Legacy

If you were to look up the definition of the word „grandparent” you would find a fairly mundane sort of definition. "The parents of a person’s father or mother" hardly does justice to the people it describes. It would be like saying the earth was a house for humans – while not untrue, there is so much more to it than that.

A grandparent is an extension of your own parents. They are there to teach you things that might not be of utmost importance to your own parents, but that’s what draws us to them. We love spending time with someone whose whole existance seems to revolve around our own. Who else teaches us corny jokes, lets us blow bubbles in our milk, and makes sure that we are sufficiently spoiled to exasperate our parents? It is their privilege to be the fun ones after a life of being the serious parents. Maybe that’s why so many people look forward to being grandparents, it makes a nice change from laying down the law!

As some of you know, my family had two weddings this summer, so there was a lot of coming and going from place to place. There were lots of preparations, running here and there getting last minute things, picking up people from the airport...the list could go on and on. In the midst of all of this, I did have time to plan a very short photo shoot with my grandparents. Don’t worry, I did the actual session the day after the last wedding, so I didn’t insist upon my photos over one of the most important events in a sibling’s life. I just made it known that I wanted to take their pictures for myself and for posterity’s sake.

The funny thing about it, oddly enough, was that I felt incredibly nervous. I think I was concerned that they wouldn’t want to sit down and stare into a camera, even if I was their grandaughter. I almost just decided to let it go, but something pushed me on. My family very rarely gathers all in one place, so I knew this might be my last time to document all of them. The day after the wedding, I set up my simple backdrop, got a rocking chair and called them in one at a time. They probably felt like I was calling them in for their individual mug shot, but I had a mission. I want my grandkids to know what they looked like, and (if possible from their expressions) who they were. I wanted to preserve their memory as best I could.

No matter who you are, sitting in front of a camera lens becomes a very vulnerable thing. A camera is not forgiving, it does not understand the imperfections that you wish to hide, it only documents the reality of what is in front of it. When you look into the lens, it seems to stare back at you and slowly peek into your very soul. It sounds strange, but isn’t it true? It’s like staring into the eyes of someone staring back at you, awkward and incredibly uncomfortable.

Maybe that’s why we dislike photos of ourselves so much. As human beings, we can look at someone through our rose colored glasses and see the ideal, but a camera is a lot less forgiving. It sees us as we are, not as we wish we were. Everyone who sees a photo of a friend or loved one praises it and thinks they look lovely, when all they themselves see is their white hairs and crooked smile. I would have to say it’s a pride issue – but an issue that every one of us deals with on some level.

For me, the experience might have started out awkward as I tried to figure out exactly what I wanted to document, but pretty soon my inner photographer took over. I think part of having an inner portrait photographer is having eyes to see a person – not just look at one. Of course, when it is a grandparent there is also a love that overshadows each photo taken.

Nana, the coin collector.

To be honest, there are some of my grandparents that I haven’t really had the opportunity to know on an incredibly deep level due to distance, so it made this session even more precious to me. It meant I could look into their faces and study them up close and see the effects the years have had on them. Each "imperfection" that told so many stories – hard and happy – drew some new emotion out of me. Sadness that I knew so little of their story (a lifetime is a lot to tell), but happiness that I can look into their eyes frankly and openly. Looking at the photos now, I realize that I love each one. Every wrinkle, each crooked tooth, each lopsided smile, and every grey and white hair, all come together to form the people that I love.  

This session not only makes me realize how important documenting the previous generation is, but it also reminds me of the importance of what they leave behind. Legacy is the word used to describe this phenomenon. Yet another word whose definition is deceptively ordinary, but whose implications are incredibly vast. "A thing handed down by a predecessor" only goes so far into the word. (Can you tell I like words?)

For those who have a pattern of legacy in their families, it means wisdom, love, faith, possibly even money passed down from a grandparent or great-grandparent. It has memories and (hopefully) warm feelings attached to it and is a very positive thing that we wish to pass on ourselves when our turn comes.

Papa's pockets are the precursor to the man-bag.

For those of us without such a pattern, it remains an abstract idea. It sounds warm and inviting, but without a real-life example, it is hard to know how to make it happen for our future generations. If this is you, never fear, there is hope. Find an example from those around you and learn from their life. It just takes a little humility to approach them and ask for advice and a some hard work and determination to make the changes that will make future generations proud to call you their ancestor.

I often think about how the past has affected my own life. I used to love to sit and listen to all the stories my parents and grandparents would tell about when they were kids and how the world was for them. I used to wish I was born back then and could have seen the things they did. I had the active imagination ready to insert myself into their shoes and live the memory through their eyes.

I’m sure this is why I have a fascination for history and a love to recreate photos in historic settings. All those stories ring in my ears as I imagine the next image I am going to take. They spark my curiosity to continually learn and seek knowledge about the past.

Their stories also keep me curious about how my own history will influence the future. Will I do something great to influence the world, or will I live a life that my own little world – my family – can be proud of and use as a template for their own lives?

Now can you see how important legacy is? One person’s life influences another, which influences another, which influences another, which changes the world. It seems rather far fetched, but trust me, this is how it works. Your legacy inspires the ones coming after you. Your choices affect the future, but praise God, they don’t define it!

Some of the best stories are of people who make mistakes, but against incredible odds, they change the ending of their story and make it better than the beginning. They make choices to leave a better legacy. Maybe they were born without much of a legacy to speak of, but through perseverance and grit they make the life they dreamed of. These are my favorite kinds of stories!

One of the saddest things to me is when a grandparent,  or someone who has so much history to share, decides to keep silent. They say that history repeats itself, but I believe it often occurs when the previous generation who lived it does not share with the next one. I know that there are often negative emotions, usually shame, associated with the past, and that is why many choose not to relive it, but that is exactly why these stories NEED to be told. Think of the pain and shame that could be spared for the next generation! Think of the wars that would never be fought and the peace that could replace them. Think of the legacy your story could create. Just think about it.

Shame has already stollen so much from the future. Don’t let it deprive the ones coming after you. Start the conversation and leave a legacy of wisdom and experience that could change someone’s life. Who knows? You just might change the world.

Those who look to him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame. Psalm 34:5 

So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.  John 8:36

And he said to the people of Israel, “When your children ask their fathers in times to come, ‘What do these stones mean?’ then you shall let your children know, ‘Israel passed over this Jordan on dry ground.’ Joshua 4:21-22

Models: Dixie Collins, Billy Sills, Marion Sills, Penny (Patricia) Luse, and Robert Luse - so grateful for the grandparents God blessed me with! 

Special thanks to - God for inspiration and perseverance. Monica Luse for being a stand in model and encouraging me to follow through, Rebecca Gordet for assisting, and Marion and Billy Sills for lending me the use of your living room and a few odds and ends to pull it together! Amanda LeBeouf for proofreading before I released it on the world. 

There were so many photos that I wanted to share, but due to the length of the post, I had to pick and choose. Hopefully someday they will see the light of day, but until then, please enjoy the ones I selected for your viewing pleasure!

Many blessings! 

~ Alyssa Kay

Romania Adventure

Romania - Land of rugged beauty, deep cultural and religious history, and a people as strong as their Dacian ancestors. Few people can visit without it leaving a deep impression that constantly becons them to return. Is it the hospitality of the Romanian people, the beautiful landscape, or the many ancient places that draw you in?

For me personally, a place is nothing without it’s people, and Romania is no different. What makes it Romania is the fierce survival instinct written on every face. They don’t have a few thousand years of history for nothing. There are so many stories of a Romania nearly vanquished, yet a strong leader arises and leads it’s people to victory against overwhelming odds. Even fairly recent history shows this as you look at the revolution of 1989 when Romania arose as a people to overthrow the dictator. You have to admire a people like that.

Tiahna and I landed in Romania and after a taxi ride to the train station in Bucuresti (Bucharest), and waiting for our train, we boarded and found our compartment in first class. Now,  I honestly don’t know what Tiahna expected when I told her that my friend Cristina had reserved first class tickets, but I knew it wouldn’t be anything extravagant. I had to laugh when she sat down in her seat and the headrest fell off behind her. Welcome to Romania!

Streets of Hunedoara. Goat dance seen in the distance from a 3rd floor vantage point.

This isn’t me dissing Romania, you understand, I just knew that it wouldn’t be what we would think of in the US. First class just meant that we would be in a more private situation that would be safer for girls traveling across country alone. Even though I feel safe in Romania, it’s a good practice in general to take precautions when you travel. And I’m so glad we did, because we were in the same compartment with three older gentlemen that were some of the dearest strangers I’ve ever met.

We didn’t talk to them a whole lot, but since we had an eight hour train ride, it was very interesting to listen to their conversation. They talked of their time in the military (it used to be mandatory for many years that young people would spend 2 years in the military) and I believe they spoke of what life was like under communism. I had to smile at all of their stories. They asked me a few questions, but in general we didn’t speak much, as Tiahna and I were tired after traveling for about 16 hours at that point and were trying to doze as much as we could.

Cristina and Tiahna enjoying the goat dance.

 I ended up curling myself up in an interesting way and trying to sleep and keep warm. I was nearly asleep when I felt a fairly decent weight fall on top of me and I sat upright in a hurry. One of the elderly gentlemen held up his hands and told me that my back was exposed and I was cold and I should lay back down. He had thrown one of their warm winter jackets over me to cover me and keep me warm. Tiahna said her heart melted when she saw what he had done, and I couldn’t help but think how appropriate for this to be her first experience with the Romanian people. It is something that still makes me smile to this day. It reminds me of what God does for us – he covers us under the shadow of His wing of protection. (Ps. 91:4) Such a beautiful picture.

How can I describe coming home after two years of absence? Joy, peace, inward dancing, sadness at the thought of knowing it wouldn’t last this time, all played inside of my heart as we got off the train in Deva and the pastor of my Romanian church drove us to my friend’s house in Hunedoara. Every sight, sound, and smell brought back a plethora of memories that had long been dormant. Oh, the beautiful ache of those memories. But enough of that, I had come to make new memories to treasure.

Christmas is one of my favorite times in Romania. It’s hard to explain, but Christmas feels more Christmasy in Romania. There are so many traditions that manifest themselves around that time of year that lend to this feeling. One of the traditions that happens every year is the Gypsy Goat dance. Groups dressed in costume roam the streets, beating on drums, sing and act out the elaborate story of the goat. There are several othercharacters that play their roles, and a few different version from what I’ve seen of the story, but it is fun to watch and listen to the din of their song as they go from shop to shop or block to block singing for donations. I tried to find something online to explain the significance of the dance, but I couldn’t find any detailed explanation in English, but maybe some day I’ll be able to photographically document and write the story for anyone interested.

Alina and Cristina 

Another tradition is caroling. We go every Christmas Eve and carol late into the night. Unfortunately, due to getting sick soon after arriving, I was only able to go out from 6 pm-11 pm, and couldn’t sing very much due to lack of voice, but I had to go to be apart of it. I don’t have any pictures (besides phone ones), but believe me, it is a wonderful experience! Sometimes you just gotta put down the camera, and experience the life right in front of you.

Corvin Castle

We had Christmas dinner with a wonderful family and ate a lot of food, as you do at any holiday in Romania. I was just so sick that I didn’t enjoy it to it’s full like I would have wanted to, but I am so very grateful for the time spent with friends, old and new. I honestly think that there is no place like home for the holidays. Plus, I had the added blessing of introducing Tiahna to traditional Romanian food such as Sarmale (stuffed cabbage rolls) and one of my favorite deserts, Cremes (a kind of custard pastry).

Razvan

Everywhere we went, people welcomed us with open arms. Tiahna said that she felt like she never stopped eating. Apparently, at one point we went into someone’s house and she ate without ever being introduced to them. I had to smile, because that’s just how it is in Romania. People like to make their guests (introduced or not) feel welcomed. I think we could learn a thing or two from Romania, don’t you?

The time in Hunedoara was way too short, but we spent it photographing people (the traditional photo shoot, and the family), historic places, and good times. We had some fun exploring the Corvin castle soon after we arrived, and I was able to grab a few quick shots of my friends Cristina and Razvan, and, of course, Tiahna too.

Although I’ve been so many times that it’s hard to count, it never really gets old showing people such a historic site. One’s imagination runs wild as you walk the cobblestones of the courtyard, picturing the lives lived and lost in those halls. Sometimes I wish that walls could not only talk, but that places could project images, almost like an immersion movie, so you could live certain significant moments in time. I guess that’s for future generations to invent, I just hope I’m around when they do. (Seriously, someone get on that!)

The short time was worth it for all the hugs and tears and joy that it brought. It was almost like a recharge until the next time. I didn’t get to see everyone, but I was blessed to see as many as I did. It just means I need to go back sooner to see everyone I missed, right?

 Lacul Rosu area. Tiahna Lynn Photography, edited by Alyssa Kay Photography, used with permission.

The fateful day finally came when Tiahna and I had to say good-bye to my beloved Romania family and to travel further north to meet up with my parents. I got only a few hours with a good friend of mine since she just got back from a trip in the early hours of the morning we left, but I cherished even those few moments. It’s hard to leave a place that has been home for so long. I’m convinved that life is just one long process of letting go and learning to fly, but knowing that there is always a nest to rest your wings. At least that is one way that I comfort myself in my long absenses.

Lacul Rosu area. Tiahna Lynn Photography, edited by Alyssa Kay Photography, used with permission.

After anther train trip, an interesting cab ride, a joyful reunion, a fun walk around the city streets of Targu Mures (have I mentioned how much I love how Romania decorates it’s cities during the holidays?), an overnight stay at a fun hotel, breakfast, and a car that DID NOT want to start the next morning, we finally were on our way to the city of Iasi. On our way, we drove through one of my favorite areas of Romania – Lacul Rosu (Red Lake). It is gorgeous no matter what time of year you go, but it was a new experience for me seeing it in the snow. Wow, just wow. It just makes you smile at God’s creativity. Of course, it was an adventure for my parents driving the narrow road with all the snow in our 9 seater van that I lovingly refer to as the Luse Cruise Ship,but it was also an adventure for T and I as we tried not to freeze in the back seat due to the heater being broken. It seemed that no matter how I wrapped myself in a blanket, I was still freezing! Still, memories that I cherish because they were experiences with people I hold dear.

Back of the Cultural Palace, Iasi. Tiahna Lynn Photography - used with permission.

Iasi – The cultural capital of Romania and the largest city in Eastern Romania, from what I understand of it. It is a huge center of religious activity with several Orthodox churches scattered throughout the city, and it is also a huge college town, which is one of the reasons my parents moved so far accross the country. They joined a ministry that reaches out to the foreign students in Iasi, so we had to opportunity to meet and get to know so many precious people in our short stay. They also work with a local Romanian Baptist church and other Romanian pastors in various capacities...and many, many other things. To put it mildly, they are busy, and I guess maybe that is where I get the need for a lot of activity in my own life – I’m telling you, parental influence goes deep.

Probably the only picture of the two of us we have!

New Years was a fairly laid back evening for us, since T and I were both kind of still in recovery (Yes, she caught what I had, but I pumped her full of garlic and ginger and she got better much quicker than I did, even if she detested the remedy!) and my dad was also a little under the weather. Besides the explosion of fireworks that is inevitable in Romania as the New Year dawns, we rang in the New year fairly calmly. We did go outside and a firework (just a noise maker) got a little loud for our liking, but besides that it was beautiful to watch. The echoes of the fireworks resounding off of all the block apartment buildings seemed to escalate the actual sound which just meant that you could not doubt that the New Year was upon us, even if you tried.

Claudia - Picture by Tiahna Lynn Photography, Edited by Alyssa Kay Photography. Used with permission.

In our various outings with the young people from the church, we had some photographic opportunities not only of the city and it’s picturesque cathedrals and Cultural Palace, but of the fun personalities that constantly surrounded us. At one point we kind of got snowed in, so we stayed in a coffee shop for awhile as we watched the wind whip aroundoutside and saw people trying to get inside as soon as possible. The wind was so bad that it took your breath away. All that said, the snow was still beautiful, and the fellowship that cold weather encouraged was sweet.

Anna

T and I had the opportunity to teach a small class on photography and (I think) we enjoyed ourselves and all the people eager to learn what we were able to convey. Again, we were not sure if the weather would permit, but they were eager and came anyway. It’s fun sharing knowledge with people who are eager to learn! It made me miss the environment that school can offer – creativity flowing from every corner of every room and that feeling that you could ask for help or give help to anyone – I miss that.

My never ending obsession with hands...

I can’t say that I took very many pictures in Iasi, but I think it’s because I wanted to experience it. I do wish that I had captured some of them because they are so fascinating as people from several different cultures (international students, remember), but I cannot regret just spendingquality time with them. As a photographer, I think you can get so caught up documenting the moment that you miss it entirely. Sometimes presence is more important than pictures. Did a photographer just say that? WHAT?!?! Yes, I did. Maybe it helps that I have been to Iasi before so I didn’t feel the need to snap away, but it is something that I think of often either way. When you have the camera, you tend to hide behind this need to capture everything, and in the end, you experience nothing. It’s one thing if it is your job and you capture someone else’s experience for them, but if it’s you, wouldn’t you rather remember jumping into the ocean, rather than be the one standing on the shore? Wouldn’t you rather say, „I did.” Than „I remember when you did...” ?

So, I’m not appoligizing for the few pictures I have of Iasi. I have some precious memories of new friends made, and new experiences had. I spent quality time with my parents that I hadn’t had in over a year. Do I regret putting the camera down and looking into the eyes of people around me? Never.

I can honestly say that in that short trip to Hunedoara and Iasi – I lived.

Models – Tiahna Somero, Cristina Turiceanu, Alina Turiceanu, Razvan Bolota, Anna and Claudia, Neli, Chanelle, and Dorian,  (Shadow picture) You guys are the best!

Locations – Hunedoara, Lacul Rosu, Iasi - Romania

Special thanks to the Reinerth Family for the Christmas dinner and Heidi, Cristina, and Alina for having us to stay with them. Thanks also to my dad and mom – Ken and Monica Luse for coming to get us halfway and Emi and Fabi Goicovici for driving us to and from the train. There are just way too many people to thank, but you are all precious to us. Thank you from the bottom of our hearts.

God bless you all!

~ Alyssa Kay

Romania - My Heart

Well, here we are, everyone. The inevitably awkward first blog post.

Most of you will scroll and look at the pictures and move on without reading. GO FOR IT!  I am totally the same way, so no hard feelings. (Maybe this is the time I should appologize to every blog that I have ever been to?)

 Let’s be honest, when you stumble upon someone’s blog, you like it if they have a few pages of content. It gives them an air of credibility, almost like they know what they are doing and you can trust them. Whether we read it or not, if we search the web for answers, we are more likely to take the word of a seasoned blogger, than the aspiring newbie. Life cred isn’t the biggest factor, it’s internet cred. It’s ok, that’s definitely me too, so I don’t expect you to take my word yet. Of course, a few thousand posts in, I might raise my expectations a touch!

Since it is my first post, I figured I would talk about something that means a lot to me. That something would be – Romanian culture. Now, when I talk about Romania a lot of people think that I am Romanian and I come from a long line of Romanians, but let me set this straight now. To my knowledge, no Romanian blood runs through these veins. Lots of French, German, Irish, and Native American (if I missed a culture my family will definitely correct me), but unless some clandestine Romanian moved to the United States and married into my ancestry, I am not Romanian.

However, that is the great thing about culture. You don’t have to be Romanian to be Romanian. Sure, my blood would tell me I’m not and my family tree would wag it’s head at me for having such delusions, but I choose to ignore that. Like so many of this generation,  I choose to live in denial, I have made the choice to believe that what my heart tells me is true. I am Romanian.

Those of you who love another culture understand exactly where I’m coming from. You can love your homeland and yet feel like you belong in another place. It is possible. (Perhaps someday I’ll get into my life story, but today I am trying to stay focused! ) It doesn’t make you any less patriotic. If anyone messes with your homeland, you’re gonna go after them, and if anyone messes with your heartland, you’re gonna do the same!

It’s like adoption. You love your biological kids so very much, but that doesn’t mean you love your adopted children any less. If you do, then I don’t think you understand adoption...just sayin’.

At any rate, I love Romania. I believe that God has placed her on my heart in a very strong way. To what end, I am not yet sure, but I trust He will reveal it in His good timing.

You may be wondering how this whole Romania craze started for me, right? Well, it’s quite a long story and I might get to it someday, but the shortest of all possible versions is that my parents are missionaries in Romania. They do a lot of work with pastors and people in ministry in a city called Iaşi, Romania now, but when I was a kid we lived in a town called Hunedoară, and this is the county that these pictures were taken in.

I lived in this area – the Transilvania Valley (yes, that Transylvania) – for around 8 years of my life off and on since I was one month away from turning 12. Why the precision? When you’re that age and you make a major life change, like, oh, I don’t know...moving cultures? You remember things like that.

I can’t say that I loved it for the first four years I lived there for many and various reasons, but suffice it to say, God changed my heart completely from the start to end and now there is no where I would rather be. Although I don’t mind living in central Massachusetts, I miss not being there among the people, submerged in the culture.

This Christmas-New Year season I was able to travel back and visit friends and family. My beautiful friend Tiahna of Tiahna Lynn Photography traveled with me. I couldn’t wait to show her around my country and let her experience all the intricacies and weirdness that is inevitable with any culture that differs from your own. I know she regrets nothing in coming with me! (Hehe, another convert made.)

The one thing I wanted more than anything was to begin to capture part of Romanian culture. I have always been fascinated with culture, and I think something that differs vastly from culture to culture is their traditional outfit. I mean, America doesn’treally have that, unless you call jeans and flip flops and national costume, then we definitely have one!

The more I learned about the Romanian costume, the more fascinated I became.

Disclaimer: I am in NO WAY an expert on this subject. Do not take my word for this. (Remember, my first blog, so, what would I know?) I had some helpful friends point me in the direction of some helpful articles and youtube videos. (What would I ever do without the internet?)

There are so many different outfits all over the regions of Romania, but I am only going to focus on the one that I photographed, so bear with me, and if you know more than I do, feel free to share the knowledge! I love to learn new things.

This costume comes from the Region of the „Foresters” of people of the forest. It’s up in the Poiana Ruscă Mountains in the county of Hunedoară. It’s a fairly isolated place, but with this isolation is a feeling of such peace and serenity. The air is clear and crisp, especially after the snow that we had the night before we went up to the small village of Hăşdău. The roads are narrow, and fairly old, but it just lends to the air of stepping into another time. Kind of like entering a fairy, I guess. You can feel the traditional values by the way the community lives in their day to day lives.

My dear friend Cristina introduced me to Adelina, the young lady that agreed to be my model for the day. She was very sweet and her family invited us in while she got ready and fed us a delicious pastry and some wonderful coffee while we waited. Tiahna said that she never seemed to stop eating since she got to Romania, and she was never actually introduced to the family. I guess the day was such a wirlwind that somehow we missed that...but they still treated us with typical Romanian hospitality - friendship and food.

Adelina was wearing her grandmother’s costume and possibly some things borrowed from a neighbour. In and of itself, that shows the culture. They are very community and family orientated like very few places these days. For example, As we walked through the village, I began to wish I had brought a bucket as a prop, so she just called at the front gate of a house and borrowed one from someone in the village – that’s community. Did I mention it was the perfect color? (Another reason I believe in God, not coincidence.)

From all accounts, the young unmarried women wear the costumes with the brightest color - Red. So, of course, hers is full of reds and her head covering has a bright floral pattern – also red.

The hand stitching is very intricate and unfortunately it seems is becoming something of a lost art. I’m sure that is not the case everywhere, but it would be sad if it fell out of knowledge everywhere. I would hate to see Romania get swallowed up in the rest of the world and lost themselves...but I digress. There are many techinical terms for the kind of stitching done, but I’m not sure they really translate (a constant problem for conveying culture accurately).

Girls of 6 or 7 begin to learn to hand stitch by stitching the cuffs of the sleeves, but as they get older (10, 11), they work on the more intricate and difficult the arms. As I look at the beautiful stitching, I wish I had been more enthusiastic about sewing, no matter how bad I was at it, this shows that practice makes perfect!

The front of the shirt can contain up to 21 different technical kinds of stitching. Seriously, why didn’t I work harder? Each different stitch told you something about the person wearing it. Something like a silent introduction before verbally meeting them. I wonder if they actually wore their heart on their sleeve?

The front of the skirt is beautiful and apron-like. It came into the culture sometime after the first World War, from what I understand (again, not an expert, so anyone can correct me) and it has a leaf pattern on the edge – which is of oriental origin. It’s fascinating really, because so much history is in every stitch. I can only imagine out much work the lace was on the edges of the skirt! But I like to imagine someone lovingly stitching their finest work to wear about the village on a beautiful day.

This photo shoot was a dream come true for me. It’s sort of my tribute to the undying Romanian spirit. It’s my way of demonstrating the strength of a people with thousands of years of history, that has –despite so many odds- survived the generations. My only hope is that these photos did them justice.

There is a lot that I am leaving out, mostly because I don’t know how to do explain it in English and part of it because I don’t fully understand all of the symbolism myself. The other part is that I feel I have already written a novel and should give everyone a breather! My hope is, however, that it peaked interest in Romania and their fascinating culture and maybe just maybe makes people curious enough not to get stuck in their own, but adventure into this wonderful wide world we all inhabit.

After all, home is where the heart is, but if you don’t go, how will you know where your heart lies?

Special thanks to:

 Dani Hriţac – Our fearless driver along the snowy roads. (Also to Lenuţa, his wife, for letting him come with us.)

Adelina – For being such a sport and posing in the cold for amazing photographs!

The villagers – For lending us a bucket and letting us photograph in front of houses and haystacks.

Cristina, Tiahna, and Laur – For being amazing assistants and lifting me up when I needed help! You are the best!

                Alina – For being great company and a great support along the way.

                To everyone who fed us (because there were two families!) – You made my day!

                Thank you, Lord, for protection and vision.

                And to all of you who made it to the end of this post - wow, respect! I really do appreciate it! 

                ~ Alyssa Kay

Sources: https://amfostacolo.ro/romania-pareri,15/hunedoara,92,3905/o-zi-in-ghelari-tinutul-padurenilor,21100/impresii-sejur-si-fotografii-vacanta__44700.htm

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8MCJtiVF3r4