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The Storks' Nest, a memoir of Laura and Igor's life in their remote village of Chukhrai.

The Storks' Nest: (Order the book now!)

Life and Love in the Russian Countryside

by Laura Williams with photographs by Igor Shpilenok

Drawn to Russia to work on conserving its extensive wilderness, Laura shares the story of her life-changing move to the countryside, where she works on a remote nature reserve and falls in love with its director, Igor Shpilenok.  

[Excerpt from the memoir, published by Fulcrum Books]

The arrival of spring to our tiny Russian village of Chukhrai – population 19 – means that soon the rutted, ice-covered forest road that connects us to the outside world will become passable.  Slowly, the villagers emerge from hibernation.  All winter I had observed subtle signs of their existence.  Wispy columns of smoke rising from the chimneys of their two-room log cabins.  Runner tracks in the snow left from early morning forays in a horse-drawn sleigh to gather firewood.  An old man covered from head to toe in torn, dirty, yet warm wadded clothing, sitting on an overturned pail in the middle of the frozen river, his fishing line disappearing into a hole in the ice.

Surrounded on three sides by a strict nature reserve, our village is virtually inaccessible.  The narrow forest road leads from the fourth side to civilization.  I set out with my husband Igor on an expedition down this road to stock up on supplies, with axe, chain saw, winch, crow bar, and rubber boots in the back of our sturdy Russian UAZ army jeep.  It is, perhaps, the only modern invention to reach this village other than electricity and television.  Our neighbors, most elderly women widowed half a century earlier, wave us to a stop.  I write down their orders.  Sacks of rye flour to bake bread.  Sugar to preserve berries and make samogon (moonshine).  Carrot, cucumber, and dill seeds to sow.  Chicks to raise for fresh eggs and poultry.  All that remains of the village store are a few bricks and chunks of mortar.

My neighbor Olga Ivanovna asks to accompany us, so she can pick out a piglet to fatten up for pork and salo (salted pig fat, without which it is said no Russian can survive the winter).  We pick her up, helping her into the back seat.  Although she is 77 years old, I consider her a close friend.  She can brew herbal remedies and break a curse.  Her stories of growing up in Chukhrai fascinate me, and I enjoy my frequent visits to her house.

We venture down the six-mile lifeline to the next village of Smelizh.  Gripping the steering wheel, Igor rams the jeep like an ice-cleaver through large, still frozen potholes in the road.  Olga Ivanovna holds on to the passenger seat behind where I am sitting.  I hold on to a handle on the dashboard.  We brace ourselves for each jolt.  The UAZ jeep has earned the national nickname of “kozyol” (billy goat) for the way it jumps about.  Further on, meltwater in deep ruts engulfs the entire front half of the jeep.  The engine sputters and water spills into the door wells.  A fat tree accosts the side of the vehicle.  Next we pull out the chain saw to clear a tree that has fallen on the road.  Igor saws the long pine into three-foot sections and tosses them in the back of the jeep.

Firewood, he says.

I help move the remaining branches aside and, in doing so, snag my pants, ripping a large gash down the back of one leg.

From Smelizh, we drive two miles to Krasnaya Sloboda, from which a paved road leads to the district center of Suzemka, about 25 miles away.  In this town of 7,000 we find limited produce and foodstuffs at the outdoor market and half a dozen respectable stores.  For more substantial needs, we would have to travel over 50 miles to Trubchevsk, the center of the neighboring district, or make a trip to the provincial capital of Bryansk, 90 miles to the north.  But Suzemka’s limited selection suits our needs this week.  While Olga Ivanovna examines piglets squealing on the ground in potato sacks, I send Igor to buy me a new pair of pants at the outdoor market.

Size 8, I call after him, and nothing too fancy.  Blue jeans and casual tops are my standard attire, although occasionally I will don tight black pants and a slim turtleneck to venture into town.

Outfitted with new $5 black pants, I stock up on supplies – fruit, bread, pasta, cheese, ham, mayonnaise, fresh meat from the market, and beer.  We have potatoes, carrots, and beets from the previous year’s harvest stored in our root cellar at home.  We return to Chukhrai with the piglet squealing in a sack in the back of the jeep.  We let Olga Ivanovna out at her house, and Igor carries the sack with the piglet into her yard.

We drive to the end of the village and park the jeep in front of our small wooden house.  Igor leans over to kiss me in the passenger seat.

Welcome home, dear, he says in English, with his charming Russian accent.

Thank you, I reply in Russian, smiling. 

He carries the firewood to the lean-to next to the outhouse while I unload the groceries, piled in boxes and canvas bags.  The neighbors come to collect their orders, reimbursing us for the goods and trying to shove additional money for gas in our pockets.  We refuse the money, saying we were going anyway, but later they bring us potatoes and salo, remarking that they don’t like to feel indebted. 

Once a lively village of more than 300 people, today Chukhrai,like so many other villages in the Russian countryside, is on its last legs.  The villagers here have never had it easy.  There were so many strikes against them – floods, famine, purges, collectivization, war, resettlement, and the absence of a road.  Now the only people left in Chukhrai are those who weren’t smart or lucky enough to leave.  And then there are Igor and me – two naturalists who find solace in the village’s remoteness, in its total immersion in the wilderness of the Bryansk Forest, and in each other.

To read on about Laura and Igor's life in the remote Bryansk Forest, see the book The Storks' Nest, by Laura Williams with photographs by Igor Shpilenok, coming out in March by Fulcrum Books and available at www.amazon.com. Click here to order now!

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Special thanks to Igor's brother, Nikolai Shpilenok, for providing the map and some photos.

Igor crosses the swollen Nerussa River on Aza.

The road to Chukhrai is impassable much of the year.

Igor and Laura never grow tired of photographing the Bryansk Forest.

Laura and Igor's neighbor Trofimovna carries hay from the field.