Ukrainian Homes and Gardens

By Walter Kish

My wife and I bought a house a week ago after several weeks of looking in the Oshawa, Ontario area.  It is the third house we have bought in the course of our married life together and though I can’t say it’s the perfect dream house, it meets most of the criteria that we had come up with when we first set out to find a new home.

Needless to say, most of what I was looking for differed appreciably from the list of “must haves” that my wife had compiled.  Invariably, the first place she looked was in the kitchen when we toured a potential candidate.  It had to be spacious and functional - you can never have too much counter or cupboard space according to her priorities, and considering what proportion of her time was usually spent in the kitchen, she had a telling point. 

To her, the kitchen is the focal point of the house.  This is a perspective undoubtedly inherited from our Ukrainian parents and grandparents.  For them, it was not only the room where cooking took place, but where most of the meals were taken and most of the practical family conversation surrounding daily affairs took place.  I can remember when I was a kid, that though we had a dining room in our house, we only ate there on Sundays or on special occasions, such as when guests were over.  The rest of the time, we took our meals around the kitchen table.  This was also the room where plans were made, household accounts were kept, mail was read, letters were written and neighbours were entertained around tea or coffee.

Of course nowadays, with larger houses and shifting North American living habits, many of these functions have gravitated to living rooms, dens, family rooms, home offices and recreation rooms.  Nonetheless, at least psychologically and nostalgically, the kitchen remains a special place in a typical Ukrainian home.

The other inherited trait that defines most Ukrainian homes is the yard, and specifically, the garden.  During our house hunt, when we surveyed a potential yard, one of the first things my wife would picture is where the garden would go.  And by garden, I don’t mean flower beds and landscaping; I am talking here of tomatoes, onions, garlic, carrots, dill, horseradish and all the other vegetables and herbs that make up a typical Ukrainian backyard.

Mind you, the vegetable gardens that my wife and I had planted over the years were pale in size and ambition to what my parents cultivated in their day.  They made sure that the houses they acquired all had a huge backyard suitable for large scale domestic agriculture.  Every square foot was put to good use.  Every conceivable vegetable had its place, carefully planted and tended to in long even rows.  Various fruit trees marked the sides and back of the yard.

The majority of arable space was dedicated to potatoes, cabbages, garlic, carrots and beets as these were the staples that carried us through the winter.  In every house we lived in, my father would construct a large insulated komirka or cold cellar in one corner of the basement, which at the end of the harvest season would be packed to the ceiling with large burlap sacks and bushel containers of the various root vegetables.

Every fall, the harvested cabbages would be converted into a barrel of sauerkraut.  The making of kapusta was a festive event, and I took great delight in operating the cabbage shredder or shatkivnytsia, the output of which would go into the barrel, alternating with layers of pickling salt.  The contents were pounded down with a large wooden club called a makohon, and once the barrel was filled, my father would place a large stone weight on top and the cabbage were set aside to ferment.

Although these memories evoke fond nostalgia, it is hardly likely that my wife and I will be planting long rows of potatoes and cabbages in our new soon to be garden.  Knowing the amount of hard sweat and labour that went into our parents’ mini farms, our vegetable garden will be more symbolic than productive.  Nonetheless, we are greatly looking forward to getting our hands dirty at least a little bit, and revelling in the accomplishment of growing our own garlic and tomatoes.