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| Ukrainian Easter Eggs Photo by Liuda Shtohryn |
This terrible news has me thinking of my dear childhood friend, Liuda. Even in childhood, Liuda was proud of her heritage. I remember feeling awed, and a little bit jealous when she and her mother would break into a Ukrainian conversation when we were out together. Liuda brought little bits of her culture to us, especially the beautifully detailed Easter eggs, painstakingly dyed in stages, like a batik. She had a group of us over to her house teaching us how to heat the kistka (a metal stylus used for drawing patterns on the eggs) in the flame of a candle. You then melt the block of beeswax with the hot kistka, pulling a bit of liquified wax into the bowl, and then draw a pattern on the egg with the wax. Not the whole pattern, of course, just the lines you want to be white at the end of the process.
Ukrainian egg dyes are intense, not the pastel food
coloring we used at home to create Robin's egg blue, or a rosey pink (although
I love dying eggs that way, too). When you have fixed your white lines, drop
the egg into the lightest color, say yellow. Then you reheat your stylus and
draw all the lines and shapes you want to remain yellow. Let the wax cool and
drop the egg into the next darker color. Over and over, you draw your patterns
and dip your eggs in darker and darker colors until the picture is complete.
When it is finished, use a candle to melt the wax from the egg, revealing your design.
Picture four girls around the kitchen table, Liuda's mother supervising. The
beauty of the eggs delighted us, but we discovered their fragility when one of
the eggs, maybe too close to the candle's flame, exploded! Raw egg on the
ceiling and on the walls! How we shrieked, and then laughed.
Unlike the eggs we dyed at home, hardboiled and eaten
soon after the Easter egg hunt—deviled or in salads or even just peeled and
salted, Ukrainian Easter eggs are permanent pieces of art, often passed down
through the generations. Although raw eggs are used, and they can explode, more
commonly they simply dry out on the inside, the gasses escaping gently. (I've
seen this happen when I pocket an egg from the henhouse in the last parts of
winter and forget it until I don my winter coat again the next fall. I put my
hand in my pocket and pull out an egg. It is as light as an empty shell because
that is what it has become.) I see images of people with suitcases and bundles
and even plastic bags, trying to get to safety, and I wonder if they've had
time or space to pack these delicate heirlooms.
Liuda told us that she is worried for her cousins in
Ukraine and their sons. I heard that President Zelensky has asked all the men
from ages 18-60 to fight. That would include all three of our sons. My husband
would only barely escape the call. I can only imagine what Liuda or her cousins
must be feeling. How can we help? Although we should be careful of upstart
charities that may be scams, we can vet organizations to find reputable ones
with some easy-to-use online tools, such as www.charitynavigator.org/. I just
typed “Ukraine” into the search. They have rated these charities, and scrolling
down a little, I found one with an 85% rating: "Give with
confidence." Digging deeper, we can find specifics, like how much they
spend on administration, fundraising, and the actual program. We can even see
what percentage of their money goes to a particular mission.
The sun has risen again over clear skies and in our
back field, the deer have gone. The people continue their slow progress to
refuge and relative safety. The crisis continues, and I meditate on the beauty
and fragility of those eggs.
Create
Beauty; Defend Peace; Blessed Be
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