Today in the mail I received my copy of the latest newsletter of the Texas Czech Genealogical Society publication, the Cesky Stopy. My father signed me up as a member of the organization and though I don't take advantage of the conferences they hold or resources they make available, I enjoy reading the Stopy four times a year. My dad has really become interested in our family genealogy in the true sense of the word - researching one more generation back in the family line, then another, then another. He's serious about our heritage, both Czech and Polish. See his brand new custom made boots at left with both country's flags and, below them, the earliest date our ancestors immigrated from each. He's a proud man; there's no way I, the oldest child, could not be affected by his love of history and of Texas. My dad was recently moved to write the article below, which I was pleased to turn to on page 12 of the Cesky Stopy edition that arrived today.
I'm cheating on my blog tonight by offering my father's article, though you'll find one of his aunt's recipes at the end, added by me. My Dad's writing illuminates a bit my own need to chase down a recipe and my obsession with things like letters and memorabilia my grandmother saved for upwards of nine decades. I also inherited my father's (and mother's) strong sense of family and family history and all the activity and obligation that accompanies that. I'd like to say "damn you, Mom and Dad!", but what I really mean is "thank you."
THEY’RE ALMOST ALL GONE
by Steve Orsak
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| Steve Orsak, age 3. |
I recently turned 70
and it caused me to reconsider life’s different phases and experiences. Family history began to seem more important. As my aunts, uncles and closer family
members slip away, childhood memories of visits to their farms and homes are
taking on a new significance. I am
realizing that we are shaped by even these small experiences.
For example, tasting
an olive for the first time at Aunt Pat Rippamonti’s apartment after she
married my Uncle Tommy Orsak. Then later
finding out that her grandfather had come from Italy to drive stakes on the
railroad from Victoria to Houston for Count Von Telfener. Or being a farm
laborer loading watermelons on trucks that were bound for Chicago from Cuero
for Uncle Ben Parma. I earned a quarter
per hour.
The humbling
experience of being third in line for a bath behind 2 cousins... humbling because it was on their back porch
and we all used the same water. Losing
nickles and dimes to uncles who learned the art of poker on the pitching decks
of destroyers in the South Pacific during WWII.
Listening to war
stories around the kitchen table at Grandpa Steve’s farm house and noticing
that Uncle Tullie (Alvin), who had served in WWII and the Korean conflict,
never said a word. He had won the Silver
Star for holding his platoon together while forcing the communists to retreat
at Hangye, Korea, killing nine Chinese in the process. I followed him out on the porch where in the
night air he simply said “No more killing”.
I had seventeen aunts and uncles who served in WWII and they all came home safely. Whether I realized it or not at the time, their sacrifices kindled a desire to serve my
country, as most of my cousins and
friends did also. On the whole, I don’t
see that kind of desire anymore in young people. Maybe it isn’t necessary.
When my wife and I got
married, we were blessed with having a
total of 76 aunts and uncles between us. Yes, 76. The stories about them are endless, but two
traits common to all four families were working hard and having fun whenever
possible. Some of the events and
traditions that have kept our families close are still celebrated.
The Morkovsky family
on my wife’s side still gathers once a year to make over 1,000 links of
sausage. It isn’t the act of sausage
making that holds them together, though - it’s getting together as a family
that counts.
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| Morkovsky family sausage making event. Photo by Lori Najvar. |
I used to make fun of
visiting my relative’s homes because there was never a place to put down a cup
of coffee. Every inch of available flat
surface was covered with pictures. I now
realize that the pictures were more than a remembrance. The pictures kept the family alive in my
relative’s minds.
Sundays were always
mandatory “visiting” day in the family.
It was usually to visit grandparents, but you got to escape that crowd
by leaving with cousins in some beat-up old truck for a swim in 12 Mile Creek
or the Tres Palacios River. You knew
when to head back because at 3:30 both grandmothers served afternoon
snacks. “Svacina” is both a Polish and
Moravian Czech tradition.
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| My father's parents - Joe and Irene (Zielonka) Orsak. My grandmother's still dancing at 93. |
Of the 80 aunts and uncles (counting our parents), there are only four left - two on the Orsak
side, and two on the Zielonka side, including my mother. The
loss of a whole generation is mind numbing.
The rich variety of family experiences we used to enjoy can’t be made up
by today’s technology that takes away afternoons and free weekend days. Visits to grandparents' and relatives' homes
cemented family ties. Experiences that
should be made easier by today’s transportation seem to get tougher when we
have the choice of watching TV instead of making the sacrifice to visit family
and friends.
I have truly been
blessed to have been from such a large family. What used to be considered an obligation is now a blessing. It took a lot of work and effort, but the
laughter, tears and smiles were worth every minute I spent in someone else’s
home or on their farm. I have learned
and been loved so much that words cannot express, and I hope, after reading
this, that you take some time to think of the family that has shaped you.
----
Spiced Pickled Beets (based on Steve's Aunt Pat's recipe)
3 cups water
3 cups sugar
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| My parents' canning - Aunt Pat's spiced pickled beets in the center. |
1 1/2 cups pickling vinegar
1 1/2 cups apple cider vinegar
1/4 teaspoon allspice
1/4 teaspoon cloves
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
Boil whole beets in water just to cover until a fork can barely pierce them. Cool slightly and slice or quarter.
Mix vinegar, sugar and slices in a large kettle. bring to a boil, add beets and simmer for 10 to 15 minutes. Pack beets in hot, sterilized jars. Pour hot vinegar mixture over beets to within half inch of rim. Seal tightly and cover with a towel until cool.
*For plain pickled beets, simply leave out the spices.
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