Life on a Russian Farm

I’m sitting in the attic of our farmhouse watching immense amounts of water fall from the sky. The past three days of solid rain dampen our moods, as well as the forest and the boulders within. On the bright side, we have no shortage of water for living - this farmhouse has no plumbing, so collected rain water is the only source for drinking, showers, dish washing, and of course the Russian sauna. I want to share a bit about life on the farm here. It’s peaceful, simple, and different from anything I’ve ever known. RU_Glassberg_20-47 10 days ago, dirt roads led us through a dense forest of pines and ferns to our new home for three weeks. On the way, we passed two check points where armed soldiers checked our documents – in addition to our passports, we must show our permit that allows us to be this close to the Russia/Finland border. One soldier clarified that he “didn't want another Snowden incident”, and chuckled.Upon hearing that Jon and I are in Russia, we’ve received a few comments from people saying that as Americans, we should be boycotting Russia. These comments make me really sad. Behind the political tension lies a beautiful country with kind hearted people. Jon and I joked about renting a tank instead of a rental car, standing in line for bread rations, and facing stern people who we wouldn’t understand. Apart from the border checkpoints, that’s not what Russia is like at all. And lets face it, the US customs workers aren’t much friendlier.Our hosts, Zan and Olya (pronounced John and Olga), are in the process of reconstructing their farmhouse, which is more like a three story log cabin. Built on the remains of a Finnish village, the Zan and Olya have found artifacts throughout their property. They hope to someday turn their land into a historical park and this house into a bed and breakfast. Jon and I are their first visitors! About an hour from the nearest town, the house is truly secluded. But what could be a scary, isolated, lonely experience is actually quite the opposite in the company of our new friends. Each morning, we’re warmly greeted with “dear friends!” and a bow from Zan with his hand over his heart. Zan’s mother (Babushka, meaning grandmother in Russian) also lives in the house and cooks us all sorts of fattening meals – potatoes, meats, crepes, all cooked in vats of oil. Delicious, but an added challenge for climbing.Here in the countryside, we’re learning to live off the land. Of course, I use that term loosely as a type on my computer with a 3G internet connection dangling from the wall. But with no plumbing or consistent electricity, daily life is a bit different. For a few hours each evening, a generator allows us to charge camera batteries, phones, etc. The bathroom is an outhouse down the hill – no problem there, except that walking down three flights of creaky stairs in a cabin full of twenty people in the middle of the night always seems a bit rude. To clarify, the “middle of the night” here is about 6am. It’s not truly dark until around 12:30am. We eat dinner at 11pm, go to bed at 1 or 2am, and wake up at 10 or 11am. We missed the “white nights” in June when it pretty much never gets dark.