Part I. The Village

I grew up in a small village in central Russia with no cell phones, computers, internet, proper medical care, transportation and other essentials and conveniences which many people are accustomed to today. My father was a military man. My mother worked as an operator at the military gas station. Life in the village was hard. In addition to the lack of healthcare and other resources, families often had to live with no income for several months. We were poor and barely managed to have something basic to eat every day. Starting at the age of 9, I spent summers in the forest picking blueberries from sunrise till sunset: two days of picking and then a trip to the nearest city in the hope of selling the work. I used to walk several miles a day hungry, thirsty, in large old parents' shoes stuffed with paper, and carrying a heavy bucket with berries in my hands. On the weekends, my mother also picked berries as well as mushrooms and different herbs. My father fished in the local river. We made our own jams, marinates and tea that would help us survive in difficult times and in winters. And it was so year after year.

I attended the village school that had 11 grades. My teachers believed that I was a smart girl, and they allowed me to skip the fourth grade to move to more advanced classes. Thus, I was there only for 10 years. I loved studying and often had questions after classes, but the old country textbooks with missing pages did not have all the answers, nor did my elderly teachers have enough patience to provide explanations at the end of their workday. I thought that it might be ok for the time being and believed that there would be better opportunities ahead.