Being here in Ukraine is like time traveling on a magic carpet through my childhood. When I said that to someone recently their response was, “Oh, No.” As if it’s not a good thing to drift back into yesteryear. But for me it is a gift—to me it is swift ride through the years on a flying carpet to a time that was magical. Every day in some way I seem to be reminded of the little red cottage where I grew up surrounded by aunts and uncles that were more like brothers and sisters. My mother being fifteen years old when I was born made me the youngest in this large close knit family. These memories swirl around me whether I am in the market buying dirt covered carrots and potatoes just plucked from the ground or watching someone tending their garden—In a wink of an eye I am suddenly transported into a distant but sensate memory.Today my magic carpet took me back to a time when we would walk through the back yard, passed the wire fence that contained chickens or pheasant and passed a garden that had pretty much been harvested.