“I can’t wait to go to the egg store tomorrow!” my son exclaimed as he glanced at his calendar before settling into bed. “Mom, can we read Rechenka’s Eggs one more time before we go to the egg shop?” my daughter asked. “Of course.” I replied. “Climb on up on your brother’s bed.” The whole family cuddled together as we read one of our favorite Easter books. Rechenka’s Eggs by Patricia Polacco is about Babushka, a sweet old lady who lives on her own in a tiny house. She is well-known for her fine Ukrainian eggs (or pysanky) that she decorates. All through the winter, Babushka lovingly creates the eggs so that she can sell them at the Easter Festival in Moskva. When Babushka is not decorating eggs, she loves to walk and enjoy the simple things. She can be heard whispering “A miracle!” when she sees caribou or calves being born. On one of Babushka’s walks, a goose fell from the sky, injured, so Babushka brought the goose home to nurse her back to health. Babushka named her Rechenka. Soon after Rechenka’s injury healed, the goose knocked over Babushka’s bowl of pysanky. Babushka was crushed and Rechenka felt horrible, but the following morning Rechenka had laid the most colorful, elaborately decorated Ukrainian egg (pysanka) – “A miracle!” When I was in elementary school, I remember making Ukrainian eggs with my classmates. The process seemed arduous, but I was so proud of my egg. I wanted my kids to have the experience of making pysanky – the time was right. As I searched for a place to purchase pysanky supplies on the Internet, I came across a small shop named “Ukranian Gift Shop”. The shop had been in business for over 70 years, but the family story that was lovingly showcased on the site gave me chills. It read: When she was six years old, Marie Sokol moved with her family from her birthplace of Dobrochyn, in the Sokal region of Ukraine, to Yugoslavia. Eight years later at the age of fourteen Marie decided to follow her two brothers to America. She traveled alone by ship through Ellis Island to join her brother Paul in Pennsylvania. Marie stayed with Paul on his farm for a year before she ventured out once more by herself to Winnipeg, Manitoba in Canada, where her other brother Kirylo had settled. “With a few dollars and a small suitcase containing all my possessions I set off for Canada. The train stopped in Minneapolis for the night at the Milwaukee Depot. I decided to go out for awhile. It was a cold night. I remember asking a policeman if he knew of any Ukrainians living in the city. He directed me to Seven Corners. As I walked up the street I could see the frozen Mississippi River glistening in the moonlight. It was very pretty. I came to five houses, all of them dark and quiet. The third house seemed like the right one, so I knocked. A young couple answered the door. ‘Do you speak Ukrainian?’ They answered ‘Tak, Tak’ and invited me in. They told me of a young woman who was living with them. To our surprise and amazement we discovered the woman staying with them was my second cousin! Was it not God’s will that led me to this house? I had no idea that in all of the United States she was living in Minneapolis. It was a miracle. We cried and laughed at our reunion. I did not go on to Canada. It was right for me to stay in Minneapolis.” “I remember my first Easter in America and how homesick I felt for the traditions of the holidays which I once knew. I recalled my mother and grandmother decorating the colorful eggs and taking them to church to be blessed and decided that I could not let the Easter season pass without at least trying to make a pysanka (Ukrainian Easter Egg). So I made a writing tool (kistka) from the metal tip of a shoelace. I bought crepe paper at the drug store and made dyes by soaking the paper in boiling water. My first attempts were crude, but I did it, and made my first Pysanky in America!” Marie opened the Ukrainian Gift Shop in 1947, and it is still run by the family today. On the first day of spring, my family piled into the car, and off we went to the Ukrainian Gift Shop. When we arrived at the small shop, we were greeted warmly by Elko, Marie’s grandson. “Welcome! How can I help you?” he asked with a friendly grin. “Hi! We would like to get supplies for making Ukrainian eggs.” I replied. “I think I can help you with that.” Elko said. As Elko went to gather supplies I noticed that both kids had found a special table – a large table filled with hundreds of beautiful pysanky. “Look with your eyes – not with your hands.” I called out – I could feel my stomach tighten with nervousness. Just then Elko returned with the supplies. “Thank you so much.” I said. “You know, my children have been enamored with the book Rechenka’s Eggs, and that book is what brought us to you today. Do you know the book?” “I sure do!” Elko responded. “And, I have a fun story to share with you about that book.” “Really?” my husband and I replied at the same time as the kids scooted over to listen. Elko continued, “Back when George Bush – the second one – was president, he invited Patricia Polacco to the White House Easter brunch because of the book Rechenka’s Eggs. Patricia called my mother and asked her if she would decorate a large ostrich egg to gift to the White House. My mother agreed. But, she not only decorated the ostrich egg, she also crafted 12 goose eggs for the 12 cabinet members and a chicken egg for the president
hobbies
Watercolor Awakening: An Eighteen-Year Journey
Introduction to Watercolor seemed like an interesting elective course in college. The soft look of the brush strokes, the mix and mingle of the paint colors, and the wonderment of how water effects painting techniques – watercolor painting had intrigued me for years. I needed three more credits before finishing my general courses, and I thought “Why not give it a try.” I hadn’t taken an art class since middle school. At 13-years old I had been given a “C” for a drawing I had worked hard on (and was proud of). I remember asking my mother, “How could Mr. L give me a “C” for my drawing when art is individualistic?” “You have a good point, Erin.” My mother replied. “I think you should discuss your thoughts with your teacher.” The conversation was definitely uncomfortable, but my art instructor appreciated our conversation. Consequently, he raised my grade. Even though our conversation went well, I thought I wasn’t creative enough for art classes, so that art class would be my last. Well, until I signed up for Introduction to Watercolor at the end of my undergraduate program. Loading up on watercolor painting supplies in the school bookstore was much more fulfilling than loading up on textbooks. I filled my bag with a paint tray, tubes of paint, several types of brushes, and a simple sponge – I was ready to begin. Introduction to Watercolor taught me the basics of watercolor: color theory, brush techniques, how to fade colors, how to paint shadows, how to achieve a 3-D effect, etc. We painted flowers, shapes, paper bags, and even attempted to paint portraits – I wasn’t quite ready for that. I enjoyed the class, but I didn’t feel a strong connection to the art – yet. Nine years later, my mother-in-law asked me if I wanted to join her for another introductory watercolor course. I had just had my first baby, and I thought that one evening away would be great for me, so I agreed. The course was much like my introduction course in college, painting techniques were taught and many still-life paintings ensued. A fun landscape project was thrown in at the end of the class, but I still wasn’t enamored. My passion for watercolor painting wouldn’t be realized for another nine years. My kids and I were in the midst of studying the book “The Wild Horses of Sweetbriar” by Natalie Kinsey-Warnock – a classic children’s book with beautiful watercolor pictures painted by Ted Rand. Our assignment was to focus on painting animals, so I dug out my old bag of watercolor supplies I had purchased in the university bookshop and we began. I chose to paint a bunny as my daughter was having a bunny-themed birthday the following week. I was pleasantly surprised with the enjoyment I experienced while painting an animal. A few days later, I was motivated to paint another animal, so I took on a more difficult painting – a chicken. I am particularly fond of chickens as they provide me with plenty of entertainment around our home. A painting that was detailed, yet playful, was my goal for my new painting. Within hours, “Chicken Chortle” was born, and so was my watercolor awakening. I realized my passion for watercolor painting when I started painting pictures that depict the relationships between people, between people and animals, and between people and nature. The past six months have been filled with painting, and I have started on a journey that will always be a part of me. I knew my watercolor passion was there 18 years ago, but it was not fully realized until I found the right subjects. I look forward to sharing my paintings with you, and the heartwarming stories that accompany them. Have you ever had a passion sneak up on you?