[Plulpangepler]

I just telephoned my wife. She and her parents are at their dacha which is near Kurovskoye some way east of Moscow on the road to Murom. It is has been a warm and sunny weekend. They have been tending the garden, and the gooseberries, raspberries, and redcurrants are starting to flourish. My father-in-law has made charcoal and cut up pieces of birch wood for the samovar. They went through the nearby pine forest to a holy spring dedicated to the Mother of God, and pilgrims were collecting water in plastic bottles. A small wooden church is just nearby. After their return, in the long warm evening, they sat on the porch drinking tea from the samovar and the only sound was of bumble-bees gathering nectar from the blossoms of the fruit trees and the rustle of the leaves of the birch trees. Oh, how I wish I was there!