Mama's Home Remedies: Discover Time-Tested Secrets of Good Health and the Pleasures of Natural Living

by Svetlana Konnikova

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  With all the tomes of literature at my fingertips, it was hard to say what I loved most, but I have to admit that my favorite books—even now—are unforgettable folktales and fairy tales from around the world. I had heard plenty of them from Grandma and I fell in love with these anthologies and will hold them dear to my heart for the rest of my life because these tales are good and wise. They reflect our real life, and they are a bright example of intelligent human thought. They became for me a window to the world and a brilliant tool with which to learn about it. After all, these beautiful stories came to me from the Fairyland, the mystical, magical land of fairies. I learned a lot from fairy tales told by Dutch storyteller Hans Christian Andersen. I read almost all of them. Sometimes I explore his storehouse even now, and I find always there a mix of fantasy and true-life experience. I am full of wonder. I have learned about destiny, and I admire the noble actions of his heroes. I find I effortlessly float into his fairy tales and transcend this real life and all at once I am a character in another realm.

  Our big candle shone with a small orange fire and quietly burned down, marking time by growing smaller, dropping purple tears, sharing the lovely ambiance of which it was a part with all of us in the room, its heady fragrance of lilac intoxicating us. Very soon this flower would celebrate spring in Grandma’s Dream Garden, but winter was still upon us and so I nestled comfortably into a chair and read Hans Christian Andersen’s “The Candles,”

  a beautiful fairy tale written in 1870.

  There was once a big wax candle which knew

  its own importance quite well. “I am born of

  wax and molded in a shape,” it said. “I give better light

  and burn longer than other candles. My place is in a chandelier or on a silver candlestick!”

  “That must be a lovely existence!” said the tallow candle. “I am only made of tallow, but I comfort myself with the thought that it is always a little better than being a farthing dip: That is only dipped twice, and I am dipped eight times, to get my proper thickness. I am content! It is certainly finer and more fortunate to be born of wax instead of tallow, but one does not settle one’s own place in this world. You are placed in the big room in Trips to the Fairyland @ 225

  the glass chandelier, I remain in the kitchen, but that is also a good place; from there the whole house gets its food.”

  “But there is something which is more important than food,” said the wax-candle. “Society! To see it shine, and to shine oneself! There is a ball this evening and soon I and all my family will be fetched.”

  Scarcely was the word spoken, when all the wax-candles were fetched, but the tallow candle also went with them. The lady herself took it in her dainty hand, and carried it out to the kitchen: a little boy stood there with a basket, which was filled with potatoes; two or three apples also found their way there. The good lady gave all this to the poor boy.

  “There is a candle for you as well, my little friend,” said she. “Your mother sits and works till late in the night; she can use it!”

  The little daughter of the house stood close by, and when she heard the words ‘late in the night,’ she said with great delight, “I also shall stay up till late in the night! We shall have a ball, and I shall wear my big red sash!”

  How her face shone with joy! No wax candle can shine

  like two childish eyes!

  “That is a blessing to see,” thought the tallow

  candle; “I shall never forget it and I shall certainly never see it again.”

  Maybe the tallow candle referred to a garden or a fairyland where she could never return again? But we can always return to our once-discovered fairyland. We can come as often as we want into our Dream Garden, our favorite place outdoors, which we are able to find anywhere we go or we can create our own—a place where we can restore and enjoy the magic of Nature, relax, rejuvenate, and live a healthy life filled with great books, beautiful flowers, mighty trees, and loving people.

 

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  How far that little candle throws his beams!

  So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

  —William Shakespeare (1564–1616), English playwright and poet ƒ

  Victory is the beautiful bright colored flower.

  —Sir Winston Churchill (1874–1965), British statesman, author, and prime minister ƒ

  The flowers that bloom in the spring bring to us a new life.

  —Unknown

  ƒ

  I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows.

  —Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream

  ƒ

  There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance;

  and there is pansies, that’s for thoughts.

  —Shakespeare, Hamlet

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  Chapter 12

  Dialogue with the Trees of Strength

  and Everlasting Life

  Like a great poet, Nature is capable of producing the most stunning effects with the smallest means. Nature possesses only the sun, trees, flowers, water and love.

  —Henrich Heine (1797–1836), German poet and critic

  FACTS:

  A forest is an ecosystem characterized by trees with a unique combination of plants, animals, microbes, soil, and climate. Twenty-seven percent of the world’s total land area is covered in forests, which are home to more species of animals, birds, plants, and insects than any other environment on Earth. In the United States alone forests cover 747 million acres (301 million hectares) or 33 percent of the land base. Each year the forestry community plants 1½

  billion tree seedlings in North America. This means more than six new trees for each North American. Satellite surveys confirm that across North America forests have actually expanded by 20 percent since 1970.

  Forests are big factories producing oxygen. We need this product for our survival. Forests are greenhouse exchangers and clean our air by absorbing carbon dioxide and releasing oxygen. Trees lock in carbon dioxide and return it to the soil when they decompose instead of releasing it into the air and contributing to pollution. By taking in the amount of carbon we release into the atmosphere, trees help to reduce the “greenhouse” effect and remove Dialogue with the Trees of Strength and Everlasting Life @ 229

  the “carbon debt” we put into the environment. To grow a pound of wood, a tree uses 1.47 pounds of carbon dioxide and gives off 1.07 pounds of oxygen. One large growing tree can provide a day’s oxygen for four people.38 Perhaps no other activity involves so many people as outdoor recreation, which is a major land use of a quarter of a billion acres of public land and as much private land. More than 90 percent of the population participates. It is a $20 billion a year industry with an annual government investment of an additional $1

  billion.39

  The Druids, the wise priests of ancient Gaul, Celtic Britain, and Ireland, believed that trees transfer vital energy to us. The degree to which trees give us energy is determined by our birth date. Their religion focused on the worship of nature deities, and their rituals and ceremonies were held mostly in oak groves. The Druids believed that each of us has our own biological field and that everyone corresponds to a tree that is similar to the characteristics of his or her own bioenergetics. This particular tree is our talisman, a guardian of our health.

  My talisman, predestined by Mother Nature, according to the Druids, is the cypress tree. I had been intuitively attracted to cypress trees all my life, and so I now understand why. It was one of the mysterious forces which world scientists will explain to all of us some day.

  My cypress was special, good-looking, fresh, and slender. He was as tall as a pyramidal tower of a castle built many years ago by the grandest architect in the world—Mother Nature. His upper branches stretched like crooked arrows to the sky. I saw his outstanding beauty for the first time as I walked down a lane of these cone-bearin
g giants that stood like courageous guards forming a long green wall.

  July was hot and steamy in Crimea when I returned again to this centuries-old park for a vacation. At noon I took refuge in the shade where trees cast their shadows on the forest path. I approached one of my special cypress trees, which stood proudly in line with so many others. His unusual dark green overlapping leaves formed a pattern against the sky that would have rivaled the most delicate Venetian lace.

  I was happy to meet again with my old green friend. I tried to enfold him with my arms as much as I could to feel his intense energy. The tree’s fragrant bark was slick with rainwater. “Salute, my friend! I have returned to see you 230 ^ Mama’s Home Remedies

  again after a year,” I whispered. He answered me with a shimmering rustle of his twisted, silky, smooth needles. I felt serene near this composed giant. An easy, relaxed mood and confidence returned to me as I received from this tree a new supply of vital energy along with a positive emotional state that had been nearly depleted by all the hard work I had done during the past year. Perhaps I was also influenced by my belief that I should begin every new year of my life here, near my cypress.

  The first time I saw a cypress tree I couldn’t understand why I was so attracted to it. I did not realize at the time that it had “called” me to it. Most people enjoy these evergreens as ornamental—a decoration; as an attribute to resorts; or as a material with which to build furniture, boats, or cedar chests. I admire cypress trees for another reason. I realize that pride and a strong spirit emanates from this tree. I believe that the dynamic intensity that propelled me to accomplish my dreams and goals came directly from this cypress. Grandma used to say that trees and emerald green forests are the lungs and eyes of the earth, which supply us with the oxygen that we need to survive.

  “Trees are monuments to people who have died,” she would say. “Nature gives these tree-monuments to those who are alive.”

  When I walk through a forest, I feel energized and rejuvenated. I never feel lonely around trees, the keepers of our life’s secrets. Every year our itinerary for summer vacation was the same. My first trip here was when I was three years old, and for many years thereafter just the four of us: Mama; Papa; my sister, Laura; and I enjoyed this beautiful resort. After our plane landed at Adler airport, we headed to picturesque Crimea. This prime destination was our favorite spot—a place where friendly cypresses and oleanders swayed in the fresh breeze from the clear turquoise sea and a profusion of golden orange magnolia blooms greeted its visitors. It seems that when people immerse themselves in this special Mediterranean microclimate, they are rejuvenated.

  Our cab driver sped along the twisting road through the mountains. The road was difficult and we were nervous, but he seemed to be an attentive driver. One side of the mountains held an open view of the sea. The road, bathed in bright sunshine, was perched high in the air. Beams of light stretched from the sun to the sea where they scattered over the sea’s surface like sugar crystals on a frosted cake. All year I had waited to visit this salubrious place that seemed to pulse with vibrant, vital energy.

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  This year our parents had promised us a big surprise and I was anxious to see it. After several minutes Mama asked our driver to stop and we stepped out of the car.

  “Look at the tops of the mountains,” Mama said.

  The profile of a woman’s face, formed by the mountains and resembling the Russian Empress, Catherine the Great, was immortalized in stone by the most amazing sculptor in the world—Mother Nature. It was a striking and welcoming gate to our beautiful destination—Crimea.

  Crimea is a peninsula between the Black Sea and the Sea of Azov. Its climate is similar to that of northern California with its cool and breezy mornings and evenings. Its copious mountains, tal trees, and subtropical exotic plants created a lavish panorama, and its warm azure seawater was luxurious to bathe in. The northern side of Crimea is a steppe, covered with rich wild grasses and field flowers. The Crimean Mountains stand on the southern side. Crimea is known for its more than 600 curative and preventive health centers, many curative mud deposits, 200 mineral springs, and essential oils. Yalta, the largest city in Crimea, is home to a famous health resort that opened in 1783. Its inhabitants pass on ancient legends of this city’s origins from generation to generation.

  In ancient times ships were sent out to discover

  foreign shores from the capital of the Byzantine

  Empire, Constantinople. The voyage was not easy. The explorers met violent storms on the Black Sea. A thick fog rested on the waves and often obscured the horizon. For many days the explorers drifted aimlessly. When water and food supplies dwindled on the ships, the exhausted sailors lost their will to go on and simply waited to die.

  One morning a light, saving breeze began to blow and slowly dissipated the milky shroud of fog. In the bright sunlight the explorers saw green and purple mountains in the distance. Their journey would become easier now that the fog had lifted.

  “Yalos! Yalos!” A sailor on watch cried out the Greek word for shore. 232 ^ Mama’s Home Remedies

  They had found the wonderful Tavrida (Crimea), where there was no snowy winter and the fresh, healing air held the scent of the sea and the aroma of herbs. The low spirits of the tired explorers were lifted. They manned their oars and directed their ship toward the calling shore. On the fertile land, among the natives, they founded a small colony and named it Yalos. From then

  on, the city was called Yalta.

  Yalta is the main city in Crimea, with a population of about 85,000. The Russian author Anton Chekhov wrote his best novels and stage plays there, and Russian tsars and their families vacationed each July at the beautiful palace in Livadia, several miles north of Yalta.

  Every morning of our vacation in Yalta, we opened the big Venetian windows in our spacious apartment on the beach and gazed at the endless expanse of sea and sunny, blue sky. Before going to sleep at night, we were again attracted by the sky, this time to gaze at the Milky Way, which looked like millions of stars had been swept across the sky in a single brush stroke. There in Crimea I saw closely for the first time stars falling toward earth and never reaching it. They burned up so fast.

  “Look, a star fell!” exclaimed Laura.

  “They say that when a star falls, a person dies. A star cannot live when there is no energy to keep it burning. It’s the same for people,” I told her.

  “This is very sad, but it is so beautiful at the same time,” continued my sister.“As a child, I dreamed of igniting the stars. It seemed that if you could keep them illuminated, no one would die. And my magical stars would not fall so suddenly and quickly out of the sky,” said Mama softly. With the midnight blue sky as a backdrop the lighthouse clearly stood out, but the stars shone above it like fireflies in a woodland village of fairies. Suddenly a second star fell and cascaded through the sky.

  “Oh, my God! It’s really scary,” I said.

  “Don’t be afraid of fal ing stars,” responded Papa. ”Better make a wish quickly. I know your wish wil come true if you want something good to happen.”

  We closed our eyes and made a wish to return to Crimea next summer, Dialogue with the Trees of Strength and Everlasting Life @ 233

  where we could easily breathe in the fresh fragrance of cypresses and listen to the sound of sea waves with foam-white crests rol ing to the shore.

  “You know, girls, it is true that some stars quietly witness death, but I never was afraid when I saw them,” said Mama. “A white fal ing star is the shadow of a person who has passed away; it is his echo. Everyone has his own star. It lives in the sky while the person walks the earth. But there are silver fal ing stars, which bring hope and grant wishes. You can easily recognize the silver ones. They are usual y bigger and brighter when they descend from the sky.”

  “Girls, come close. I wil tel you a fairy tale about how children threw the sun into the sky. My gra
ndma told me this when I was a little boy,” Papa said. A long time ago the sun was a human who

  had two bright lights under his arms. When

  he raised his hand, the earth was illuminated with sunbeams, as it is now with electricity. When he went to bed, everything plunged into cold and darkness. People didn’t want to live in darkness and decided that children must fetch the Sun Man and take him to the sky.

  This decision was passed down from generation to generation. One day some children sneaked up on the Sun Man when he was sleeping. They took him by force and threw him like a ball to the sky. Those children had forgotten that their elders had told them to treat the Sun gently. Since then the Sun walks on the sky, lighting up everything around. When the Sun rises, he sends away the cold and darkness and his light spills all over the earth and warms every living thing: people, trees, plants, flowers, and animals. But at night the Moon came to the sky. Nobody expected that the Sun would see the Moon at this time. When the Sun saw the Moon, he pierced her through with one of his sharp knife-like beams. The Moon was badly hurt and begged the Sun for mercy. She asked the powerful Sun if she could at least keep her backbone. The Sun was a generous person and allowed the Moon to keep her backbone. She was still sick when she returned home and remained hidden for several days, but soon the Moon recovered from her wounds and appeared again in the sky. Each day she grew