This year's Expedition began February 6th and continued through February 27th. 
    The purpose of the log book is to give all those who make our work possible the opportunity to follow along. We hope, however, that others who stumble on this page will find that it gives them a new and warmer view of Russia. 
    Thank you for reading along! It makes our adventures more worthwhile knowing you're there.
 

Log Book Entry 1:  A Suitcase the Wizard of Oz Might Envy (i.e. it includes everything but Toto)

February 5, 2007
Gilman's Corner, New Hampshire

    The wonder of each new expedition is that it is made possible by dozens and dozens of people who believe that good is believable.  The wonder is also in what gets sent over to Russia in my suitcase.  This time I will be traveling with a neighbor's handmade (single bed) quilt made especially for a little boy in the Ural Mountains -- and no less than five handmade baby sweaters, made by another friend.  I will also be taking several gifts made by young people in New Hampshire: an original children's story written in English and Russian, hand-quilted pot holders, a personal journal to be gifted to an aspiring writer, a handmade doll, and a young girl's short DVD, A Day in the Life of Me. 
    It is no small thing that these young people (and adults!) have allowed other nations and cultures to touch their hearts.  They have asked their world to show them its best, and the world has complied when given the chance.  Even as the nightly news relentlessly shows us the worst, all along there has never been a nation that has not longed for the opportunity to show the world its best.  As a result, my suitcase is once again filled with gifts that represent the most natural -- and truly unselfconscious -- desire to give good to others.
    While I have taken quilted and knitted things in the past, this year I will be taking a neighbor's handmade birdhouse which, when we arrive in the Ural Mountains, we will nail to a tree at the border where Europe meets Asia.  A monument marks the invisible line and has become a well known landmark and symbolic point of friendship between peoples and nations.  (The monument is about 40 miles due west of Ekaterinburg should any of you wish to locate the birdhouse on a map!)
    I will also be going with dozens of adorable finger puppets which we'll tuck in our pockets and up our sleeves to pull out at those moments when we are in a position to surprise a stranger with a bit of unexpected joy.
    And that has everything to do with the point of this trip.  Even as we are being told that we are already well into a second "cold war" with Russia (the current term coined in Russia is "cold peace") we are convinced that it is no more legitimate than the first one was.  We will be working in Russia over these next few weeks to finish filming a documentary we have been working on for over a year.  The point of the documentary, as well as what we'll be filming, will be the subject of the next log book entry.  We'd prefer to describe it once we're on Russian soil, as the astonishing warmth and welcome of the village people makes for far more vivid writing.
    Thanks so much for reading along.

   

Log book entry 2: How many samovars?
February 10, 2007
Talitsa, the Ural Mountains

For two days we have been traveling across Russia by train, lulled into a happy, care-free mood by the chug, chugging of the engines and the sway of the cars, as villages floated by, held up by fluffy white snow.  For hours I filmed the little wooden homes, with smoke pouring out from the chimneys, knowing that soon the real work would begin.  So we enjoyed the peace while it lasted.

We are now in Talitsa in the heart of the Ural Mountains.  They have a good amount of snow (up to the tops of my valenki, i.e. up to my knees) and so the filming should be great.  The temperatures will cause a problem with the batteries and so we have four with us all the time.  During the day it's about 5°-10°  (warm for this time of year) and at night, about -10°.  So it's not severe, but nonetheless hard on the cameras.

We arrived in Talitsa late last night (about midnight).  As always (since Talitsa is a small station) the train waited only two minutes (that's not an exaggeration) for us to collect our things, jump down onto the tracks, filled with snow, and haul our bags away before the train started up again, swirling mounds of snow in our face.  Jumping down on the tracks is something I still haven't adjusted to.  I just close my eyes and do it. I sunk in to my calves which helped the descent.

Vladimir (the friend whose laugh can be felt from the Arctic to Cape Town, South Africa) and Anatoly (who covets the cowboy hat we gave him three years ago) met us on the tracks.  We couldn't see them at first.  We could just hear Vladimir laughing as we struggled to get everything off the train in time.  Mama Zoya (Nikolai's mother) had dinner and the banya ready for us when we arrived.  She has become smaller these days, resembling a little child.  But if her voice is softer and her step a bit slower, she somehow looks more beautiful to me.  She truly has become more beautiful.  Her face is calm and free from the cares of earlier days.  And of course, what joy for a mother of 90+ years to have her son  home again.

The welcome of good friends (who only laugh when they have to pick you up at midnight), the smoke swirling up from the chimney of the banya, my bed waiting for me on top of the woodstove, the smell of hot soup slipping under the door when you first arrive, and Mama's contented smile, these are the things you love to return to in Russia.

It is now about 5 pm.  I have washed dishes no less than eight times today as wave after wave of friends have arrived to sit and have tea and welcome us.  They are all ready to help us in any way they can as we set out, for the next two weeks, to film the "warmth of Russia" in the  midst of winter.  We will pour all our energy into capturing on film the things we never get to see about these people, the things that make me return to Russia, the things that make me a better person when I leave, and the things that can make for a world where understanding and friendship are normal.

I will write again as soon as I can.
 

Log book 4: "We need each other"
February 14, 2006
Talitsa, the Ural Mountains

Though I have felt it on every journey to Russia on this particular trip, in the depths of winter, in these far off villages, you feel very keenly how we need each other.  You can't survive here without taking care of one another.  But it's more than that.  I feel very vividly how much our countries need each other and how much all countries need each other.  Of course, we can simply agree to live separately and not harm one another. But how much life we miss by not seeing one another.  The reason this  feeling has been driven home so strongly is from what has happened with the filming.

These last few days we have been seeking out the finest artist we can find and have been filming them.  Two days ago, we were in the village of Sloboda filming the scenery when a woman happened down the road. As it turns out, we had met her two years ago at the Easter service here. We immediately recognized each other and she invited us to her home. As it turned out she is a master artist of icon painting and icon restoration. I filmed her for about 30 minutes as she worked in her classic, old wooden
 home with light pouring through the lace curtains beside her. Because we were already "friends," there was an expression of naturalness, openness and giving on her face that wouldn't have happened had she been a total stranger.  It was truly an unexpected gift to have her find us and for us  to discover her remarkable talent.

We have also visited a school for aspiring artists and aspiring musicians.  The children were thrilled about being filmed and then wanted to "say a few words" to America.  It was very touching -- their innocence, their trustfulness and openness, their yearning for friendship and peace. But one of the most thrilling things we've filmed was a young man who does iron work.  We went to his shop and stood before his anvil as he magically turned hard pieces of steel into gorgeous objects.  The short black blocks of metal rang out under his hammer, stretched, bent, twisted and turned and finally yielded to his skill and understanding, and after maybe an hour of filming him, he gifted us all the beautiful things he had made.  He too was so open and willing to share his skill and talents, so eager to share life.

In the end (and better from the beginning,) there is nothing more normal than for us to share our best with each other.  We truly need that "best".  We need each other to reach the heights of beauty,  unselfishness, and life.

Thank you sincerely for all your letters. They mean SO much. Call us any time.  Part of the fun is to catch us at some unexpected place. Don't worry about waking us up or interfering with our work.  More in a few days.

 

Log book entry 5: Adapting to village life
February 15, 2007
Talitsa, the Ural Mts.

There are two moments I wait for with impatience every time I come back to the Urals.  One moment is the first hour in Nikolai's home. For those first few minutes there is only the warmth of home, the soft golden light filling the small kitchen, the creak, once again, of the old wooden floors, and a few uninterrupted minutes without work or demands.  All cares are forgotten and the only thing that matters is caring about those around you.

The second moment happened today when we finally found time to go to the main market to buy fresh meat and vegetables. It feels like an open, outdoor market although it is enclosed.  There is the sound of men hacking huge chunks of meat, carts with teetering loaves of bread rolling over the hard, uneven floors, and fruit vendors calling out to one another.  In short, there is a certain hubbub that distinguishes it from a supermarket and makes it more alive.

The first time we arrive at the market each year is worth the whole trip here.  Faces light up, laughter and recognition break out as merchants wave and beckon us to their stalls to tell us all that has happened in the last year and share a mandarine or cucumber with us as we stand and chat. It is a time utterly without barriers. I feel myself as much at home in this market as my own.  It is hard to describe why it means so much.  It is the unconditional acceptance that defies all that would claim we must be separate, or distant, from one another.

Today we filmed an interview with a newspaper journalist.  We had intended only to stop by briefly and say hi as the editor is a long-time friend of Nikolai's.  However, as so often happens here, the two of them fell completely into a deep conversation about life in Russia today, which I filmed for an hour and a half.  It was pure gold as they totally forgot I was there.

On another subject, it is wonderful to be here in the winter when everything is blanketed in billowy white snow and everyone trundles down the street like bears -- rolled up in layers of clothes and wrapped in huge fur hats and coats.  Russians love winter and so the atmosphere is like a beach during summer vacation.  Everyone is lighthearted and energetic.  The colder the better.  The more snow the better.  Even I have adapted and from under my layers of sweaters, scarves, hats and hoods I am unaware of the temperature -- even when it plummets at night.  The cameras are holding up better than I thought possible.

One final note.  I have been taking cooking lessons from Mama Zoya (Nikolai's mother).  The time is past when she can prepare all the meals for us and our friends, and so slowly I have taken over that work.  She sits beside me and tells me what to do and either praises me or light-heartedly tells me that Americans are hopeless.  Today I prepared my first truly successful meal in Russia. The secret I have now learned is not what you put in the frying pan, but when you put everything in.

There are humorous indications of how much I've adjusted to Russian life.  Here you feed the household cats and dogs "scraps from the master's table" and not canned food.  The scraps are usually tossed on the floor under the small table next to the stove where you prepare all the food. Today I almost stepped on a fish head that the cat had carried into the middle of the kitchen to eat.  Only later I realized I didn't give it a thought, but jumped over it and continued on with frying the potatoes as if there was nothing more normal.  More soon.
 

Log book 6:
February 16, 2007
Talitsa, the Ural Mountains

Our days begin by shoveling the night's new snow, and our days end by heating the banya.  As always, there is the constant flow of guests who stop by not only for a cup of tea, but to see if they can be of help. There are simply no words to explain how we live and do everything through the help of friends.  Here, money accomplishes very little.  But everything is accomplished through caring for each other.

Last spring there was a reunion of Nikolai's grade school classmates. Some 30 people who had known each other since first grade got together for a barbeque by a beautiful lake.  I came along to film the event and did a short film for them.  Those who were at the event have been stopping by to see the DVD and get their copy.  Today, the friend who picked up his copy came back an hour or so later with a white rose for me.  It now sits on my window sill against the white snow as a symbol of how much we need pure friendships and how rich they make our world.

Part of the reason I return each year to Russia, is not only to work, but because I am in awe of how deeply they understand and value life.  Of such people we should not fear, but should run to meet them.

 

Log book 7: Warmth in the midst of a cold winter
February 18, 2007
Talistsa, the Ural Mts.

Thank you dear friends for all your warm and caring e-mails.  They mean the world to us and make us feel that you are truly here with us. Thank you. Nikolai and his friends sit next to me in the internet cafe while I translate them.  Soon a small group of people we don't know at all (mostly young boys) gather around to listen to your letters as well.

     Today was "Maslinitsa" and today was "colder than a brass bath tub in the Yukon."  Even all my layers of clothes could not forever hold off the cold and wind.  But the sun shone brightly and you felt very alive for all the cold. 

      Maslinitsa is the first holiday of "spring" although it was close to 30 below today.  (I can't imagine how cold with the wind chill.)  This is the day when from sunrise to sunset, friends and family stop by with cakes and blini (Russian pancakes) to send winter away with joy, warmth, and laughter. Tomorrow is the start of the equivalent of Lent, and thus all the feasting for the last time today.  We not only received guests but were invited into several homes.  It is always a touching experience.  How hard the families try to make me feel at home; how very much they want to please.  They are such simple, good people.  They show me their family photographs and simple objects passed down from generation to generation whose value is in the fact that they have been passed down from generation to generation.  Today I almost cried as one friend, Stass, showed me old, old photographs of his mother and father.  "My mother was a beauty, wasn't she?  Oh, she was a wonderful mother," Stass said tenderly.  Then he showed me his most loved possessions: the small red booklet wherein was a certificate saying his father graduated from high school with highest honors.  Then there was his father's old address book with the names of those who had made his life meaningful and his mother's handwritten "cookbook".  These were the things his father and mother had left him, and they meant the world to him.

    Most of the afternoon we hiked through a "woods/park" where people had gathered to hike, ice skate, sled, etc., and where venders sold hot blini filled with meats, vegetables or jam.  It was so cold that as soon as they pulled the blini off the griddle they became brittle from the cold. Nikolai, Anatoly, Feoder and I went from one event to the other, staying close to each other to help fend off the cold and wind.  Everywhere we went, we explained why I had a video camera and everywhere people laughed and opened up that moment of their lives to me and to you.  Their laughter sent puffs of warm breath out into the air, there to freeze and make for wonderful shots.  The highlight however, was something I've waited for for a long time: to ride in a troika through a snowy woods.  We rode over a fairly short pre-prepared path (maybe a half mile circle) no less than three times.  The first time just for the fun of it.  The second time while I filmed the horse and view before me, and the last time to film the troika behind me wherein road Nikolai, Feoder and Anatoly.  On the last ride, I sat next to the driver -- only facing backwards to film the troika behind us.  The driver's seat is a high narrow board covered with blankets.  I almost flipped out of the troika twice, but managed to catch myself and keep filming.  By the time the third ride was over, my fingers were so frozen I could barely bend them.  Feoder quickly grabbed my hands in his and began to blow on them and rub them.  They would have been fine without that, but it was a typically caring thing to do.

    As I wrote on my very first trip to Russia: in the midst of a cold, cold winter, I find everywhere the warmth of people.
 

Log book 8: Everything may be difficult, but everything is possible
February 22, 2007
Talitsa, the Ural Mts.


You allow 30 minutes, here in the Urals, to get your car started in the morning.  That is, if it starts right away (i.e. after 5 or 6 tries), you then let it run approximately 30 minutes.  They say it add years to the life of your car -- and here, you do everything possible to add years to the life of your car.  Our little blue Niva may resemble the funny square mailboxes that hang on street corners, but I nonetheless LOVE our little car and am in awe of what it can do, where it can go, where it can get itself out of, and how nothing keeps it from starting up in the morning.

We spend a fair amount of time taking care of the car while we're here, but it's worth every minute and every kopeck.  To return to my original story, however.  If your car doesn't start, you carry a small torch with you and a heavy blanket.  You light the torch, put it under the car, open the hood, double over the blanket and lay it on top of the motor.  Soon, steam begins to pour out from under the blanket and after about 20 minutes, you turn the key (with the blanket and torch removed . . .) and the car starts.  I fell into a snow bank up to my waist trying to get the optimum angle to film such an event.  It was not entirely in vain, as I gave everyone a good laugh which warmed them up. 

Tomorrow will be a major event here in the Ural Mts. where Europe prophetically and literally meets Asia.  Nikolai's family home is about a quarter of a mile from the famous monument that marks the border.  (When Nixon visited Russia during his presidency they brought him here.)  The border is known as not only the place where different cultures meet, but where different cultures have learned the secret of becoming friends. There is truly an atmosphere here that I love.  You can find dozens of different nationalities and they all live here as if nothing were more natural or thrilling than to add one's own "color" to the tapestry of life.

Typical of Nikolai, he turned a birdhouse into a major event.  The birdhouse was made by a dear neighbor of mine, Uncle Tom, who lives in Gilman's Corner in the north woods of New Hampshire.  I carefully carried the birdhouse in my carry-on bag so that we could hang it on the tallest pine tree we could find at the border where Europe meets Asia.  The tallest pine tree was Nikolai's idea, as was the additional idea to invite as many friends as we could (we're up to about 50 now) to do "shashlik" (Russian barbeque) in the woods (it's legal) and then hang the birdhouse.

One friend, Tolya, loaned us his iron "clamps".  They hook on your boots and resemble a curved fish hook.  They have sharp tongs on them which allow you to climb telephone poles (neighbors do their own repairs to the lines when they don't work) or to climb tall pine trees to hang birdfeeders from America.  The birdfeeder has a heart on it and a red roof.  The TV station in Ekaterinburg will be there to film both the barbeque and the hanging of the birdhouse.  Today Nikolai, Vladimir (whose cow is named Daisy), and I will go the woods to seek out the tallest pine tree. Vladimir doesn't know it yet, but Nikolai resolved that he should be the one to climb the tree since he's the heaviest of our friends and laughs the best.  It should make for good footage in the film . . .

While Nixon was the first American president to visit the "Siberian trek" where Europe meets Asia, unfortunately, he never had close friends here like Uncle Tom has, and so it will be Uncle Tom's birdhouse that quietly hangs on the tallest pine tree.  The tallest pine tree.  For true friendship always reaches heights.
 

More on February 22, 2007
Talista, the Ural Mts.

You could as easily be going to the theater as to the outdoor market if you were to judge by how people on the street are dressed.  Practically everyone goes about in full length fur coats and huge fur hats.  Indeed, I have never seen so many different styles of hats in my life.  It makes winter truly "jolly" here.  I don't have enough courage to stick my camera in front of everyone's face to film them, but that is truly unfortunate as the hats are simply magical.  Hats come in every size, color and style, most often made of different color furs.  Imagine the most creative designs you can imagine and you've come close to imaging walking down the street.

But the real reason for writing again is to share parts of some of the many warm and touching letters we've received.  After we read today's mail and had already left the internet cafe, Nikolai said, why don't we share the letters with everyone?  Thus we returned this evening to do just that.

Snippets from your letters:


I cherish the time each day I join you in inner Russia. Know that you bring great joy to those Russians you love and who love you, but you also bring a warmer and grander sense of God's kingdom to those of us left back here in the Western world replete with too much materiality. -- Cynthia
 
It is a refreshing joy to read about your travels, exciting adventures and especially the wonderful people you are with. Our thoughts, love and prayers are with you and all of your friends there. Please tell Nikolai we say hi!  -- Diane G.

Just sending a note to say that I miss you and absolutely love all of the  Russian Diary entries so far. It's now part of my daily internet activities to go and see if there is a new one or to just happily read an old one. It really feels as though I am there with you, experiencing it all with you.  I tried hard to search the Internet to find a funny joke to send to Vladimir, but I couldn't find one good enough, so tell him I send him lots of laughs and a kiss for Daisy. And pass on to Anatoly that he has an open invitation to come to America with his hat and I'll teach him how to ride a horse, cowboy style :). And
tell Dya Dya Nikolai I send him all my love, while saving some of it for yourself. -- Diana E.

 What a wonderful idea to put entries over the web for people to read (the 2006 Expedition too)! I look forward to reading them--like a good book I can't put down. Tonight I eagerly read your last entries as I ate dinner. Your descriptions are so interesting and heartwarming. And I love how the Russians love winter. (I miss snow! Here we actually have daffodils outside already!) -- Catherine

Warmth is a wonderful thing, whether it be the kiss of the sun on your cheek or the everlasting warmth that one person imparts to another by way of the heart, which can last a lifetime. Ask Nikolai if he arranged for the car to get stuck so you would have some thing wonderful to film (ha-ha). Ithink you won't have to look far to see the beautiful face of a people you have come to love, and have brought to our hearts all these miles away. -- Katrina

I have just finished reading the 6th entry in the log book and I am in awe of the love and caring of your Russian friends. What a fantastic experience you are having. Oh if only everyone in the world could share the joy and peace that you are experiencing their would be NO WARS anywhere!!!!!!! Why can't we all understand and appreciate each other? -- Grandma Judy