Incredible journey: ReLeaf comes to Ukraine - American Forestry Association's Global ReLeaf program

American Forests, Jan-Feb, 1992 by Chrystia Sonevytsky

Amid the tumultuous events in the Soviet Union, AFA's international coordinator and her family found a warm welcome in a land her husband fled 47 years ago.

Have you ever been on a roller coaster? Last August I was on one for five da s. A roller coaster of emotions-anxiety, exhilaration, fear, and finally relief.

It all started August 19: I was in Vienna with my husband Russ and our 10-year-old daughter and eight-year-old son, waiting to leave for the last leg of a trip back to the land of our roots. We were going home to Ukraine, which my parents had left in 1940 and Russ and his parents had fled in 1944.

In addition to visiting family and sightseeing in Ukraine (not the Ukraine, please), I wished to explore possible international contacts for AFA's Global ReLeaf program. This objective took us to Austria, the Czech and Slovak Federal Republic [Czechoslovakia], Poland, and Ukraine to plant the seed of Global ReLeaf.

That day in August, we were scheduled to board a train in Vienna, but it was not to be. Instead, we sat glued to a television screen watching the troubling events on CNN as the world learned about the coup in the Soviet Union. Our plans were shattered! Frustrated, disappointed, and fearful for the relatives we had been looking forward to meeting, we were nevertheless thankful to be in Vienna and not in Ukraine.

Scrapping our original plans, we returned to Munich and planned to go back to the United States. But this, too, was not to be. On August 22, the world learned that the coup had failed.

Two days later, August 24, we were finally on our way to Lviv, capital of western Ukraine. When the train arrived, a relative greeted us at the station exclaiming: "Welcome home! Welcome to an independent Ukraine!" By sheer coincidence our family had arrived just in time to witness the birth of freedom. Not since 1918 had our native land experienced a day to compare with that one.

Our parents had emigrated to escape tyranny, forced deportations, concentration camps, and executions. My father was an agronomist, and he was seen as an enemy of the people because he opposed the forced implementation of collective farming. Russ's father was a professor of classics and so was less vulnerable. Even so, Russ's family left Ukraine four years after my parents fled.

Now we were seeing with our own eyes some of the changes that took place over the ensuing half century. At the Polish-Ukrainian border, where we switched trains, the scene was something out of Dr. Zhivago. The crowds, the filth, the crying children are not soon forgotten. Soviet citizens crowded on the train, returning from bartering trips to Poland. A three-day stint of trading can bring the equivalent of an annual salary in the Soviet Union. People sometimes sit on the border for as much as seven days without accommodations or basic necessities in order to help their families achieve a slightly more comfortable life.

The relative who met us at the train station in Lviv is Yuri Sonevytsky, a urological surgeon. Despite his occupation, he too feels compelled to make the pilgrimage to Poland several times a year since his monthly salary is 600 rubles (approximately $20), irrespective of the number of surgeries he performs. A pair of boots costs the equivalent of two months salary or more.

Yuri had not been expecting us, so while we waited for him to arrive, I purchased ice cream cones for our children, Maria and Marko. I had not realized what an accomplishment this was until close to 20 people approached to ask where I had bought them. I felt sad to have to tell them that I had purchased the last two. After eating, we wanted to quench our thirst. The only place was a machine that dispensed mineral water into a communal cup. The machine was designed so the cup was automatically rinsed-more or less-between each use. (Ecologically correct, but not very sanitary.) Being accustomed to American standards and having been told what to expect, I had some paper cups in my suitcase. When I pulled one out, I was again approached by people asking where I had gotten the disposable cup.

Yuri drove us through the city in his 1976 sedan. Both our families had lived in Lviv at one time, and Russ found he had vivid memories of this ancient and architecturally splendid city. We were struck by the obvious neglect of the streets, but Yuri seemed to know how to miss the potholes. The roads are pitch dark at night, and the highways are devoid of dividing lines or markings of any kind.

With Yuri as our guide, we traveled through parts of western Ukraine and saw the countryside, towns, villages, and people of that region. Relief was evident everywhere we traveled. The coup had failed, and hope was emerging that positive changes will begin.

Yuri and our other relatives told us that the coup's leaders-the putschists -had ordered 250,000 handcuffs to chain members of their opposition. The putschists had also attempted to bring the people to their knees by ordering railroad carloads of chickens and other food to be destroyed.