My Bahbkah
by
Nettie Stadnyk
A fringed, black babushka covering the top of the forehead and tied at the nape of her neck, an off-white heavy linen raglan-sleeved blouse gathered at the neck and hanging loosely over her 'bra-less' bosom and tucked in at the waist by a black, floor-length skirt with yards and yards of folds, was the daily garb of my Bahbkah (an endearing name for Grandmother). On Sundays and holidays, the babushka was replaced by a fringed one with a four-inch border of bright red roses and bright green leaves. The Sunday skirt had three rows of one-inch black velvet ribbon, spaced three inches apart from the hem. The Sunday blouse had two-inch strips of black and red cross-stitch around the neck and wrists and along the full sleeves. What intrigued me most was the nine-strand korahljee (necklace) of quarter-inch cylindrical orange coral beads separated by white, gold or black seed beads.
My older brother, Vladimir, told me that because of all the folds in her skirt, Bahbkah wore no underwear, not even in winter. One day, while she was ironing clothes on the table with irons heated on a wood stove, I deliberately rolled a ball under her skirt. I crawled under to retrieve it, but got so tangled up in the folds that she had to help extricate me. (This was the start of my life-long claustrophobia).
When I was a tot, Bahbkah would hold me in her arms and rock me to sleep in a Djieedic (Grampa)-made rocker. She let me handle the korahljee, which acted like a pacifier, especially when I was fretful, bruised or ill. She sang songs or recited poetry as she rocked. There were lots of lyous-lyous (similar to the loo-loos in a lullaby). My favorite poem which I remember most vividly was about two red roosters with red combs who ground into flour the wheat that two crested red hens conveyed. One word she used profusely was Tzyit-tzyit (hush-hush). It was used to make me stop crying or to warn me to be quiet for Djieedic was coming. Her favorite saying was, "It will be better tomorrow" (and it always was!). Bahbkah's face had a zillion wrinkles and a pleasant triple chin. She used to compare her face to a spider's web. Around her sad-eyed-dog eyes, numerous wrinkles curled upwards, a sign of a kind, optimistic, pleasant personality.
Bahbkah came from the Ukraine to southern Manitoba in 1896 and settled on a $10 homestead (a 160-acre farm) two miles from Tolstoi. Her fifth child, my mother, was born there, followed by five more children spaced over an eight-year period.
As children, my older siblings, Mary and Vladimir, visited Bahbkah at least once a week, and occasionally spent the night there. I enjoyed those nights, especially in the winter, because Bahbkah would lie down with us under a pearinah, a quilt-size casing filled with very light goose feathers which were fluffed up to a twenty-inch height, keeping us comfy and cosy regardless of the fact that the water froze in the ewer on the makeshift night table adjacent to the bed.
When we got settled, Bahbkah made up tales or told us about the Old Country. There was the story about the mother bear who taught her cubs table manners, and the father bear who boxed their ears when they were unmindful or naughty. Most stories contained a moral or lesson. I liked the one about the Veedmah (a bad witch) who played pranks on lazy or bad people. She tied two calves' tails together, smashed eggs in the henhouse, stole milk from the cows, scattered bugs on potato plants, put cankers on lips and tongues of gossipers, and so on. Also, there was a trickster ghost who, after midnight, revelled in scaring folks by playing the family violin or causing a holy picture to come crashing off the wall, and indulged in many other similar antics. As I grew older, I liked the story about the wife ghost who came to torment her husband for his unfaithfulness by giving him nightmares, insomnia, pins and needles in his appendages, stitches in his side, and various other discomforts and ailments.
Bahbkah signed her name with an 'X' because she was illiterate. I used to read to her the Tochillo, a humorous weekly Ukrainian newspaper with many cartoons. The items poked fun of the early Ukrainian immigrants with their foibles in adjusting to their new life in Manitoba. I also read to her another weekly, The Ukrainian Voice.
My Bahbkah had the reputation of being a good cook. In my formative years, I was not a connoisseur of fine food, so I cannot verify this fact. However, there was one dish that intrigued me enough to acquire a taste for it. A ten-inch pot full of steaming, seasoned thick cornmeal was emptied onto a large home-made wooden circular tray. It had a six-inch long centre pin with a string attached to cut the cornmeal into wedges. The cornmeal was smothered with bacon crackling and onions swimming in melted lard. Wild mushrooms, picked on the farm and cooked with garlic and other condiments in piping hot gravy, filled a large bowl. To spike the taste buds, home-made garlic dill pickles were added to the meal. Scrumpti-delicious! My mouth still waters at the thought! For dessert, there were always saskatoons or pin cherries preserved in sugar and water. The pin cherries were eaten pips and all (good roughage).
One other outstanding memory of my Bahbkah is her use of Scottish mints. This is a story in itself. She bought five cents' worth at a time, tied some in the corner of a handkerchief and hid them between her hanging "hooters", some on a ledge along the wall and ceiling, and some at the topmost part of a clothes closet (always in a different spot and out of reach from us kids). They were used on occasions when I needed to be pacified, when I fell off a swing, got bitten by a rooster, butted by a billy goat, or stung by a bee. Also, the mints supposedly cured headaches, stomach aches, chicken pox...you name it, everything except a toothache. (The cure often worked. The power of faith!)
When I left home at age eighteen to return only at Christmas or summer holidays, Bahbkah gave me two black raised nap runners for a bureau, one with a border of red roses and the other with bright yellow roses. "This is your wedding present in the event that I don't live that long," she said, "and this $20.00 is for the presentation. Don't tell the relatives that I gave you this much." At that time, most presentations were less than $5.00 (Djieedic was extremely frugal). She had saved the money from her $10.00 monthly pension cheque. That's MY Bahbkah!
I'll always have a soft spot for her. She was the epitome of patience, humility, charity and compassion. Recollections of her evoke a warm, secure feeling. Often when I am worried, cannot sleep, or am unhappy, I make a mental list of all the "favorite things" in my life. Memories of my Bahbkah head the list.