Home away from Home

The instant I arrived in Austria I felt like it was my home away from home. Everything seemed familiar to me. The way the houses looked, the snow covered mountains, the way people talked to each other, everything seemed well-known to me. It was if I had grown up living in Austria.

The last couple of days have been packed with visiting my family, seeing the town of Eisenstadt and St. Georgen (the villages that my mother spent many summers), and eating amazing food. I haven’t had much time to write in the blog.

I found out that my grandfather lived in a house just a few houses down the street from Mitzy my cousin (where Regi and I have graciously been invited to stay). I saw the wine cellar that all of my family had worked in for so many generations. I felt an overwhelming feeling of connection and family ties. I so much want to work the vineyards, smell the fermenting grapes, feel the wood of the old wine barrels on my fingertips, taste the ice wine. I almost want to cry when I hear that many of the young children do not have an interest in continuing the family vineyard. It makes me want to scream “I will do it! I will continue the tradition!” I don’t want to see all of this lost because the world says “move away from home and do what you want.” We are losing so much of our “family” and who we are. Our identity is being scattered, thinned down, and lost forever. It is so frustrating.

Tonight is our last night here. My relatives decided to go out to a stodl (which is like a small wine tasting and dinner restaurant). We all walked up to the front doors and I looked up at the name of the restaurant and I stopped in my tracks. I couldn’t believe what I saw. I read it a couple of times to make sure. The name of the restaurant was “Pachinger Stodl”. My mother’s last name was Pachinger. This restaurant was my family’s restaurant. It was so beautiful. Everything was built with pride in their craftsmanship. There was intricately carved wood, solid chairs, crystal clear wine glasses, and even local art hanging on the walls (dear to my heart of course). I even found out that the young waiter was a distant cousin of mine. Sitting there in that restaurant I really felt like I could live here forever. I felt like I belonged here.

It’s 2:30 in the morning. I am sitting on the floor in my room writing this and wondering if this was were my mother slept. I know I have to leave tomorrow but I don’t want to. How can I leave so much of my history behind? I feel like if I leave this will fade away like a dream. I don’t want it to end. I don’t want Hanz to be the last of his family to make wine. I don’t want to see my mother’s wine field plowed under and houses built on top. I want to be able to open the wine cellar doors that my grandfather made and say “Welcome! I am Bernard Fosnaugh Pachinger Swester Hoffer (and on and on and on) and this is our vineyard.”

Only God can say what will happen. I just know that I have to leave when the sun rises. How can I express to these people what I feel? How can I say goodbye?