You wrote this beautifully. I remembered my grandmother feeding the chicken, the domestic rabbits and the pig. She milked the goat called Ibolya. She brought the body-warm goat milk to the kitchen, poured it into our mugs, and we started our heavenly breakfast. The bread was hot out of the oven. Was it in the countryside? No! In the suburb of Budapest, one kilometer from where I sit now. Well, today you can’t raise pigs or goats in the capital city, and buy everything in Tesco, but Instead of being four years old I am 81. But the mood of your writing brought me back to my happy childhood, Thank you!
My dear Soul Father, what a truly delightful story you shared with me! I could almost feel the warmth of the milk in the mug and smell the scent of fresh bread wafting through the air. Your story brought back a cherished memory of my aunt milking the cow and handing me a cup of warm milk to drink. I only visited the countryside a few times, but those moments are etched in my soul.
Just like in Budapest, in Bucharest we had small villages nearby—places where people lived simply, with pigs, cows, goats, and small holdings. It was a peaceful way of life, one that coexisted naturally with the cities. Sadly, so much of that has now disappeared, replaced by soulless villas and plastic grass. I struggle to connect with this artificial world, and I often turn to books about times long gone, when authenticity hadn't yet been lost.
My grandmother, my parents, my father’s younger sister, my brother, and I lived together in a small house with a 1,000-square-meter garden. The animals had enough space, along with a dozen fruit trees, grape vines, and a kitchen garden for vegetables and flowers. A whole world for us.
My grandfather has not returned from the POW camp in Siberia after WW1. He dreamed of having a house in Rákosliget, and showed my grandmother from the train window: Terike, this is where we shall live! He died young, but my grandma fulfilled his dream. In misery, poverty, and with heroic efforts. I will share her heroism and her keeping the family together in my “Family Fairytales” soon. She more than deserves it. Just thinking about her, I feel warmth in my heart, love and admiration❤️
I felt your beautiful heart in your words, Karina. 🙏
Thank you so much for connecting with my words!
My dear Soul Daughter,
You wrote this beautifully. I remembered my grandmother feeding the chicken, the domestic rabbits and the pig. She milked the goat called Ibolya. She brought the body-warm goat milk to the kitchen, poured it into our mugs, and we started our heavenly breakfast. The bread was hot out of the oven. Was it in the countryside? No! In the suburb of Budapest, one kilometer from where I sit now. Well, today you can’t raise pigs or goats in the capital city, and buy everything in Tesco, but Instead of being four years old I am 81. But the mood of your writing brought me back to my happy childhood, Thank you!
My dear Soul Father, what a truly delightful story you shared with me! I could almost feel the warmth of the milk in the mug and smell the scent of fresh bread wafting through the air. Your story brought back a cherished memory of my aunt milking the cow and handing me a cup of warm milk to drink. I only visited the countryside a few times, but those moments are etched in my soul.
Just like in Budapest, in Bucharest we had small villages nearby—places where people lived simply, with pigs, cows, goats, and small holdings. It was a peaceful way of life, one that coexisted naturally with the cities. Sadly, so much of that has now disappeared, replaced by soulless villas and plastic grass. I struggle to connect with this artificial world, and I often turn to books about times long gone, when authenticity hadn't yet been lost.
Did you visit your grandparents often back then?
My grandmother, my parents, my father’s younger sister, my brother, and I lived together in a small house with a 1,000-square-meter garden. The animals had enough space, along with a dozen fruit trees, grape vines, and a kitchen garden for vegetables and flowers. A whole world for us.
My grandfather has not returned from the POW camp in Siberia after WW1. He dreamed of having a house in Rákosliget, and showed my grandmother from the train window: Terike, this is where we shall live! He died young, but my grandma fulfilled his dream. In misery, poverty, and with heroic efforts. I will share her heroism and her keeping the family together in my “Family Fairytales” soon. She more than deserves it. Just thinking about her, I feel warmth in my heart, love and admiration❤️