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

American Forests, Jan-Feb, 1992 by Chrystia Sonevytsky

The relatives who told us these stories were my husband's cousins, whom he had not seen or communicated with since 1944. For many years it was undesirable to have a relative or friend in the West since that meant coming under suspicion of having a CIA connection.

Yuri drove us to a village where Russ had gone for vacations as a child. We arrived completely unannounced-a party of five-but were greeted with warmth and hospitality. Our newly rediscovered family insisted that we spend at least one night. As we visited, the wife slaughtered a chicken and fed us a scrumptious meal that came mostly from the small plot of land that sustains the family.

Almost half a century had passed since my husband's visits to the village, but the streets are still unpaved, the water is still drawn from a well with a bucket, and the cousins' house has no indoor plumbing. They do have electricity however, since until recently everyone was required to have a TV set to receive government propaganda.

It is ironic that when my parents and Russ's family arrived in the United States in 1950 after years in displaced persons' camps, they had literally $2 per family member. In the course of the ensuing 40 years, our families were able to raise our standard of living to that of the American middle class, even though our parents were unable to continue in their professional careers. The relatives who remained in Ukraine did not have to go through years of culture shock, language barriers, and complete loss of material possessions, yet today their standard of living is probably below that of the worst of Appalachia.

Ukraine's topsoil, or chornozem, is rich and dark. Originally, it was feet, not inches, deep-the reason the Nazis transported carloads of it to Germany. The countryside is gently rolling-a farmer's dream. And yet the fields stand barren, the corn is wilted and dwarfed. Occasionaly one sees an old mare and a dilapidated wooden wagon, a few workers, and perhaps an old woman tending goats or ducks. You also see big and often elaborate signs: "Collective Farm in Honor of So and So." And you begin to understand.

Our relatives told us other stories. Every Christmas Eve, they said, schoolteachers were required to spy on their students to make certain that they would not go caroling or attend a religious service. Most churches were closed or converted to warehouses. Since the advent of perestroika and glasnost, however, almost every village has begun to build or renovate a church. The new construction is a compelling symbol of hope.

I cannot help but share with you the story of our search for a new toothbrush for my daughter. In a city of 750,000, five hours of looking ended without success. I was also on the lookout for aspirin, but none was available-never mind Tylenol or an antibiotic such as Ampicillin. The shelves are empty-even in Kiev, the capital city.

In Kiev, we stayed with a friend whose acquaintance we had made in 1990 when he was visiting the United States. Our host picked us up with a chauffeur at the wheel. His apartment was much more spacious than any others we visited. Until August 20, he was a member of the Communist party and the Ukrainian Parliament and thus more or less equivalent to one of our legislators.