The long three months of the summer holidays were spent by most of the city Russians, now in their thirties, at the Babushka. In many cases the grandparents actually still lived in the village, in Roman’s case at least at the dacha.
“I have this image in my head: it’s a hot summer, the dew on the cucumbers, and when you turn on the water hose, there’s a rainbow,” Roman says, laughing himself at these idealized childhood memories. On the other hand: without them, he wouldn’t be here now with his friends.
A life with friends on an organic farm. In self-built wooden houses with goats and bees.