We went to the District Archives in Turka to search for my maternal grandmother's birth record but had no luck. There are several Wysockos, the town listed on her shipping document with the Polish spelling, and I'm not sure which one is hers.
Turka is a depressing place, really backward but the clerk at the Archives was accomodating, searched many of her books and would take no payment. It is important to be proactive in any of the Archives. The door was locked with a sign saying they were busy updating records. Slav knocked anyway and found them helpful and polite. And a little cash can't hurt.
At Slav's suggestion, we bought some potatoes, sausage, bread and beer, found a lovely spot off the road and made a fire. When the ashes died down, we roasted the potatoes and cooked the sausage. A real feast!
The stars in the mountains are extraordinary! We slept with the windows open and lots of blankets against the night chill.
Next we traveled to the villages of my maternal grandparents. I am assuming that these are the correct towns. All these Wysocko's are confusing to me. Marriage records state that Grandmom's mother's name was Mary Meshko-- a name that has been a total blank to everyone we've asked. Records show that Grandfather Fed's mother was Alice Molefish. That has to be wrong--perhaps he had a cold when speaking to the recording clerk! It's frustrating to be here, perhaps never again, and not know if it's the right place. I've researched in America for ten years to find the little that I do know. It's even harder to look here. The records are spread all over the place. Supposedly after 70 years they're sent to the National Archive in Lviv but that certainly hasn't been my experience. The many wars and changes in governments have wrecked havoc on records. And, of course, the language is a big stumbling block. The records are in Latin but the clerks speak Ukrainian. This search would have been absolutely impossible without Slav.
Our first stop was Lapousanka. Again, I'm not certain that this is the birthpace of my poor grandfather who died in the 1918 Flu Epidemic. I was able to find only one person in all the shipping documents who matched him in age and name-- I even had a search done from Hamburg. There were very few Theodor (Feydor) Komarnicki's who came to America. I tried every possible spelling. I couldn't find his WWI draft record, though it certainly should be out there. He arrived in America and died there between censuses and he was in no city directory that I've ever found. I went all the way to Jerome, PA where I think he died, only to discover that the church records had been destroyed in a fire. So many people died during this calamity that no death certificates were issued. My mother remembers, at age 3, her father's body lying on the porch for days before anyone could bury him. When I got near the cemetary where I think he is buried, my car died and had to be towed away! This man didn't seem to want to be found. I feel bad that no place on earth acknowledges that he briefly passed through although the genes of all his descendants certainly leave a record of his existence.
Anyway, once upon a time in tiny Lapousanka was born a Theodor Komarnicki with a father named Jan but a mother called Justina nee Halewier (sp),not remotely Alice Molefish! This young man went off to America to join his older brother, Antoni, yet my mother said her father had no family in America. I did discover that Antoni was married and had a family back home and that he traveled through US customs several times. Perhaps WWI prevented him from re-entering and he stayed in Ukraine. I met a man named Komarnicki who claims he is a relative of Theodor. But he had been drinking and was standing next to the village priest when we explained our quest so I don't know if what he had to say was based on fact or fantasy. He was cordial, courtly even, and invited us in to see his house. I took his picture and will examine it further for family similarities.
Geneaology is full of projections and assumptions and fictions. I'll probably never know the truth. So I've had to re-adjust my goals and expectations and realize I was fortunate to be here in the land of my East Slavic ancestors. They probably all moved around so much over the centuries that specific villages are arbitrary and unimportant.
It is becoming rarer for individuals to have all four grandparents born to a group of people who have lived in the same area for thousands of years. That's why I sent my DNA to the National Geographic Genome Project (WWW.NATIONALGEOGRAPHIC.COM/GENOGRAPHIC.) They're tracking the deep DNA passed practically intact from the mother's side if you are female or the father's side for males to determine human migrational patterns. Apparently, every human being on earth is related to two people who lived in Africa. The earth has been populated by the various migrations of the descendants of these two blood lines. My mitochondrial DNA belongs to the Haplogroup H, a large lineage whose geographic distribution reaches as far as northern India and central Asia. Half of all Europeans are group H. Interestingly, my people are from the White Croate tribe of Eastern Slavs, believed to be related to the Persians.
It was less exciting not knowing whether I had a connection to these towns (unlike Hubici and Lacko)--besides we were all getting tired of graveyards. We went through Lapousanka and two Wysocko's pretty quickly. The area was quite lovely but financially depressed. It is more mountainous then Dobromil yet the farms were much like others we have seen. The villages I was interested in were all along the same country road, one after another. We stopped in Komarnicki and Matkiv, the town origins of our surnames. I even stopped in Mokhnate to take some photos for someone I've corresponded with online for years .
I spoke to several people about the German guest worker program. Nazis just took women from the fields to work on farms that the German soldiers had to leave unattended when they went off to war. Many women stayed because the conditions were often better than in their hometowns. Some wrote back that they were treated very well by the host families. I can't imagine that all 4 of grandmom's sisters died at Auschwitz. I'll never know until I discover their names and I won't be able to do that until I find the right Wysocko.
Needing a break, Slav suggested we spend our remaining time visiting some nearby towns.
Ancient Uzhgorod is located on both sides of the Uzh river and is only 1/2 mile from the Slovak Republic and about 10 miles from Hungary. There is a large Hungarian influence in the architecture and street signs,etc. It is a very pretty place with a lovely central pedestrian thoroughfare. We had a great meal in a coal mining-themed restaurant that Slav knew. A 15th century castle has a good collection of local musical instruments and houses the Regional Museum and Art Gallery. Next door is the Transcarpathian Museum of Folk Architecture and Daily Life. Both sites are very interesting, informative and worth a look. We visited another well-restored castle on our way back to Ivano-Frankivsk, in the town of Mukachevo. It is sometimes referred to as Palanok Castle and is quite impressive.
We based ourselves next in Ivano-Frankivsk to eat and sleep. The architecture is very Austro-Hungarian. This fair-size city is clean and pretty and I'm sure there is a great deal to see but we didn't have time to do so.
Lovely Kolomyya is in the heart of Hutsul country. We went there to see the Pysanky Museum and also the Museum of Folk Art of the Hutsul Region.
There are several ethnic groups in the former Galicia-now Western Ukraine and southeast Poland. The Lemkos were based in the foothills of the now Polish Carpathians until WWII when 200,000 of them were forceably relocated to break up their fierce resistence movement. My family belongs to the Boyko group who have traditionally lived in the foothills of the Carpathians in today's Ukraine. Both the Lemkos and the Boykos were serfs for Polish landlords and belonged to the land until 1848.
Interestingly, because of their remote location in the mountains, the Hutsuls, who were herders by tradition, have never been serfs and always had their freedom. This seemed evident in their extraordinary art. I was totally blown away by the artistic sensibilities of these people and wonder why they are not better known in the world community. They were masters at woodcarving, ceramics, ironwork, furniture and textiles. Their clothing left me breathless--it was so sophisticated and original. The layer upon layer of patterns and colors with sensitive, exquistive attention to detail were beyond description. The felt coats and vests were beautifully cut and embroidered--I would easily wear one today (if I could find one.)
The Pysanky Museum, shaped like a huge Easter egg, was also worth the trip. The practice of "writing" a pysanka goes back thousands of years into a pagan past and was almost eliminated by the Soviet regime. Magical powers were attributed to eggs and it was believed that they influenced the fertility of crops, the offspring of cattle and the birth of children. Vira Monko writes in "The Ukrainian Folk Pysanka": "There is no other subject in all national art which condenses in itself such figurative and symbolic matter. The pysanka was given as a gift to signify reconciliation, or to symbolize one's wish for good health, beauty, strength or for a good harvest. It was also used to prevent natural calamities. The pysanka was seen as a factor in curing various illnesses, and it was used to combat curses and fear. It was rolled over grass and buried underground in fields to ensure that the wheat would be full and that the oats would ripen. The pysanka was also placed under beehives, to ensure that bees would perpetually swarm within the hive."
Only women could decorate the eggs and they could not deviate from specific designs. In any given geographical area, pysanky were decorated with exactly the same symbols for centuries. Each symbol was part of the greater collective prayer which would be incomplete and, therefore, ineffective, without each community's piece of the puzzle.
The ritual began on Holy Thursday and included water, wax, fire and dye-each having a symbolic ritual meaning. The writer had to be alone, in silence and in a prayer--like state of mind. She had to sing specific words and think specific thoughts as she wrote. Unfortunately, these songs have not survived. She had to calm herself and not be angry with anyone. Fertile eggs from birds who had never laid before were used. The dyes were from natural substances such as onion skins and their containers had to be new. Pure bees wax was melted over hot coals taken from the fire because it was believed that "living fire" had strong magical powers taken directly from the life-giving sun. The designs and colors all had meanings, many lost to antiquity.
I wish I had more time to explore this city-one of my few regrets of the trip.
Photos: top: vista near Turka; next: Alexander and Slav washing potatoes; next 3: Carpathian landscapes
posted by Sandy @ 1:29 PM
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