On the way to the Croatian Picnic, Hobart, Indiana, 4 July 1923. Left to right: Frank Trputsis, Mary and Joseph Koss
So here’s my Serendipitous Saturday event of yesterday…
Hubby’s 10 year old car was ready to bite the dust. In the past week the gas cap refused to come off, the driver’s visor fell out, the windshield wiper fluid wouldn’t pump out and the air stopped working. Definitely time for a trade in!
He absolutely loved the car so he considered getting those things fixed but when we started tallying up the price, decided to invest that money towards a new vehicle. He wanted the same make and model since it had been such a low maintenance car but we couldn’t agree on a price at the dealership, which was ironic because the by line is they never let a customer down.
We drove to another dealership where I had purchased a car two years ago and as we were negotiating, I heard a deep voice say, “I’m Croatian.” This totally distracted me from the sales person for several reasons. First, I am Croatian and I only know of one other person of Croatian descent in a three county area adjacent to where I reside. Second, in the 45 years I’ve lived in the area, I’ve never heard anyone make that statement. Third, entirely unexpected, it surprised and startled me to the point of losing focus on the the sales person’s conversation. Fourth, what was really weird, though, was that my husband and I had just had a side conversation about my Croatian grandmother and her love of new vehicles so much so that she would buy a new car every year. My grandfather never drove because of his poor vision and rarely went with her when she negotiated prices. I had just remarked to my husband how I would have preferred to be anywhere else than in a car dealership and I didn’t understand how Grandma could possibly enjoy the experience annually.
I looked at my husband after hearing the voice from no where and asked him if he had just heard “I’m Croatian.” Sitting right next to me, he hadn’t. For a second I thought I was hearing things but the sales person said, “That was Boris, he works in financing.” I told her I had to meet him so after we agreed to terms (HALLELUJAH!), she introduced us.
Boris emigrated at age 18. He was born and raised in the same city my grandparents were from. Knowing the area well, he corrected my pronunciation of the small neighborhood they where they had resided. When I mentioned how much I missed my grandmother’s cooking he let me know that there is now a group meeting locally for those of Croatian descent. My first question, “Do they have lamb at their meetings?” With summer coming, I’m really missing those old picnics from my youth. I do live in a Greek community where cuisine close to my upbringing is readily available but those small nuances in ingredients make a difference and it’s just not quite the same. He said, “Yes, and they have kolaches, pita, and other desserts.” Oh my goodness! I have the recipes but they just don’t taste the way grandma made them. I blame Florida humidity but that’s probably not it – I just don’t have the knack for baking the way she and my mom did. So today, I’m heading to meet some folks and possibly kin.
This experience got me thinking about a different way to build your tree. It had never occurred to me to try to find a Croatian group locally. Whatever is your ancestral origins, it’s possible they are meeting near you. Check them out! Even if you don’t find a connection to your family you’ll be able to enjoy the culture and cuisine that will give you a better idea of what made your ancestor tick. Happy Hunting!