Here’s another shot of my grandfather, with whom we lived, and who helped raise us.
He emigrated from Poland circa 1906, after (as the story goes) his commanding officer in the Austrian army suggested it was a good time to do so, as all hell was about to break loose on the land. He learned the English language early on, and became an American citizen in 1920. He loved telling stories; my older sister remembers hours upon hours of tales that were uniquely his, usually weaving in themes from the Old Testament, the politics of old Poland, and the natural world.
He was a community/union organizer, and an accomplished gardener and mushroom forager. I remember many long walks in the forest behind our home foraging for a certain type of Russula mushroom (called “Pravdzive” in Polish), which would be dried, and given to friends and family to use as a base for holiday soups at Christmas and Easter.
He had a strong faith but also a big love for his family and friends, and he seemed to be as comfortable in social situations as in the out of doors. I never did get a chance to thank him for all that he gave me, particularly the knowledge and presence that he so freely offered, every day of his life.
And on a side note, it might be time to once again read “Report To Greco”, the wonderful memoir of Nikos Kazanzakis (Greco being his grandfather).