Every summer, my world transforms into a landscape of sun-drenched fields and winding rivers. My grandmother Ninet’s brother, a chubby 50-year-old man we affectionately call Grandpa Lenny, and I leave the city behind to visit his father—my great-grandfather Alex. Great-grandmother Gelya had passed away, leaving Alex alone in a small, old white house with a straw roof. Despite being 80 years old, he was tall, strong, and remarkably cheerful, always greeting us with a booming laugh.
Great-grandfather Alex wore black wide trousers, a white shirt, and a big Mexican straw hat—almost everyone in that village dressed like that. A couple of kilometers away, a winding, shallow river beckoned. It was up to my neck and up to Grandpa Lenny’s chest, teeming with reeds, snakes, frogs, fish, and crayfish. On two bicycles, Grandpa Lenny and I would ride to that river, eager for our daily adventure.
We had a special triangular contraption called a “RUGELYA”—made of three long sticks, about one and a half meters each, connected together and covered with netting. It looked like an Egyptian pyramid made of mesh, with an open bottom. When we went into the river, we stayed in old clothes and shoes so we wouldn’t cut our feet during what Grandpa Lenny jokingly called our “poaching.” Grandpa and I held the pyramid from opposite sides, pushed it under the reeds, and with our feet drove all the creatures in the water into it.
- We lifted the RUGELYA and checked for fish or crayfish inside.
- We immediately put the catch into bags hanging around our necks.
- Grandpa would grab any snakes and frogs from the trap with his hands and throw them back into the river.
“Watch out for the big one, David!” Grandpa Lenny would shout, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he plunged his hands into the net. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it!” I’d reply, feeling brave as I helped him wrangle a wriggling crayfish. That’s how the day went by—laughter, splashing, and the thrill of the hunt.
In the evening, we came out onto the shore, and Grandpa Lenny would drink vodka from a small bottle he had hidden with him. Of course, he couldn’t ride the bicycle anymore—he kept falling and searching for something in the bushes. “It’s not the vodka, David, it’s the uneven ground!” he’d insist, stumbling into a bush. When it got completely dark, we made our way back to Great-grandfather Alex’s old house. He was very worried that we had been gone so long, and when we returned, he chased Grandpa Lenny with a switch, scolding him for the delay.
In the morning, Grandpa Lenny and I went back to the city with our catch—crayfish and fish—and went to wave at the window of a five-story maternity hospital, where my pregnant mom was staying on the third floor. We were waiting for the birth of my future brother, Denny. Mom opened the window and said something to us, while we proudly showed off our adventures, holding up our bags of crayfish as trophies.
In the morning, Grandpa Lenny and I went back to the city with our catch—crayfish and fish—and went to wave at the window of a five-story maternity hospital, where my pregnant mom was staying on the third floor. We were waiting for the birth of my future brother, Denny. Mom opened the window and said something to us, while we proudly showed off our adventures, holding up our bags of crayfish as trophies.
