Note: I am back in the United States and finishing up posts that I began writing while still in Poland.
The days in the WCK field kitchen have been long, leaving little time to explore Przemysl. But when I heard about the farmers market in the center of town, I knew I had to make the time.
Those who know me know that the farmers market — no matter the location — is my happy place. The farmers market is a sign of life. It’s where neighbors meet and exchange gossip and recipes. It’s where you get the first whiff of spring onions and summer basil. It’s where you can strike up a conversation with the person who grew that basil and get the scoop on the tomato harvest. It’s where you can always get grounded and feel a smidge of hope, even on the darkest day, even in a war.
To satisfy my curiosity, I skipped coffee one morning and made a quick detour before heading to work. Sure enough, there were signs of spring, with lettuces, leafy herbs and radishes front and center. Locals were shopping for supper, making stops for bread and living
Then I went in search of coffee, something that is hard to come by in this lovely town, at least for that first morning cup. (A different story at 5 in the afternoon, when there are multiple options, but no matter.) I stumbled upon a stand, where I practiced my “Dzien dobry” (good morning) on the owner, a woman named Bozena. She immediately told me she spoke English and we became friends in about 45 seconds. While she steamed milk for my espresso, Bozena (pronounced Bor-jana) asked about my time here and smiled wide when I told her I was cooking for displaced Ukrainians.
She also happens to be married to the mayor. In recent weeks, her husband, Wojciech Bakun, has been overseeing the massive flux of refugees into Przemysl and thrown into the limelight. You can watch his interview with Scott Pelley of “60 Minutes” here.
As I told my pal Peter about my market adventure, he said he made a discovery of his own — a closet-sized bakery in the center of town. They’re baking bread in a brick oven, he said. There are copper bowls and loaves with seeds and it’s kind of magical.
Before getting an early dinner at Cuda Wianki, my new home away from home, we went next door to have a peek. We lucked out; it was open. And I kinda fell in love with her.
There was no English-Polish overlap, so we used Google Translate to share our enthusiasm. We told her clumsily we were cooks.
No cook, she said. Baker.
Yes, yes you are, madame.
I grabbed a bag of buckwheat flour wafer cookies off a wooden hutch and a half-dozen of these chocolate crinkle-like cake lovelies for good measure. I added my payment of 12 zloty in a shallow basket on the counter next to a “self-serve” placard. I just wanted to stay and watch her, but she would be having none of that.
There’s no way to forget that a war is going on, less than a half hour away. But meeting these women is my reminder to appreciate these little moments that make life not only interesting but worth waking up for. Even when so many others are suffering.
The village people
Bozena (or Bezena?)had sad eyes even though trying to smile for the photo. Moments, one another, hands helping to lift the weight when resting heavily on another’s shoulders is a profound gift, a gift you have offered to many others. You have helped to nourish hope. We, your readers, live vicariously through your words. Thank you for this precious opportunity.
WHAT fabulous photos, too, KIM! Proudly remembering Arlington Village and your time spent at the farmers market started by the Arlington Food Cooperative many moons ago! The universal nature of nourishing humanity with love and goodness prevails!