Lemko is a geographic area that begins in the Carpathian Mountains and overlaps into eastern Poland, they had a brief independence in 1918 after the Austro-Hungarian Empire collapsed, but were made a part of Poland in 1920. The Easter eggs they create follow the drop-pull method, rather than the lines made by the stylus known as a kistka. You can order special drop-pull tools, but all I do is stick a pin head in the eraser end of a pencil which works just as well. Let's see if I can insert a picture:
This image is from the book I received from the CRRC, Rusyn Easter Eggs From Eastern Slovakia by Pavlo Markovyc (1987, ISBN 3-7003-0695-4), and is the method of egg decoration that I like the best. It was introduced to me years ago by a friend who sold the decorated eggs for a friend of his, a retired opthamologist whose elaborate last name sounded like Peas and Cabbage. His home was filled with his artwork and eggs, and it was an immense privilege to be invited to learn this form of pysanky. I like the clarity and simplicity. Sure, it's fun to use a kistka, but something about the free-flow of the beeswax works for me.
I have a small electric hot plate that sits on the metal table and keeps the beeswax melted in an iron pan. The hot wax fills the living space with the most beautiful, clean aroma of honey and a thousand bees working. Test a few drops on a piece of cardstock, practice a few patterns; you haven't done this in a year, but it comes back easily. Make sure the eggs are washed, dried, and room temperature, they really don't spoil even if left out for a week. I mean, don't expect to eat them, but the rotten egg business won't start for at least a couple of weeks.
When an egg comes out of the hen, she gives it a protective coating so it won't spoil; the USDA washes that off and sanitizes the egg with detergent. The remnants of the detergent are what you want to wash off, or the dyes will streak and the wax won't adhere. Put the eggs through a bath of a mild vinegar solution; don't leave them long, or the shell will begin to dissolve in the acid. Well jeez, I didn't mean for this to be an instructional entry. Sorry to go on, I just enjoy it so much and besides, we have eggs to make.
On the side of a cliff, there is a chained monster-serpent who sends his minions all over the world to see how many pysanky are made. If more than last year are counted, his bonds hold tight; if fewer eggs have been made, the chains are loosened to allow him to spread evil. Nights get dark in Slovakia, and baba sure loves scaring the kids and grandpa.
Night is just turning the sky from grey-blue to purple. Much of yesterday's mess has melted, and for heaven's sake, there was a living, small spider tiptoeing across the outside of my bathroom window screen. I hope the critter went back to hibernation, there is nothing to currently eat unless cat or human are on the menu. I'll mash you like a tater if you come near anybody, spider. War on spiders: 2011. Stay in your proper place, and I will say good morning. Enter this abode and you are so done you could stick a fork in your spider heiney.
I will not let any spiders visit you tonight. Instead, I will send dreams of the miniature Italian greyhound who was at the place I got my hair cut today. She was so soft, with immense brown eyes and was a polite lap jumper. A tiny, trembly honey, who probably had fairy wings at one point, she leapt up and pressed herself into me, expecting, as it should be, nothing but affection and awards for Best Dog. Imagine tiny greyhounds snootzing into your sleeves and jacket, of instant trust and expectation. An animal has that kind of leeway; if a human instantly, spontaneously trusted, you would rightly imagine loose wiring in the hard drive.
Dream of small Italian barks, glad you are home meows. Even you, spider, sleep safely till warmer spring comes. Forgive me, however, if I shut the window. Good night, good night all.
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