recommended that we go to one in a small village about 15 minutes from here called Tolmachёvo. Our first Sunday there we were surprised to see a relatively new and very attractive Orthodox building. We learned the old church, which was built in 1899, burned down in 1999. The new one was completed in 2007. The priest conducted the Liturgy in a way that made us feel, well, more at home. The singing was beautiful, as it has been in every Orthodox Church I’ve attended. After the Liturgy the priest was presented flowers by the congregation for his birthday (which was the day before). A lady spoke on behalf of the whole group. He has been there fourteen years. He came there when he was 29 years old. She told him they appreciated the way he had walked with all the families through some very difficult years. She added very sincerely, “You have taught us to be kinder to each other, to be more patient with others. We are better people because of you, and we thank you for that.” You could see her words were sincere, and the congregation kept nodding in agreement.

After people dispersed we were waiting for a taxi to come pick us up, and that gave us an opportunity to talk to Father Nikolay with no one around for a few minutes. Oksana explained we had moved to Luga after eight years in America, that I was American and while I speak some Russian I am not (yet!) fluent. He leaned over and focused his gaze on me, as if for a clearer look and said, “Did you play Santa Claus in the Christmas play at Erudite school?” I confessed that I was in fact Santa. Unbeknownst to us his younger daughter attends the school where we teach. He then explained that the Church has an “American connection.” It was founded by General Zherbin, who was from a well-to-do family back in the late 1800s. After the revolution about half the family was able to leave Russia for America. They settled in Seattle and became very successful there. One lady became a prominent member of the Seattle Symphony Orchestra. Another member of that family worked for NASA and was, in fact, the supervisor of the Space Station project when America and Russia worked on it together. It is my understanding that all the American members of the family have passed on, but they kept in touch with the church throughout their lives. I told him I was shocked that an Orthodox Church in this small village had such a connection with America. He added that the Reader (the young gentleman who had read the Gospels and other readings during the Liturgy) had lived in America for three years and spoke fluently in English. (We have since joined with him and his wife for a few meals and have formed a quick and meaningful friendship.)

Eight days from our first visit the church had reserved a bus to go to St. Petersburg to venerate the relics of the original St. Nicholas. We thought it would be a good chance perhaps to meet folks in the church and get to know the priest better. We showed up Monday morning at 8:00 a.m. and were in line by 8:30. We had plenty of time to chat! It was five hours later when we exited the Cathedral after quickly viewing and venerating the relics! Thousands and thousands of people were there—on a Monday morning! But we did get a chance to chat more with the priest. We did feel like we got the chance to know Father Nicolas very well. He even asked Oksana to consider teaching in the children’s Sunday School. We were very pleased to feel a part of this rather small congregation with the “American connection.” Somehow we sensed this was a place for our family.

All of us on Facebook see the various “memes” that pop up from time to time. Some funny, some thoughtful. I saw one on a page from a friend about my age the other day that made me laugh—and think. It said, “If I could sum up my life in one sentence it would be: ‘Now that didn’t go as planned.’” My life certainly has not gone as planned. I was born in a small Southern town during the Cold War. Robert E. Lee was much revered in my part of the country. But at 18 years old I joined the Marines as a loyal American and was ready to go fight Communists in Vietnam—or anywhere. Thankfully, I never was sent. Not only did I not plan on living in Russia one day, the thought would have seemed pathetically laughable to my young self. But here I am. One of my sons in America turned thirty-five this month, and my little daughter here in Russia turns three next month. I’m still trying to weave the strands together from the different stages of my life, but the tapestry still needs a lot of work. As my blog indicates, living here has made me think more about history—personal and national. It has made me think more deeply about the ways in which the two “worlds” of my life differ and the values they share. I guess it is natural that the differences attract most of the attention, and the differences between Russia and America are quite real. Nevertheless, after spending a typical day reading the news from America, then studying Russian grammar and history, then walking to the local market with the family, I still think my friends and acquaintances from my two worlds are more alike than different. I also believe both can learn from the flaws and strengths of the other. Maybe the blog can help with that, but I may be aiming too high.


  1. I also appreciate your blog. I don’t understand what is going on here in the US and I am living here. I can tell you though that I live in place where we all talk to each other more than other places near to us. We live in a small section of a larger city in NJ and it’s a poorer section and today a man down the street talked with me about his foot fracture and I told him about my ankle fracture. He’s doing PT 2x/week, me 3x/week. I am white with curly brown hair. He’s younger than me, black skin, awesome dreads and it was totally normal for us to talk. In a city near us, that’s more affluent, it’s filled with young kids working in Manhattan earning big bucks. Other than hurricane Sandy, they never talked to someone they did not personally know. I am glad to be living where I am rather than in the more fancy $$$ area where people are cold to the other, esp if they are young. There were some people in that neighbourhood who were elderly, retired, born and raised there. They would talk to me. But the age of the man who talked to me today and the age of those other kids are similar and that the more affluent won’t talk to someone is telling a sad tale. But I am going to focus on the happier tales, like my 100% normal conversation today. I am sad by the destruction of history here in the States and the inability to think things through without absolute ‘categories’ and without understanding history as a whole.

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    • Great to read that about your conversation with that young man. And what you said about where you live and how conversations are more likely there made me think of here in the small town in Russia where I live. Even though I’m American, I’m not treated badly and people like to talk to me–if they can understand me of course! Your use of “absolute categories” for the way people think is exactly on point! Thank you.


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