economy, but it was not the principal medium through which basic needs
were met. That distinction fell to the forest—the off-grid benefactor of
last resort that Markov’s friend Sasha Dvornik and many of its other
dependents refer to as Taiga Matushka: Mother Taiga.
When Russians wax eloquent about their homeland, they will often
invoke Mother Russia, but Mother Russia is not the nation, and She is
certainly not the leadership; She is the Land. The deep Russian bond to
the earth—specifically, the soil—transcends all other affiliations with the
exception, perhaps, of family. Likewise, the forest and its creatures—
plant and animal alike—have a significance that most of us in the West
lost touch with generations ago. It is a connection—a dependence, really
—that exists in stark contrast to the State’s willful, capricious, and
alarmingly comprehensive destruction of the environment. Come May 15
or so, the vast majority of Russians—regardless of where they live or
what they do—stop and interact with the land more intensely, and with
more devotion and genuine understanding than most Westerners, who
may perceive themselves as environmentally aware, could ever hope to.
May is potato planting time in Russia, and just about everybody
participates. It’s a tradition, it’s a ritual, and it’s how you make it through
the winter in a country where winter seems to last forever and salaries are
inadequate, when they are paid at all. Armenian Radio has addressed this
issue, too:
Our listeners asked us:
“Is it possible to make ends meet on salary alone?”
We’re answering:
“We don’t know, we never tried.”Before the Revolution, the czar was often referred to as the “Little
Father” (the “Big Father,” of course, being God). This notion of a
supreme (human) being who unifies, protects, and guides the country is a