Flowers for a Vinok, Roses for a Babushka, Poppies for a Grave

Flowers for a Vinok

We begin our story in the Great Steppe: the golden fields and great green woods, under the vibrant blue sky with all the clouds that floated across her; across the shimmering lakes and rivers and the rolling hills, this grassland was home to a lively people. I will tell you of the Cossacks who lived and roamed those great grasslands; and of one small village in particular. And among those Cossacks I will tell you the story of a young girl who grew into the strongest man that village had ever raised. Around that village were the poppies–and oh, how they grew! Like a wreath that surrounded all who called the village home, the horizon was bathed in their scarlet brilliance. The wind of the Great Steppe made that scarlet dance around the village. It was a dance of life and of love and of beauty–but it was also a dance of death.

This young girl had a toothy grin and bright eyes. The girl who would become a man did not like the name he was given, but he loved his mama, his baba, and his little brother. On any given day he would come home covered in dirt from practising swordplay, and his mama, his poor mama would be so frustrated to clean his cotton shirts. But before she could be so mad, he would bring her handfuls of flowers. No matter how great her anger, his toothy grin and bright eyes made her quickly forget it.

On any given day he would bring her poppies. But sometimes he would bring her sunflowers, or peonies–and when he could find them, he would bring her mallows. Under the fuchsia of the setting sun they would weave those flowers into vinky together. During the day they would wear their favourites and give the rest to the other women and girls in the village. During these days he would wear that toothy grin as he gave the prettiest vinok he made to his baba.

From his family he learned to embroider, always trying to copy his baba's intricate patterns and flowers. He learned to cook their foods and make their sweets–his mama had a special love for fresh bread with freshly churned butter. He especially loved making varenyky with his baba. He would get so frustrated when he couldn't pinch them right, but his sweet baba would laugh heartily and show him her tricks. His baba's favourite was pampushky. She would make enough to hand out to any villagers who came by their small home, and when children came by she would give them extra sweets and say, "Eat them before your parents see." The children would giggle in delight, and every day another wrinkle from another smile would settle on her rosy face.

The girl's love of swordplay and riding bloomed while he was very young. His mama would chastise him for being unladylike, but she saw the glittering light in his eyes when he held a sword or the toothy grin when he was near the horses, and all she wanted was to see that look on his face again. He was often teased by the village men and boys–oh, how cruel they were! They would give him the heaviest swords, and when he struggled they would say he was too weak to hold a sword. They would only let him ride the most wild of horses, and when the horse would kick him off they would say, "It's because you're a girl!"

Many of those nights under the Great Steppe sunset, while the village was bathed in the warm reds and oranges and fuchsia, while he and his mama weaved vinky, he would tell his mama of his day. He would tell her these things and hold back his tears, for if he told her how cruel they were she would never let him near the swords, or the horses. The girl knew that he would rather suffer their ridicule than never be able to grow strong, never be able to feel the wind on horseback, and never be able to grow into a man. "I've seen them call you names and attack you ten to one with those training swords!" His mama would say, white knuckled with concern. But her daughter would just grin that same toothy grin and reply, "It will make me the better swordsman, Mama." And, dear reader, it was as he said, he would become the best swordsman in the village. His mentor was a large strong man with arms like tree trunks. And I tell you that even as a little girl, he was a challenge for that man.