More than three hundred thousand copies were printed in various editions in North America but, as of 1970, the North American wolf was still being hunted toward imminent extinction, often by government hunters, and almost everywhere with the assistance of government bounties.
Mir published the book with a rather odd translation of the original title. They called it,
Wolves! Please Don’t Cry!
A few weeks after publication a battle began between proponents of the wolf and those who felt he ought to be eliminated. The battle was of surprisingly shortduration. In August the Soviet Government published an edict declaring that the wolf was to be regarded henceforth as a “threatened species,” and placed it under state protection. The U.S.S.R. thus became the first nation in the world to extend protection to the wolf. It would seem that the mistranslation of my original title was not unjustifiable.
On the morning of my first visit to Baikal it was bitterly cold and snowing. Mark drove Claire and me to the lake along the banks of the Angara, which has been dammed near Irkutsk to produce a man-made addition to the lake extending for some fifty miles toward Irkutsk.
This new lake is much favoured as a recreation area by Irkutskians, many of whom have built their
dachas
along its shores. Dachas are the equivalent of North American summer cottages, but with an essential difference. Great numbers of Russians seem to feel the atavistic need to get back to nature, and this means as far back as possible. Consquently the cottages they build are small and primitive, although often delightfully designed and decorated in “woodland peasant” style.
At first I was not convinced that the simplicity of the dachas was so much intentional as it was a product of a not-so-affluent society. Once, while visiting Yura Rytkheu’s dacha near Leningrad I made a rather snide suggestion to this point, to which he replied: “Farley, you think I am a poor man? Ha! I make more money than President of U.S.S.R. If I want, I have electric lights and television here. Have everything. But why I want to do that, eh? Why anybody want to take city with him on his back when he go live with nature?”
Discreetly I dropped the subject, but several months later when Yura came to visit Canada as my guest, friends took us for a weekend to their cottage at one of the summer colonies near Lake Muskoka. Yura examined the place with great interest, noting the electric dishwasher, power lawn mower, colour television and other essential elements of North American cottage life, and heremembered his earlier conversation with me at
his
dacha. Innocently he addressed our host.
“You are lucky man! Have
two
city houses! But now, please, show me your dacha, your hiding place where you go to get
away
from city life.”
The Russian compulsion to have one’s feet in the earth is so great that there are large areas near all Soviet cities reserved for “summer farmers.” Anyone who so desires can obtain use of a plot of land whereon he can build a cabin and have a patch of soil to till. As early in the spring as possible hundreds of thousands of apartment dwellers move to the little cabins, and there they stay all through the summer, and late into the autumn. Working members of the family commute back and forth to their city jobs. On holidays or in the evenings they till their gardens, sit in the long light of the setting sun, fish in the river or talk to the neighbours. They are deliberately recreating the essence of the ancient way of life, and spiritually and physically they are the better for it.
Most dachas, incidentally, are privately owned. They can be sold or passed on through inheritance. However, the land itself, as with all land in the U.S.S.R. , belongs to the people (which is to say, to the State). It can be used in perpetuity by individuals or families but cannot be bought or sold. Real estate manipulators and speculators have a thin time of it in the Soviet
Mir published the book with a rather odd translation of the original title. They called it,
Wolves! Please Don’t Cry!
A few weeks after publication a battle began between proponents of the wolf and those who felt he ought to be eliminated. The battle was of surprisingly shortduration. In August the Soviet Government published an edict declaring that the wolf was to be regarded henceforth as a “threatened species,” and placed it under state protection. The U.S.S.R. thus became the first nation in the world to extend protection to the wolf. It would seem that the mistranslation of my original title was not unjustifiable.
On the morning of my first visit to Baikal it was bitterly cold and snowing. Mark drove Claire and me to the lake along the banks of the Angara, which has been dammed near Irkutsk to produce a man-made addition to the lake extending for some fifty miles toward Irkutsk.
This new lake is much favoured as a recreation area by Irkutskians, many of whom have built their
dachas
along its shores. Dachas are the equivalent of North American summer cottages, but with an essential difference. Great numbers of Russians seem to feel the atavistic need to get back to nature, and this means as far back as possible. Consquently the cottages they build are small and primitive, although often delightfully designed and decorated in “woodland peasant” style.
At first I was not convinced that the simplicity of the dachas was so much intentional as it was a product of a not-so-affluent society. Once, while visiting Yura Rytkheu’s dacha near Leningrad I made a rather snide suggestion to this point, to which he replied: “Farley, you think I am a poor man? Ha! I make more money than President of U.S.S.R. If I want, I have electric lights and television here. Have everything. But why I want to do that, eh? Why anybody want to take city with him on his back when he go live with nature?”
Discreetly I dropped the subject, but several months later when Yura came to visit Canada as my guest, friends took us for a weekend to their cottage at one of the summer colonies near Lake Muskoka. Yura examined the place with great interest, noting the electric dishwasher, power lawn mower, colour television and other essential elements of North American cottage life, and heremembered his earlier conversation with me at
his
dacha. Innocently he addressed our host.
“You are lucky man! Have
two
city houses! But now, please, show me your dacha, your hiding place where you go to get
away
from city life.”
The Russian compulsion to have one’s feet in the earth is so great that there are large areas near all Soviet cities reserved for “summer farmers.” Anyone who so desires can obtain use of a plot of land whereon he can build a cabin and have a patch of soil to till. As early in the spring as possible hundreds of thousands of apartment dwellers move to the little cabins, and there they stay all through the summer, and late into the autumn. Working members of the family commute back and forth to their city jobs. On holidays or in the evenings they till their gardens, sit in the long light of the setting sun, fish in the river or talk to the neighbours. They are deliberately recreating the essence of the ancient way of life, and spiritually and physically they are the better for it.
Most dachas, incidentally, are privately owned. They can be sold or passed on through inheritance. However, the land itself, as with all land in the U.S.S.R. , belongs to the people (which is to say, to the State). It can be used in perpetuity by individuals or families but cannot be bought or sold. Real estate manipulators and speculators have a thin time of it in the Soviet
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