Train to Viljandi and Back to Grandma’s Table

Sõitsin laupäeva hommikul rongiga Viljandisse, sest vanaema oli kutsunud kogu suguvõsa uue köögi valmimist tähistama.

I took the train to Viljandi on Saturday morning because Grandma had invited the whole extended family to celebrate her new kitchen being finished.

Rong loksus rahulikult, jaamas ootas mind tädi, kes juba kaugelt lehvitas, nagu poleksime ammu näinud.

The train swayed calmly, and at the station my aunt was waiting, waving from far away as if we hadn't seen each other for ages.

Vanaema õuel lõhnas õunakoogi, värske kohvi ja niidetud rohu järele, ning kõik rääkisid korraga, ent keegi ei pahandanud.

In Grandma's yard it smelled of apple cake, fresh coffee, and freshly cut grass, and everyone talked at once, yet no one was annoyed.

Jõudsin vaevu jope nagisse riputada, kui juba pandi mind koos onupoegadega aeda vana värava hinge parandama, sest tuul oli selle üle öö kõveraks puhunud.

I had barely hung my jacket on the hook when I was already put to work with my cousins in the yard to fix the old gate hinge, because the wind had blown it crooked overnight.

Remondi juures jagus nalja, aga tõsiselt võeti ka seda, et kui midagi tehakse, siis tehakse korralikult, muidu jääb südames kripeldama.

There was plenty of joking during the repair, but we also took seriously that if something is done, it should be done properly, otherwise it will nag at your heart.

Kui lõpuks kööki pääsesime, oli vanaema juba lauale sättinud kiluvõileivad, soolakurgid, värske karaski ja muidugi kringli, ilma milleta ta ühtki pidu ette ei kujuta.

When we finally got into the kitchen, Grandma had already set out on the table sprat sandwiches, salted cucumbers, fresh barley bread (karask), and of course a kringel, without which she can’t imagine any party.

Istusime ümber suure laua, ja kuigi igaüks rääkis oma tegemistest eri nurga alt, läks jutt vahepeal paratamatult sellele, miks me nii harva kokku saame.

We sat around the big table, and although everyone talked about their doings from a different angle, the conversation inevitably turned for a while to why we meet so rarely.

Vanaema ohkas, libistas käega üle lauapinna ja ütles, et elu kisub siia-sinna, kuid niikaua kui keegi veel tuleb, ei ole maja tühjaks jäänud.

Grandma sighed, ran her hand over the tabletop and said that life pulls you here and there, but as long as someone still comes, the house hasn’t been left empty.

Võtsime välja fotoalbumi, kus olid kollased pildid kartulivõtust, jaanitule lõkkest ja sellest ajast, kui me kõik mahtusime ühe sinise Moskvichi peale.

We took out a photo album with yellowed photos of potato harvests, the Midsummer bonfire, and the time when we all fit onto one blue Moskvich.

Hämaruse saabudes läksime veel korraks õue, sest tädi tahtis mulle näidata, kuidas uue köögi aken peegeldab õunapuu latva nii, et tundub, nagu kasvaks see tuppa.

As dusk fell, we went outside once more because my aunt wanted to show me how the new kitchen window reflects the top of the apple tree so that it looks like it’s growing into the room.

Tagasiteel jaamas mõistsin, et kuigi kodu on seal, kus igapäev on, hoiab perekond ometi niidiotsast kinni, et ma ära ei kaoks.

On the way back at the station I realized that although home is where the everyday life is, family still holds on to the end of the thread so that I won’t get lost.