"GORALE GORALE"

Goral, a proud people. My heritage. I am descended from a strong lot. Until now not known by anyone. My Mother,Aunts,Uncles,Cousins,Friends. Unknown to all. I'm glad to have made this journey. I've always been curious as to why my Grandparents never explained to their children where they came from. Why is it that they didn't see the importance of their heritage? Perhaps it is something as simple as their own need to move forward. Times prior to world war one were indeed turbulent. All four of my Grandparents left for America prior to the age of twenty. None returned to their homeland, ever. A full generation plus one later, I would return. I return home to America the same man who left ten days ago, only now with a penchant to return once again to Podhale. I want to sing the Gorale song. To walk again among the people who so lovingly embraced me. To hear the sound of the horses shoes in perfect cadence on the road as the Highlander begins his day. The sheep resting peacefully in the field as the Tatra herding dogs keep their watch. If this weren't enough, my friends, my Gorale friends in Austria assured that I would realize my gorale roots. Young Klara, delighted us with a smile that radiates the room like the suns rising over the mountains mist and a song or two on her violin in perfect concentration. She is a bright young girl and joy to know. Bartosz was eager to take us on a tour throughout Vienna via the lite rail and subway. He knows the city quite well for his fourteen years. I think he enjoyed learning about youth in America just as much as we enjoyed listening to him tell us about Vienna! Eva, who touched my heart so when she presented to me a small medallion of Pope John Paul the second from his visit to Zakopane her hometown and said "Give this to your Mother,this is for her." My good friend Bogdan, without whose help, none of this trip would have been possible. I am overwhelmed with gratitude. We share a common bond other than our interest in genealogy. We are Gorale and know well the Gorale toast. My cousin Zosia, coy and shy, fearful of her lack of command for the English language, went out of her way to do her best in making our time in Koniowka a memorable one. We shared many pictures and laughs. Joseph, her Father and my Mothers first cousin, made sure we were comfortable. None of us could speak to each other. You would never know had you been peeking through the window. I can't close today's blog without mentioning Stanislaw and Anna Zubek. Stanislaw is the son of Rosalia my Grandfathers sister. Anna is his wife. Father Jan Zubek, his brother. The language barrier existed here as well. There is one difference though. We sang the Gorale song. Anna began, and then like many other times, we wept. With tears of joy we bid farewell to Koniowka. Gorale Gorale.