An Outing With The Children

After we had eaten, an hour or so of free time remained. A few of the children clambered down the hill to throw stones in the river. Kids are kids, in Ukraine, as well as in the United States. Most of the children though, pretty much hung around me, especially the little boy who sat on my lap during the morning church service. He seemed to think that my lap was a pretty special place to be, and while I was sitting in a chair on the patio enjoying the warmth of the sun, he didn’t hesitate to climb up there again.

As I put my left arm around him, and he snuggled into me with his head against my chest, I had so many thoughts about this little boy with such a big heart. Is he one of the orphans? What is his life like? Does he receive love at home? If not, maybe that’s why he wants to be so close to me. How well are his daily needs fulfilled. What are the living conditions of his home? More unanswerable questions occupied my mind. My heart went out to this precious child. I reached over with my right arm and gave him a squeeze. He tipped his head back, looked up at me, and as our eyes met, he created a smile, such a beautiful smile... with a big hole in it ...where his two front teeth will someday be! How could I not feel love in my heart for this dear little boy.

It was now time to walk up to the road and board the bus. We’re going on an outing; one I’ll never forget. I hope!! My father and his brother were afflicted with Alzheimer’s, so that disease could be in my genes too. At least I’ll have the pictures of my time with the children, if that helps with the memory function.

Father Ivan (Ee`-vahn) indicated that I should sit in the seat behind the driver. Marianna, my youth interpreter sat next to me, but not before you-know-who climbed up on my lap. In his mind, and in his heart, he and his Santa weren’t going to be separated, not if he could help it.

Father Bohdon sat in the middle of the bus. He appeared to have a closer relationship to the children than does Fr. Ivan. They love Fr. Ivan, but they seemed to relate to his brother more. His role in their church is similar to that of their Youth Pastor. We had no sooner pulled onto the road, when he started a song to get the children singing. Those lovely voices sang one song after another. It was non-stop music all the way to our destination. For someone who appreciates beautiful music, and to whom the making of music is such an important part of my life, I couldn’t help but imagine myself to be in Heaven, surrounded by a very young choir of white-robed singing angels...whose lives on earth had been cut... much too short.

We rode along for about forty minutes, pretty much following the same river that flowed behind the monastery, the road continually rising in elevation We were now climbing into the Carpathian Mountains, this portion of which is known as “Carpati Orientali.”

I was familiar with the name of this mountain range, having been associated with the American Transylvanian Society for ten years now. During the earlier days of this European excursion, I traveled as a member of the Youngstown/Cleveland Saxon blaskapelle and dance group during our concert tour of Austria and Germany. The ancestors of most of the group emigrated from a part of what is now Romania, from an area of that country called Transylvania. My friends are, therefore, known as Transylvanian Saxons. Transylvania is located in another part of the Carpathian Mountains, named “Carpati Meridionali.” Although I am of Scot-English lineage, I am accepted as a member of the Culture Group at our local Saxon club.

Now lets get back to our outing. We pulled into a small picturesque village. From the center of the village, we walked across a concrete bridge over the same river we had been following. Since we had been traveling toward its headwaters, the river was a lot narrower now.

Walking onward and upward, we progressed at a very slow pace up a dirt road, because in many places, it wasn’t really much of a road at all. That big storm a few days ago had turned the dirt into slippery mud, and there was a long deep, erosion-caused rut down the middle. At times, we had to hang onto a split- rail fence on our right, just so we didn’t slide down into that depression.

There is only one house along this road, about half-way to our destination, which I was just now beginning to see. All of a sudden, I heard excited voices calling me, “Santa! Santa! Look! Look! It’s one of your reindeer.” There is a small barn behind the house, and just behind the barn is a fenced-in corral. And there, as big as life, stood a very large white-tail deer with a very full ten-point rack. Even with his legs dirty from the mud he was standing in, caused by the recent rain, he was a magnificent animal to see.

We pushed on for another five minutes or so, working our way up this so called road, sometimes crossing from side to side to find better footing. This pattern of walking reminded me of how Val sometimes had to maneuver his car as we drove on some of the roads that I described earlier.

Well, we did it! We reached the top of the hill, have arrived at our destination, and our reason for this outing. Where we are, what we did, and what we saw comes next. Hang on!! That’s a hint of what’s to come.