LITHUANIAN HOSPITALITY
By GLORIA O’BRIEN
Anyone who has visited
relatives or friends in
My cousin Ellie
We have visited Ellie and
her mother, our Teta Stasė, many times since
Two “šeimininkės”, Ellie’s
friends from Kudirkos Naumiestis, the nearby town, come to help Ellie take care
of the crowd. They bustle around the
kitchen in their stocking feet, having removed their shoes upon entering the
house from the backyard, where they are cooking up a storm in the “summer
kitchen” just across the yard and next to the barn. This removal of shoes appears to be a universal custom in the
“kaima” (countryside). A long bench sits
in the entrance to Ellie’s house, its attached skirt concealing an array of shoes
and slippers. Everyone entering,
exchanges their shoes for a pair of slippers, or just walks around barefoot.
Each meal is served in a
dining room set with a long table, groaning with abundance and variety, always
topped off with a “raguolė”. Breakfast
on a Lithuanian farm is nothing like what we know in the States – they serve
quantities of meat, potatoes, pickles, herring, fried fish – the same type of
food they have at other meals – and they also drink vodka, and Teta’s delicious
cherry wine and other homemade liqueurs.
It’s very hard to get used to – and they just won’t accept a “no”. They keep on urging and offering and pouring
and insisting. It wears you down, and
it’s disconcerting. You don’t want to
offend and so eventually you give in. They
are showing you “pagarba” (honor) and it would be discourteous to refuse
them. “When in
And they keep on bringing
in one course after another, adding dishes but never taking any away. The table gets more and more crowded, and you
learn to do your utmost to quickly set down a dish after helping yourself from
it, because if you wait too long, you’ll be left holding it with no place to
put it, until one of the šeiminikės
notices and takes pity on you. Apart
from the generosity of Lithuanian meals, this is the strongest impression I
have taken away with me, year after year.
One year, we were honored
with a special party that I still remember in detail.
My brother and I were
visiting and on that occasion were joined by our friends Tony and Ray. The room was crowded with our relatives and
some of Tony’s cousins as well. The food
was marvelous, such variety and imagination and tastiness, and the presentation
was exquisite. Halfway through the meal,
Ellie’s daughter Rūta called for attention, and we were offered a variety
of gifts, including beautiful presentation folders. I later learned that Ellie had ordered them
from an artist in Naumiestis. The padded
covers are decorated with the Vytis seal, and inside are parchment pages
inscribed with poetic sentiments. Rūta read mine
aloud: “Mano kraštas – laukai ir
beržynai ir kalvos. Lyg pražydę
linai – ten padangė gili.
Neužmirštamas Tėviškės kvapas ir spalvos, kai užminga diena –
ir skaisti, ir tyli.” “Mielai Glorijai – Prisiminimui iš Tėviškės Lietuvos
– 1992 VII 26 – Giminės”
(“My land - fields, birch
groves, and hills. Like blossoming flax - there the sky is deep. The
unforgettable colors and fragrance of the Motherland, as the day drops asleep -
bright, and peaceful”. “Dear Gloria - A remembrance from the Motherland
Lithuania -
When she began to read, I
began to cry. How generous --
folders for all four of us, each with a different quotation –then other
gifts – juostas (sashes – a big ceremonial thing with Lithuanians) tied across
our shoulders and at our waists, plaques, pictures, wooden carvings. They popped champagne, made toasts, then to
top it all off, everyone stood and sang “Lietuva Brangi”. My brother Tony answered the toasts as well
as he could, and we all yelled “Valio!”, and sang “Ilgiausiu Metu” at the top
of our lungs. So unexpected – we felt overwhelmed – we certainly didn’t
deserve such ceremony – that was among
the most unforgettable experiences of my life. When the meal was three-quarters over, the
accordionists came in, and we started the singing -- what a pleasure. We then all trooped to the outside and ate,
drank, sang and danced all night! Some
people didn’t leave until dawn.
Friends and Neighbors
Sometimes one or another
of our relatives will escort us to a friend’s or neighbor’s house or
apartment, and although it’s not our
habit to “just drop in” on folks, we go along, having been assured of an eager
welcome. We are invariably met with
great courtesy, and treated to a cup of the strong coffee that Lithuanians seem
to favor. The requisite bottle of “hot
stuff” is brought out, as well as a large bar of chocolate. People are full of questions about life in
One
day after museum-looking, I went home with my friend Liucija, met her twin, Dalia,
and they fed me – hot boiled small potatoes with fresh dill from their garden
and real forest mushrooms with onions and sour cream – yummy! They live in a nice house in the
Linksmadvaris section of Kaunas, on the hills above the Nemunas. The house was built and decorated by their
father, who they described as a person of artistic inclinations, almost stifled
by the communist system. We walked
around their neighborhood, which had a suburban feel, and they showed me a
large building that had been built around the time of Smetona, and had been
planned for the University’s use. Right now it looks like some sort of multiple
dwelling. Not far from there, at the top
of the hill, we had a fine view of the river and all of
Antanas ir Birutė
Antanas is my mother’s
first cousin, much younger than she. He
and his wife Birutė spent years in exile in
Birutė throws open
the door to her dining room and invites us to the table, laden down with, among
other delights, my favorite thing – potato pancakes. They are talented and enthusiastic singers
-- one does not sit at their table
without being treated to a round of wonderful folk songs, along with the usual
drinks.
Antanas is sincere and
enthusiastic in his praise for his beloved wife. This year, they celebrated their 50th
wedding anniversary, and their life is still full of smiles and compliments for
each other. Their children hired a
“meistras” to carve a tall wooden shrine commemorating their 50th
anniversary, and this beauty has been erected in their front yard. The artist also carved a pair of tall staffs
(lazdai), one for each of them, topped by a couple of intertwined rings, and
the number “50”. When we saw them, they
were still twined with the greens that had been decorating them for the
celebration party.
 |
 |
|---|---|
50 yr. staffs |
50 yr. stulpas |
Siggie’s Family
Our cousin Siggie’s house
when we first saw it was a wooden structure, one-and-a-half stories, painted
dark green. His elder son, Dainius, has
recently done a lot of work on it, replacing the windows and covering it in
white vinyl siding. Somehow that makes
the house look bigger. Siggie’s mother,
our Teta Antosė, has a neat garden out front, and Siggie and his wife Eugenija
(Genė) said she won’t let anyone
else put a finger to it . Siggie has
since passed away, but a few years ago, he and his family gave us a wonderful
welcome with true hospitality. They had
a tiny lady (gaspadinė) helping
Genė, and between the two of them they put out a great variety of tasty
food.
One long table was set up
in the middle of the dining/living room, with folding chairs and a bench set
along one side, and the sofas which are probably always there, on the topside
and the other long side. Very
crowded. The table of course was
groaning, laden down with dishes, glasses, cutlery and food. The food was delicious and they had a big
square cake (tortas) made by a woman in the village – very artistically
decorated, the top looked like a backgammon board. But the best part of the visit was the
music. Two men set up an amplifier in
the back of the house, with an electric keyboard. They played and sang popular music outside
where we all danced on the grass, then we’d all troop back into the house, with
the musicians, one now with an accordion (he’s actually the physics teacher in
the high school!) and the other with a hoarse tenor voice and an inexhaustible
repertoire of folk songs. He led
everyone in the singing, and oh it was grand!
So many songs, some sad, some cute, some artistic, some militant and
patriotic. Genė has a good strong
voice and sings harmony. The little
gaspadinė sang too (This lady has the reddest cheeks I’ve ever seen) –
really cute – a couple of duets with her and Genė, and they took turns
trying to remember verses to a long joke song about somebody who stole the
cheese. Later Genė borrowed the
accordion and played a couple of songs herself – she was quite good. Everybody sang – everybody – and of course,
even though we don’t know the words to most of them, the melodies seem to be
engraved on our consciousness, and we sang la,la, la, just as loud as you
please. It was a wonderful evening and
we were all exhausted when we got home to Ellie’s house about
Alfonsas
Our grandmother was a
Kutaitė, and the place where she grew up is known as Kutų
kaimas. The last Kutaitė, Česlova,
passed away a few years ago, and her widower, Alfonsas, remains on the
property, living alone except for the occasions when one or another of their
three daughters visits. He’s a crusty
old character with a fine disregard for neatness and order, and a penchant for
posing teasing, complicated questions to hapless American visitors.
He proudly shows us the
fine, sturdy “pirtis” (sauna) he built himself, and invites one and all to come
and use it. He herds us all into his
“main room”, where we sit on an ancient, smelly sofa or on rickety chairs
around a rickety table which he supplies with a bottle of white stuff and shot
glasses which everyone proceeds to wipe out with their hankies. Now, this “white stuff” is Alfonsas’s
favorite firewater, which will bring tears to your eyes and blast your tongue
and throat. Don’t misunderstand –
Alfonsas is not a drunk, he’s usually a sober individual. But when he takes a drink, this is what he
likes. And it amuses him to watch others
struggle with it. We know all this ‘way
in advance, and we come prepared (Ellie says “ginkluoti” – armed.) We always bring our own bottle, some nice
sweet liqueur or a mild fruity brandy or wine.
He notices, and eyes our bottle with disfavor, shaking his head and
grimacing in disgust. Uncooperative
people.
He will bring out a fine
home-pressed cheese, maybe some
cucumbers sliced lengthwise, and then the best – honey from his own bees. Spread some of that on a slice of cheese or
cucumber, sip a little drink, and settle down for some interesting talk. Alfonsas is an educated, well-informed,
opinionated man, and time flies.
Vyt’s mother
Vytas is my cousin Ellie’s
son-in-law (žentas), a small businessman who spent the majority of his career
as a music teacher. He is the talented
heart of all our family get-togethers, with his accordion and inexhaustible
good humor. Rūta and Vytas came by
our hotel during the early afternoon one day this year, and my cousin Cecilia
and I rode with them to Seredžius, to pick up his mother and aunt, who would
stay overnight with them in Kaunas.
Vyt’s mother lives in a lovely private house, which had been built by
his father, just across the road from the parish church.
Naturally, there is no
such thing as just “picking someone up”,
and driving away with them. No
indeed. We are greeted with smiles and
genuine pleasure, and ceremoniously invited to enter. We are urged to take a seat at a table set with pretty plates and the best crystal,
and already piled with goodies which will, without a doubt, prove to be only
the “tip of the iceberg”. Lithuanian
hospitality is sincere and bottomless.
Cecilia is amused by Vyt’s
mother, who is typical in her offering and insisting that we take and eat this,
that, or the other, and in her strong insistence that we take a drink almost
every ten minutes or so, “iki dugno” (bottoms up). They make us laugh, by telling us how Vytas,
as her only son, always received the full treatment as she urged this or that
upon him, even going so far as to fill his plate from her own. His protests, however strong and verging on
irritation, meant not a thing,….“and she still does it today!!”….. Vytas
yelled, as she laughingly tried to shove a spoonful of cabbage into his mouth.
Cecilia gets the
Lithuanian “močiutės” (grandmother’s) third degree: Vyt’s mother and aunt want to know all about
her, our family connection, and her life in
Seredžius is a very old
and historic village, where archaeological digs many years ago discovered
graves from the 3rd and 4th centuries A.D. Some Roman coins and other articles were
discovered as well, and this must have bolstered the “Roman origin” theories of
Eventually we all pile
into Vyt’s car and go back to
© Gloria O’Brien 2004
This
article was printed in Bridges, in sections, through 2004 and 2005.