The golden fields stretched as far as Oksana Kovalenko’s eyes could see, swaying in the gentle breeze like a sea of amber waves. She breathed in the earthy scent of wheat as she walked the familiar dirt path to school, the morning sun on her face. As she skipped along the same dirt road she had walked for so many years, she felt a sense of belonging within her. Her mother said she looked like a porcelain doll that morning when she saw Oksana wearing her favorite white dress embroidered with delicate flowers, a fresh bloom from their garden adorning her braided chestnut-colored hair. She was now thirteen years old and was ready to take on the world.
It was a new school year, and Oksana was excited to see her old friends that morning. She was curious about who her teacher would be. She hoped it was Mrs. Melnyk, her Sunday school teacher.
Oksana lived in the Cherkasy region, near the banks of the Dnieper River. She lived with her mother, Nadya, her father, Mikhail, and older brother, Peter. They were a simple farming family who made their living tilling their land. In their spare time, they enjoyed village life with their neighbors, shopping at the marketplace, and attending church every week. She loved spending time in the kitchen with her mother and helping her father do farm chores. Her older brother, Peter, had finished school the year before. Now, he spent his days helping their father on the farm.
The Dnieper River, the region’s lifeline, flowed gracefully through the land. Its vast waters reflected the changing hues of the sky. The riverbank was a beautiful sight with its dense clusters of trees, which were a haven for wildlife. Oksana loved spending time there with her family when they weren’t busy with their farm chores. She couldn’t wait to chase minnows on the river’s edge every summer with her brother Peter.
The classroom was bustling with activity when Oksana stepped inside. She loved how the sun shone brightly through the intricately carved windows, revealing tiny cracks in the paint on the walls. Her friends were chatting and wasting time before the day’s lesson began. She slid into a desk near the front of the room, tucking a stray hair behind her ears. Her best friend, Anya, slipped into the spot right next to her. The two of them giggled when they saw each other. Anya had been her best friend since they were babies. And Oksana couldn’t wait to catch up on the latest gossip and chat about how handsome Yuri looked that morning. She had the biggest crush on him.
“The Soviets are coming to take our homes,” whispered her annoying classmate, Stepan, behind her.
“Shhh, Stepan, I’m not interested in rumors this morning,” she hissed, unsure if he was telling the truth.
“Haven’t you heard what is happening in the next village?” Danylo asked. “They’re sending the Twenty Five Thousanders to take people’s farms.”
“And labeling people kulaks, or enemies of the state, if they resist,” Stepan added.
“Enemies of the state?” Oksana quipped, nervousness seeping into her voice.
A knot twisted in Oksana’s stomach. The rumors couldn’t be true, could they? She turned to look around the small classroom to see if anyone else was talking about it. Some talked excitedly. Others were lost in their thoughts, sitting silently and scribbling on their papers. It was hard to know if the rumors were true. But, ever since her father came home with a worried look in his eyes, speaking about commissars and collectivization, she was constantly on edge. Nestled among the rolling hills, their family farm was all she had ever known.
She began daydreaming about the rich, dark soil between her toes as she ran through the wheat fields. Memories of her father’s tired face and her mother’s gentle humming of Ukrainian folk songs while making vareniki flooded her thoughts. She pictured her father gazing at the fields he had farmed all his life and his strong hands calloused from years of hard labor. Would soldiers force them from their land? It was hard to imagine they would do that. However, she knew things could change suddenly since Joseph Stalin’s rise to power.
Oksana fought back tears as her hands gripped the weathered wooden desk. Her family had survived famine, war, and numerous invaders. And she remained hopeful they would survive this as well. Her mother always told her not to worry about gossip, but how could she not? The thought of soldiers barging into their homes and tearing their families apart was too much to bear. Suddenly, Mrs. Melnyk entered the classroom, and a hush fell over the room. As soon as her teacher arrived, the urge to cry subsided. But she couldn’t stop thinking about what Stepan said about the Soviets. She loved Mrs. Melnyk, so there was at least one good thing about her first day of school.
Once school was done for the day, Oksana made her way down the familiar path to their wooden farmhouse. Her family had owned it for what seemed like two hundred years. A gentle rhythm unfolded as rolling hills spread across the horizon. Surrounded by the landscape, she zigzagged through her village. She walked slowly to enjoy the view. Nothing made her happier than seeing the worn wooden slats of her family’s cottage and the tiny garden of flowers as they came into sight. It reminded her of the love that had carried her family through many generations. The aroma of beet soup and fresh bread greeted her as she pushed open the wooden door. She heard her mother’s soft humming from the kitchen. It was the melody of a Ukrainian lullaby that Oksana knew by heart.
Oh, the cuckoo was foraging and forgot me
And the night took my love and passed…
“I’m home,” she said, setting her schoolbooks on the dining table.
Her mother appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. “Just in time for a snack,” she said, kissing Oksana’s forehead before returning to stir the soup. Sitting in his usual spot, her father was enjoying his smoking pipe. He smiled through his bushy beard as Oksana pulled out the chair beside him.
“How was your first day of school, Oksana?” her father asked.
She hesitated before answering. Should she mention the rumors from school? No, she decided, they had enough to worry about with the farm. Besides, maybe they were already aware of what was happening.
“It was good, Papa! Mrs. Melnyk is my teacher this year!” Oksana replied.
“Oh, that’s nice, dear. I know you wanted her to be your teacher. Did you enjoy your classes?” her mother asked.
“Yes, Mama. We learned a lot of new things today. Plus, Anya wore her matching dress!” Oksana said.
“That’s wonderful. We’re proud of you, sweetheart.” her father replied.
A few minutes later, her older brother, Peter, lumbered in, ruffling her hair as he sat down. She swatted his hand away, scowling. “Stop, Peter. How many times do I have to tell you that I can’t stand when you do that?”
“Pfft, that’s what older brothers are for, Oksana.” Peter quipped. He looked like he had been working hard outside in the fields, and his boots were packed with dirt. “You were supposed to shake the dirt off your boots and leave your boots by the front door before coming inside,” her father scolded him. Oksana smirked at him and stuck out her tongue. It didn’t matter how often he was told. Peter always came into the house with dirty shoes.
Her mother began ladling soup into bowls as Peter and her father rushed to the kitchen table to take their seats. Oksana settled into her place, glancing around the table at her family. Her parents’ faces looked more tired than usual. Peter, of course, teased her with a mischievous grin. She kicked his shin under the table. This was her world, and she adored it. Surely no one could take this away? She wondered.
However, her mind was still occupied with the kids’ whispers at school. She wasn’t sure if she should say anything about what she heard. The last thing she wanted to do was ruin the joy of her family meal.
“What’s on your mind?” her mother asked, handing Oksana her bowl.
“Some kids at school were talking about the Soviets arriving at the next village over. They said it was the Twenty Five Thousanders that were sent to take people’s farms,” she blurted out.
Oksana caught a glance between her parents. With concern in his eyes, her father placed his spoon down. “It’s probably just gossip,” he said. But she noticed a weariness in his eyes as if he knew something he didn’t want her to know. Or, maybe he was just surprised that she brought it up.
“I don’t know, Mikhail. I’m also worried about what I’ve been hearing at the marketplace. Word is getting around that Stalin is demanding we give them our land and join the new collective farms.” said her mother, sounding worried.
“What’s a collective farm, Mama?” Oksana asked.
“It’s when we work on a government farm, and they give us a measly slice of bread for our labor,” Peter said, grabbing a fresh dinner roll from the basket.
“It’s nonsense,” her father said. “We’ve worked so hard to build our farm. But I’m most concerned about the rumors I’ve been hearing about people being arrested if they don’t comply. I don’t want us to lose everything, but I refuse to give them what’s ours and join their collective farms. Surely, others in the village feel the same.”
“If we give them our farm, what will happen to Lilly and Alina?” Oksana asked. She couldn’t imagine her life without her daily ritual of saying good morning to her favorite farm animals.
Her mother’s frustration and worry was evident. “They want us to give them our farm, animals, and land. It’s been in our family for generations. But if we don’t, they’ll probably take it anyway. I hope not.”
Oksana thought of her childhood and all the years that she spent on the farm. It was more than just land—it was their way of life. She listened, taking comfort in her father’s determination to resist. She vowed not to let fear overwhelm her. She realized her parents would do all they could to protect her.
