Julija's Passion Blogs

As a kid, I’d count down the days until we’d be able to drive to the airport and take the plane to Lithuania. I did that all throughout middle school and high school, and I would this year too if it weren’t for corona:( But anyways, before the flight, I’d fill up my entire suitcase with my stuffed animals and dolls and help my mom pick and pack gifts for our relatives. They weren’t typical gifts though. We’d get them special vitamins, spray cooking oil, chocolate covered raisins, and Mrs. Dash spices, all of which are things we find easily but they never did. I’d pick my favorite Lithuanian shirt to wear so that everyone in the airport would know where I’m flying to, stuff myself with some last minute leftover kugelis, and together with my family embark. We’d be greeted at the airport in Vilnius with all my grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles. Each one of them had a bouquet in their hands to give to us, I’d always leave the airport feeling as if I won the Olympics. We’d be crying and screaming for the entire airport to hear. Everyone that looked at us knew we had flown a long way to see our family that we hadn’t seen in a long time. 

Every summer I spent there was spent with love. The bestest memories and the greatest laughs always come from there. I always come back 15 pounds heavier, with my grandmother having stuffed me with the best food in the world. As a kid, I’d spend hours on the sand of lake Kastinis, watching my uncle and cousin catch fish and waiting for my aunt to make her special mushroom soup. We’d walk around in the forests and take in life as it was truly. We’d visit our friends and buy eggs and milk from them, and I’d always play with their cats and dogs. In the city, we’d go to church in Bernardinai every single Sunday and have coffee afterwards. I’d always have hot chocolate of course. We’d climb Gedimino Pilis and watch the sunset in the afternoons, or walk along the Neris at night. I’d spend nights at my grandparents garden house and play in the kiddy pool they’d fill for me, but stopping at times to go look for frogs in the bushes. I’d visit my other grandmother in Moletai, where my father grew up. There, I’d meet up with my little cousins from Denmark and we’d play basketball and skateboard all day before coming home to a night supper of blueberries and milk. We’d dive into the lake and soak in the glorious sun, while trying to catch the ducks on the shore. I’d spend many nights with my aunt listening to her talk about her life experiences and hear out her lessons. I’d play chess with my grandfather and listen to his wisdom, while my grandmother would teach me how to cook her ancient old recipes that I’ll never be able to perfect. We’d sit at night and they’d tell me the stories of their childhood and of war and of how life used to be. I still visit Lithuania every summer, and nothing changes. My grandparents have said the same stories hundreds of times but I still listen to them as if its the first time I’m hearing them. Me and my cousins have grown up but we still spend our days playing basketball and goofing around with the ducks. The Kastinis lake has since grown over with weeds, and there are less fish in it than there used to be, but the sun still shines as beautifully as it did when I was a kid. The Neris has become more shallow and polluted, and the trees around it have grown so tall I cant see it from the window anymore, but we still enjoy those strolls. We go to church every Sunday, and I still see the same two ladies sitting in the same exact spots in the front row as I did when I was a kid! I drink coffee now instead of hot chocolate though. I take my aunts advice to this day. My grandparents have more wrinkles around their eyes and a few extra gray hairs, but their wisdom never fails to amaze me. Everything has changed since I was a kid, but at the same time, it hasn’t. I go back every summer and feel like a child again. I know that no matter how old I live to be, I’ll come back to Lithuania and remember those days of my youth. I’ll be revived by these memories as long as I live.

Marcinkonys. You’ve probably seen that name pop up a couple times in my blogs. I’ve written about this little place many times in my life. It is undoubtedly the place where I feel most at home. If I die and I see the fields of Marcinkonys, I’ll know for sure I’m in heaven. Marcinkonys is a poor little country village in the middle of the forests of Lithuania. I’d say about 200 people live there, and they are all so incredibly hard working and dedicated. My aunt’s husband’s grandmother lived there for 97 years. Me and my aunt would always visit her and help her out in the summer. She lived in the same house for basically her entire life. It was probably the same size as my living room. Her and her husband would sleep on a twin bed together, and when my aunt’s husband lived with them, he slept on a stool with a blanket. Her entire life, she lived without a proper toilet. I don’t think she’s ever taken a shower in a modern shower either. Many people had moved in and moved out of Marcinkonys, but she stayed there for her entire life. She’s since passed away, so my aunt and her husband cleaned up the place and now use it as their summer home. She was an incredibly sweet lady, and is a great representation of how Lithuanian people are. Oh, and her name was Julija, just like mine:) Fun Fact. 

Everyday, she woke up at the crack of dawn, on an empty stomach, wearing her work dress and scarf, to get water from the well. I don’t know if any of you have ever had the chance to get water from a well, but it’s very hard work dragging up a whole bucket of water 60 feet from the ground. We would try to help her fetch water whenever we could, but she always refused. So at 97, she STILL was getting water from the well, walking it over to her garden, and watering every tomato, herb, potato, carrot, etc in sight. She had the biggest garden out of everyone in the town, and it was always properly weeded and taken care of. She always had the biggest potatoes and radishes out of everyone, even though she was the oldest. Every Saturday she rode her bike to the sauna to take her weekly shower, and every Sunday she walked two kilometers to church. She was always in bed by 7 or 8, with a bible and rosary in hand. She’s never seen the ocean. She has never left the country in her life. She went to the city once to see a doctor, and said it was the worst hell she’s ever seen in her life. If she’s scared by a tiny little city like Vilnius, imagine what she’d think if she saw New York. This woman is one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met in my life. Me and my aunt would help her out and struggle every summer doing so, but she did everything so effortlessly and as if it wasn’t hard or painful on her body. A lot of people in Lithuania have that same hard working spirit as she does. Whenever I go to Marcinkonys, I always remember her and the people of the town and I feel like I become a new person. Whenever we go, we do good and true hard work. There is no such thing as a cell phone. For showers we go to the lake nearby, and for the bathroom we go into the woods. Nothing in the world matters in that place. You can be chubby or an alcoholic or have some pocks on your face, but no one will judge you as long as you show you are a hard worker.  Its such a strange world in that place. Its like whenever you enter its gates, you’re taken a 100 years back in time. When I come back to the city after just a couple weeks in the country, I don’t even know how to act. Hot showers and toilets seem like the strangest things. I can’t even imagine what it would be like for someone whos lived in the country their entire life. Living in America, I never see people living simply. We have all sorts of devices and transportation and fancy things that make life easy, and the people in Marcinkonys have none of that, yet they still work harder than anyone. I’m never going to say living there is easy or glorify their types of lives, because they certainly struggle a lot. It just puts it into perspective how grateful we should all be to live in the place we live today, even if times are rough. I’m very inspired by the people of Lithuania and I hope to be half as dedicated and strong as they are. I could probably write a whole book on this town and the people I’ve encountered and their stories, but i’ll save it for another day.

 Every summer when I go to Lithuania, we take a day trip to Cepkeliu Raistas, which is a swamp that I’ve posted about on here before. We go to the lake nearby and set up a fire and some snacks to eat before we embark on our journeys. We collect our baskets and knifes, roll up our sleeves ,make sure our socks are tucked into our pants nicely, put on some boots and go out into the woods to look for mushrooms. The entire family comes and splits up either into groups or by themselves. We start off walking on the dirt path, but we eventually cant escape the enticing call of the woods. My aunt knows all the right spots to look for mushrooms. She knows which tree she found that Baravykas under last year and will go to that same exact spot to find another one again. Baravykas is the most special mushroom there is to Lithuanians. In the summer and fall, we pick HUNDREDS of baskets of them and dry them so my family can enjoy them in the dead of winter. They’re also the most rare and hardest to find. We stroll along the forest peacefully, talking about love and God and how lucky we are to be able to see and walk in such a wonderful place. As we walk, all of the sudden, my aunt sees something in the distance and walks away from me. I follow her, and she leads me to patch of beautiful Voveruskos. These are my favorite mushrooms, I’m always so happy to see them. We both crouch down, pull out or knifes, and start pulling them out from under the moss. We cut the dirt end from the root, making sure no worms spoiled them, and place them carefully into our baskets. We gently cover the earth with moss again and keep walking to find more. Mushroom picking is one of the most peaceful things you can ever do. In the depths of Lithuanian forests, there are no sounds to be heard. No roaring engines or chattering people, not even from a distance. Its so silent that you can hear your own heart beat and the blood coursing through it. The wind rustles the trees occasionally, or a bird will chirp to us, but other than that… absolutely nothing. 

(these are Baravykai)

Some days are luckier than others. We could walk around the forest all day only to find a couple mushrooms, but other days you can find a whole basket in an hour. It all depends on how much it rained the night before.  

(These two pictures are Voveruskos)

Mushroom picking can be quite dangerous and scary at times, believe it or not. Once you stray from the path to pick up a mushroom, you might not no which way to go back. Once you look up from the moss, everything around you looks the same. Its so easy to get lost, and its happened to everyone of us at least once. My aunt told me stories about how she got lost for a whole day once and had nothing to eat but the mushroom and berries she picked. Countless times we’ve had to set off the car alarm so that our family members would know which direction to go. My mom and I got lost once and prayed for hours in the woods for God to show us our way back.There’s no phone service once you go in the forest, so once you’re lost, you’re the only one that knows you’re lost. It’s a daunting and scary world out there in the woods, but its one of the most serene places you’ll ever experience.  

For some people, mushrooms are the reason they can live. There are a lot of poor villages in Lithuania that depend on picking mushrooms to stay alive. On the drive home, you see countless grandmothers and young children parked on the side of the road selling their jars of mushrooms and berries. One liter may not look like a lot to you, but to that child, it bought them their schoolbooks and pencils for the fall.   

After a whole day of picking mushrooms, my entire family comes together and cooks dinner at the fire. We compare the mushrooms we all collected throughout the day and hear boasts about whose were the prettiest , who collected the most and whose tasted the best. My aunt would prepare the best soup over the fire. Adding our mushrooms and any scraps we hadn’t finished from lunch, it was the perfect way to end our day. We’d talk around the fire and sip at our scrap soup and then prepare to drive back home.  

Mushroom picking always creates the best memories for me and I can’t wait until next year when I get to do it again.  

Lithuania is obsessed with basketball. Like… obsessed. Not even the way Penn State is obsessed with football or recently becoming a “basketball school”. Lithuanians live and breathe basketball. It runs through their veins. At every game, no matter if its an important one or one that’s just being played for fun, there will be a huge crowd of Lithuanians dressed in yellow, green, and red, screaming their heads off and chanting our anthem.  We are a very small country of only three million, but it seems like all of us three million gather at every game. 

For Lithuania, basketball isn’t just a sport. Basketball has a way deeper meaning for us than it does for anyone in the world. Lithuania is rooted with a deep history of oppression and mistreatment. Basketball is what gave us independence. Basketball is what gave us freedom. Basketball is what gave Lithuania its name, and I’m going to tell you why just now. 

Lithuania was occupied by the Soviet Union for the longest time and for 50 years was forced to play for the USSR team at the Olympics. The team was composed of players from many countries occupied by the Soviet Union, but most of them were Lithuanians. At the 1988 Olympics in Seoul, the Soviet Union won the gold medal. The best player on the team, Arvydas Sabonis, a Lithuanian, got drafted to play in the NBA but couldn’t because the country was still occupied. 

Everyone knew that it was Lithuania who had truly won. We carried the team and we were the reason for the gold medal, but nobody recognized it. 

For years, Lithuania experienced horrible turmoil. Its people had to listen to the Russians and had absolutely no freedom. People couldn’t practice their religion freely or do anything. Tanks came into the city one night and killed 13 people that were protecting the Parliament from being overtaken by the Russians. My parents and grandparents all lived through this and saw it live. People were dying and nobody saw it. 

But nevertheless, Lithuania pulled itself together and declared independence from the Soviet Union in 1990. It became the first Soviet state to do so, and was the catalyst for the other countries to do so as well. During these terrible times, basketball is what kept the people united. It’s what kept hope in people’s hearts. The love and pride Lithuania had for its basketball team united everyone, and kept the people going strong until the end. 

( March 11th 1990, the day Lithuania declared independence. This year was the 30 year anniversary!!)

The 1992 Olympics was the first time Lithuania was allowed to play with its flag. It was the first time our yellow, green, and red was shown at the Olympics. They were no longer playing for the Soviet Union. They were their own independent team, just like their own independent country. 

(This is the Baltic Way, I’ll do another blogpost on it perhaps)

And guess what!? We won a bronze medal! The first time we played as Lithuania, we won! AND we beat Russia, our enemy…

This was the craziest moment in basketball history for Lithuania, and is the reason why we are all so obsessed with it. It’s not just a sport, its a symbol of independence and strength. At those 1992 Olympics, Lithuania showed who was boss all along. They persevered through the toughest times and emerged victorious. 

(This is them accepting the bronze medal)

The Grateful Dead sponsored Lithuania’s trip to the 1992 Olympics because they were greatly inspired by their story. When Lithuania stepped onto the court to accept their bronze medals, they showed up wearing the most ridiculous, tie-dye Lithuanian colored outfits that the band had given to them. Everyone else was in their official uniform, but Lithuania proudly stepped on the podium, laughing, crying, cheering, and proudly parading their country. The american dream team won gold that night, but everyone in the crowd and back at home knew that Lithuania was the true winner. They were the OTHER dream team, and they still are. 

There was a whole movie made about this. I’ll link the trailer here if anybody wants to watch it. Its AMAZING and I legit cry every time lol so plzzz take a look. 

Lithuanians are always known for being over the top, and Uzgavenes is something that shows just how crazy we can get. To translate to my readers, Uzgavenes is the day before lent starts, also known as Fat Tuesday. The whole day is dedicated to stuffing yourself silly and preparing for the intense spiritual period of lent. Although it has its pagan traditions, its religiously rooted and always signifies the last time we can celebrate before going into a period of deep concentration. 

All day, we eat pancakes. But not the fluffy buttermilk pancakes you’re imagining. Nor the fancy French crepes. Lithuanian pancakes are made from yeast, and they are fattening as hell. breakfast . lunch, dinner, and everything in between is spent stuffing ourselves with these delicious, pillowy pieces of dough. 

 

When I was a kid, we would go to church and celebrate this holiday. There was a whole day of festivities arranged and we would wait all year to attend. In the center of the hall would be a giant, stuffed, hideous dummy. She was called the More, and she is responsible for keeping winter. We would shout at the grandmother, dressed in masks and scary costumes, in an attempt to scare her and winter away. The tradition is to burn the More, but in church we never actually did that. We would scream “ Ziema Ziema bek is kiemo”, which translates to “winter winter leave our backyard!”. Eventually winter gets scared away and spring is allowed to come in. 

Another tradition is the war between “Lasininis” and “Kanapinis”. Lasininis translates to “porky” and Kanapinis… i don’t really know how to translate it but it’s like the weaker, frailer twig. Porky resembles winter, and is fat and huge from eating too much, while kanapinis represents spring, who is weak, cold, and poor. The two battle to the death, and eventually kanapinis wins, which allows spring to come. My dad has played both parts in the battle over the years, and it’s always been very fun to watch. 

These traditions might seem weird but they are the ones I’ve always grown up with. I love them to death and I hope I’ll get to see many more of these battles one day. 

(Kanapinis and Lasininis in battle)

 

When I was a kid, my grandparents and I in Lithuania would visit the beach after a storm. We’d sift through the washed up seaweed on the beautiful baltic shores, looking for Lithuanian gold. We’d sometimes find these stunning, deeply orange or yellow pieces of pure sunlight and stash them in our pockets. They were just like the ones we’d collected at home, but each of them was unique in its own way. This gold is not the shiny smooth type you all imagine. It’s a little rough and ragged around the edges, and sometimes there are little critters hiding in its million years of memories. This gold I speak of is called amber, and it is infinitely more valuable than a 24 karat. 

You will never visit Lithuania, or even a Baltic state, without seeing millions of these speckled stones in street markets, in souvenir shops, churches, homes, and on people’s necks. It is everywhere you look. We turn amber into anything. Statues, chess boards, miniature toy boats, hair clips, necklaces, ornaments, crosses. You name it. Amber is our national stone. It is said to have healing properties if worn. Amber is a powerful healer and cleanser of the body, mind and spirit. It also cleanses the environment. Amber clears depression, stimulates the intellect and promotes self-confidence and creative self-expression. It encourages decision-making, spontaneity and brings wisdom, balance and patience.

To me, amber means home. You’ll rarely see a picture of me as a kid without an amber necklace. At every stage of my life, even when I was an infant, I wore something made of amber. My aunt gifted me a necklace when I was a baby, and in pictures you can see it hanging around my neck loosely, down to my belly button. Years later, you see that I’ve grown into it and it finally fits me well. My entire family has hundreds of amber items. It decorates our home and brings warmth and joy to every room. Amber is home to me, and i’m not quite sure what it is about this honey colored stone that draws us Lithuanians to it, but it is special in every way. 

 

 

“Kur giria zaliuoja, ten mano namai. Kur Nemuns banguoja, tevynes krastai.” 

Translation: Where the forest is becoming green, my home is there. Where the river Nemunas waves, there are the shores of my homeland.”  

These are the beautiful words that are sung by every Lithuanian everywhere. We all know this song by heart, and no matter how many times we’ve listened, sang, or read these words, we can’t help but cry.  This song is sung every year at the annual song festival held in Vilnius, where thousands of Lithuanians from all over the world gather in a field and sing our country’s most treasured hymns. My mother, my aunt, cousins, and many other relatives have gotten to sing in it. I never have, but hopefully I’ll be able to one day. When it is time to hear this song, the crowd goes silent and everybody in the field stands up. The director silences the choir of thousands and throws his hands up for them to begin. Lithuanians don’t need microphones, because our voices are always loud and heard. Beautiful harmonies and words are project from the arena. The soft delicate voices of the women combined with the billowing and strong voices of the men are enough to make anybody tear up . The women are dressed in traditional Lithuanian, with their hair in braids and flower headpieces. The men put their arms around each others shoulders in solidarity and belt those beloved words. It is a moment of complete unity. I will never get to know all the people in the field or the ones singing for us, but I will always feel as if they are family. No matter if you are a Lithuanian in Argentina, China, or Kenya, you are part of the family.  

This song is about coming back to your country because it is the most beautiful place in the world. The place you or your family have grown up in will always remain there, no matter how far away you live from it. The Lithuanian earth and waters are loyal to you always, and will be waiting for your return. Nothing else in the world is quite like the place you come from.

Here’s a video at one of these song festivals where “Kur Giria Zaliuoja” Is being performed. Please take a look at it. Y’all won’t understand the words but it sounds very pretty, and you’ll get to see how seriously Lithuanians care about their country lol.

 

It was the summer and instead of spending my day basking in the beautiful, Lithuanian sun or roaming the fields barefoot, I was cooped inside finishing summer assignments. I recently met my next door neighbor, a lonely four-year-old boy named Vinca, who had no siblings, cousins, or kids his age to play with. 

That morning, while I was eating breakfast outside, he shyly asked if I could play soccer with him. I knelt down to his level and told him I couldn’t because I had “big girl” work to do. A wave of guilt rushed over in my heart as he turned his back and walked away from me. 

I hadn’t done anything wrong though. I was thinking logically. Spending the day playing with him would mean I wouldn’t get my assignments done. It would mean risking missing the deadline or submitting mediocre work. My mind went through all the possible negative outcomes, and decided it was best to do what I needed to do and not think of the boy. He could find someone else to play with. 

After working for a couple hours, my aunt came inside and told me that Vinca had been patiently waiting for hours outside of our door, with freshly picked flowers in hand, asking her where the nice young girl had gone. I felt so guilty. I had completely abandoned this boy to wallow in his sadness. Even though I’d overheard him telling his grandmother how lonely he was and saw him secretly peeking through the window trying to catch a glimpse of me, I only focused on what I needed. I surrendered to my self-serving mind, and ignored his cries all day. 

Was making the deadline and submitting my best work worth the tears this boy would shed? Was a good grade worth Vinca remembering this summer as the one when no one wanted to play with him? Was my happiness the only thing that mattered? I remembered how I’d been raised to put others before myself, despite the inconveniences. One small sacrifice on my part could mean the world to someone. Someone’s joy is more important than my obligations will ever be. 

So remembering that, I closed my laptop, went outside, and greeted Vinca with a soccer ball in hand. A huge smile spread across his face as he gave me the flowers he had picked. While racing cars, hunting for the evil witch, and playing soccer with Vinca, I was reminded of the true priorities in my life. This little boy reminded me that I should always try to be a friend for the lonely, a shoulder to cry on, and unconditionally love for those who need it the most. He made me realize I should spend the rest of my life following my heart over my head.

There’s a place in Lithuania that is not apart of this world. It doesn’t exist there. Its its own separate little bubble, unbothered by the disturbances outside it. It’s the most natural place I’ve ever been in. By that, I mean that when I step foot in it, I forget technology and man made things exist. I forget that cars, airplanes, stores, and phones exist. It feels as if I’ve gone 1000 years back in the past, in a time where man did not infect the world with its knowledge. Its bare, devoid, and empty of all humans. Life rules this part of the world. Nature is the king. Stepping in its bubble, I feel like an intruder.

This place is called Cepkeliu Raistas. It’s the largest swamp in Lithuania. I’ve been there every summer since I was a little kid. Every summer it’s the same. We walk the same dirt path we’ve walked for years through the forest. We’ve memorized every tree in the place, we never get lost. We know were getting close when we start to smell it. My aunt always said that if the wind is blowing in our direction, we smell it even stronger.

It is so silent, your ears ring. You can sometimes hear the birds, but even they don’t want to disturb the peace. The wind rustles the leaves of the birch trees and gives you goosebumps, even in the middle of the summer. Staring out into the swamp, I’m always astounded at how its never been touched. I could probably count the people that have been in this place on two hands. There are areas in this swamp that have never been touched by man’s foot. Sometimes, my aunt and I like to take off our shoes and go inside. It’s a scary endeavor, as one step you might be on solid dry ground, and the next, you might be knee deep in squishy swamp moss. We don’t care though, we purposely try to walk into the muddiest parts. My aunt sometimes gets on her knees, soaks the water out of the moss with her hands, and drinks it. As a kid this used to always freak me out, but now it doesn’t. The water isn’t dirty, it’s the purest you’ll ever find on the planet. We look for unripened cranberries and try to judge how great the harvest will be in the fall. Sometimes we talk about the different bird calls we hear or the trees around us. Sometimes we just sit and listen, taking in the rare silence. Leaving this place always makes us sad. There is nothing here to bother us. No mosquitoes. No scorching sun. No howling wind. No noise. No world. Its just us and nothing else, and I don’t think I’ll ever find a place like it ever again

For my first blog post, I was thinking of dedicating it to all the best and essential Lithuanian dishes. However, as I was writing, I realized there was one dish that had a particularly special story, and couldn’t just be lumped into a group. This dish is called Cepelinai, and this post is just about it. 

Cepelinai for many means childhood. It means life and sustenance. It means family and love. Every Lithuanian kid has a story for Cepelinai. In the coldest and hardest months of the year, coming home to a plate of Cepelinai was  what you needed to get through the winter. Cepelinai signified it was the weekend or a holiday, since it was only ever made if there was an occasion to celebrate. Every Lithuanian kid has heard stories from their grandmothers about how they used to make them for their kids and families and how their grandfather could eat twelve at a time.  

This meal is arguably the most popular dish in all of Lithuania. Every restaurant in Vilnius advertises these balls of deliciousness on its street signs and is an absolute staple if you ever plan on visiting. Cepelinai, or didzkukuliai, are dumplings made from grated and boiled potato’s stuffed with ground meat and served with sour cream and fried pork rinds. There’s an intricate process involved in making them, and once you taste them, its as if you’ve been transported to heaven. Cepelinai is the ultimate comfort food of Lithuanian kids who are far from their home.   

In Lithuania, every mother teaches her children at a very young age how to make this meal. I remember going to the grocery store as a kid with my mama and her telling me we’d be making Cepelinai that night. I’d excitedly run to get the bag of potatoes and ask the butcher to pack us a nice piece of pork. We’d come home and I’d help her peel the potatoes, while she prepared the meat. I was by her shoulder every step of the way, ensuring I knew all the secrets and magic that came behind making this delicious dish. We’d shape the dumplings one by one, taking our time and putting all our tender love and care into the meal. I’d cut and fry the bacon or pork rinds, and before we knew it, the entire house was smelling of Cepelinai. She’d tell me to yell for my dad and brother, and I’d scream up the stairs so hard I’m sure the neighbors were tempted to come to our dinner too. They’d both come running down the stairs, the entire house shaking, and rush to be the first one to sit down at the table. Me and my brother would always fight about who got the first one.  My mama would spoon all the dumplings into our dishes, and we’d scramble to get the most bacon before everybody else took it all. We’d sit and eat, exclaiming every now and then how delicious it was. After stuffing ourselves silly, we’d do the dishes and lay on the ground next to our fireplace and watch a movie or fall asleep. Even though we don’t live in Lithuania, we still practice the same traditions as if we did. Every time we eat them it reminds me of home and the family I only get to see once a year.  

In Lithuania I also sit by my grandparents’ side and drool watching them make this dish. Even at 84, my grandmother makes them with the fervor and spirit she’s always made them with. This dish brings the entire family together. Whether some of us live 5,000 miles away in America, or a 20-minute drive away in the next town, it never fails to unite us.  

Whenever I come home from college to visit my family, my mother celebrates by making Cepelinai. Even though I live a little bit further away and am not the same kid as I used to be, the process has never changed. Everything remains the same, as if time never went anywhere. Each bite is like the first one. The smell is still the same. Me and my brother still fight over who gets the first one. Cepelinai is not something that keeps just our stomachs full, but our hearts full. There’s no other dish in the world just like it.