by Freya Pruitt
THE COLD WIND WHISTLES THROUGH THE TREES
AS IT FREEZES ANY GLIMMER OF HOPE.
The Bolsheviks are coming; the Bolsheviks are
coming!…grab your children and run…run as fast
as you can!
As hundreds of racing feet hit the cold ice, gunshots are heard crackling through the branches in
the frozen forest. Icicles form on the breath of terrified people as they run into the night. They no
longer have a home or a warm place to lay their
heads. They have lost everything-their family, their
children, their homes, their land-everything; everything but their heritage, courage and indomitable
spirit.
As my Grandmother wildly raced through the
forest she held her two children tightly by the
hand. “Run…Run! We must get to the train!” As
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her lungs burned from the cold she quick ly looked
behind her and saw the flames racing towards her
feet. “My God in Heaven! They are burning the
forest to the ground! Oh My God… help me! Help me
get to the train…let me get to the train; please help
me escape-help me save my children!”
It seemed like months as my grand-mother raced
towards freedom. In reality it was only hours…
a lifetime racing by - trying to reach the last train
leaving Poland.
My Grandmother knew first hand that Siberia is
a cold and unforgiving land. Her everyday life was
filled with the harsh realities of survival. She lost
three of her six children to Diphtheria and SmallPox. She took care of dying friends and family
with fearless courage and determination-she was
always the designated care-taker and she gladly