By Lija
This will be one of those days that I remember for the rest of my life. This morning, we left our flat in Riga in search of my father’s birthplace. In September of 1944, when my father was just 16 months old, my grandmother and 30 other relatives fled their homes in rural northeastern Latvia just a few days in front of the advancing Russian Army. My dad remembers nothing of his birth home in rural Latvia. Today we set out to see what we could find.
From our flat, we took one right turn onto “Freedom Boulevard” in the center of Riga then followed it out straight of town onto the A2, a nice country highway that stretches straight northeast from Riga to the Russian border. Two and a half hours later we turned right onto road P39, which took us straight into Aluksne, the largest town in my father’s family’s region.
Our first stop was for lunch at a café recommended to us by our lovely cousin Andra, with whom we ate an amazing dinner the night before. She clearly knows how to choose a good restaurant, as the small café in downtown Aluksne was just great. However we quickly determined that my dad’s Latvian wasn’t going to help us decide what to order. So instead we just ordered one of everything on the menu excluding desserts. All of it was better than the best pub lunch we had in England. (Sorry for the cheap shot at English food, but seriously, it was so much better. And healthier. And way cheaper – 22 Euros plus a generous tip for seven dishes, four bottles of water, and one coffee.)
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| The menu. We got everything listed in sections 1 and 2. |
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| Two of the seven delicious dishes we ate. |
We drove straight through town in search of my great-grandfather’s family farm. My dad had brought some maps, hand-drawn from memory by my grandfather, of where the family homes and lands were located. I was using Google maps against which we cross referenced lakes, roads, fields, and other landmarks. Just before turning off the “main road” we saw a man and woman out raking their yard. We stopped and my father introduce himself. They knew exactly who he was and warmly welcomed us. They took us around the back of their house and gave us handfuls of grapes and raspberries that they had growing in their backyard orchard. They pointed us in the right direction to the family home – across the stream, turn left, then continue on. After a few wrong turns onto increasingly rustic “roads” we got to an area that we believe is very close to the family homes. But we will return to tomorrow with a local guide who can show us for sure – so more on that later. Regardless, we enjoyed driving on roads and walking on fields once traveled by our ancestors. It's a beautiful part of the world, similar to Minnesota in many ways in terms of the trees, farms, and climate.
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| Delicious grapes. |
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| Pretty sure this is some Ozols's field. |
We returned to Aluksne to visit the church where my father was baptized and my grandparents and many other relatives were married. The church was build in the late 1700s but is still in active use. A kind woman from the church motioned the kids to follow her and unlocked the door to the bell tower – the highest point in many counties I suspect. I only made it to the second level, but Andrew and the kids traipsed up the 200+ year old, hand-carved stair case past the church bells to see Lake Aluksne and the city.
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| If anyone can explain to me why there's a rooster on the top of the church, I would be grateful. |
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| Church interior. I'm guessing not much has changed since my grandparents were married here. |
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| Andrew and the kids climbed up three curving flights of stairs like these plus other smaller sets to reach the top of the bell tower. |
Below left is a photo that Arija took from the belltower today. Below right is a photo taken by my grandfather in 1991 when he returned for the first time after Latvian independence. I didn't crop or edit either of them. We didn't realize they had taken the same until we were looking through my archived photos.
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| Arija's photo, 2016. |
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| My grandfather's photo, 1991. |
When we planned our trip we had discussed visiting the church cemetery to try to find the graves of my great-great and great-great-great grandfathers (my great-grandfather is buried in Schwandorf, Germany – we’ll visit him next week). The nice woman from the church warned that it might be hard to find their graves. The cemetery is “big,” she said. How big? 14 hectares or about 35 football fields! I was expecting a few graves next to the church, but the cemetery has prime lake-side real estate and is absolutely gorgeous. It stretches across hills and under old pine trees down to the shores of the lake. Our guide shared with us that it is the tradition in this part of Latvia to spend time at the graves of one’s ancestors on a regular basis – like weekly, if possible. Consequently, many grave plots have benches, watering cans, and rakes with which to rake leaves from the graves and make patterns in the dirt or gravel surrounding the graves. It looks like a formal Japanese garden. And the names! Janis, Melija, Arvids, Inta. And lots of Ozols, Priedes, Kalnins – such Latvian names. I just loved it, but I’ve always been one who likes cemeteries. Somewhat surprisingly, Andrew and the kids really liked it too. We spent quite some time walking throughout the cemetery enjoying being in a lovely area and feeling surrounded by such obvious love and care for the people buried there. I’ve never experienced anything quite like it – perhaps this is what Day of the Dead is like in Latin America – but it definitely felt like the right way to honor those who have gone before you. And, somewhat amazingly – with the help of our guide – we found one of our family members! Otto Ozols, 1871 to 1962, the twin brother of my great-grandfather Peteris who was the patriarch who led his family’s exodus from Latvia during the war. We were also told that unmarked graves to his side are believed to be their father, Janis, and his father, also Otto, my great, great, great grandfather. We will return tomorrow to leave them candles and tidy their sites, so I'll share photos of their graves then.
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| Look closely, it really is a cemetery. |
We left the cemetery to find our home for the evening, a lovely wooden cabin near the northwest shore of Lake Aluksne, surrounded by tall pine trees. We made a light dinner and shared some of Latvia’s finest beers, then light a fire in the fire-ring and roasted “BBQ marshmallows” that we amazingly were able to find in town. The sun set across the lake. The almost full moon rose through the pine trees. And stars came out – more stars than we ever see in Saint Paul – and the kids pointed out the big dipper and listened to noises in the woods thinking each was a wolf or a bear or an owl. It was just an awesome day.
This is great, I really enjoyed it. I'm sure you'll find the official Ozols farmstead tomorrow. You've seen the pictures I assume. When I was there in 1993 there was a neighbor, Biruta, who had been childhood friends with Arija, whom we had lunch with, but I believe she's passed away since then.
ReplyDeleteThose pictures Arija took and your grandfather took--WOW!!! What an unforgettable day. I love the cemetery and how it's visited often and well cared for. Beautiful. Thinking of you and thanking you for sharing your family's journey with us. :-)
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