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You're reading: Eating sparrows, baking weeds and worse: A grandmother’s Holodomor remembrance

“Oh, what can I remember from then. I was just five or six then
in ’33” she laughs nervously and reaches for a cup. She loves cacao and I made
her one. That was the only way I could distract her from watching political
talk shows.

 “I don’t even remember how they tasted,” she says and giggles
on a memory. “Who?” I ask. “Sparrows,” she says. “I remember us catching
sparrows…”

 There was a special method. First you had to leave the barn’s
door open for a couple of hours, and some sparrows got in. So when you closes the door the only thing left to do was to get sparrows tired, so they start
flying lower and that’s where you catch them. “But when you take all the feathers off
there is almost nothing left to eat, and we were rarely getting more than two
at once,” gran says.

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