From a very early age, I was told of a special bond that Russians have with their country, a deep appreciation for its nature and terrain. It’s a common belief that a good Russian fades away like a withered flower if uprooted from the motherland.
We were taught patriotism through worship of the land, even in literature class.
Many great Russian novelists have devoted pages upon pages to describing the enigmatic beauty of the homeland landscapes. I skipped those pages; they left me cold.
Some people are born colorblind, so I wondered if I lacked some vital sense that was in charge of nature appreciation. After all, that deep connection to the soil supposedly was in my DNA, as both my maternal and paternal ancestors were connected to the land.
My maternal relatives were noble landowners who for more than 200 years lived and died in Zavetnoe (“Treasured”), the family estate near the ancient city of Novgorod.
