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During her boarding school days, no boys ever looked at
her. Or, if they did look, they turned away in disgust. The
kinder-hearted called her
tsarevna lyagushka –
a frog
princess, while the more callous named her
zhaba –
a frog
.
After graduating from school
she was fortunate enough to
find work in a canning factory in a small town. While
meagre, her earnings were sufficient for her to get by. No
one particularly befriended her, but they also did not
ridicule her. Nadezhda Mihailovna learned enough Latvian
to satisfy her daily needs and soon felt like a full-fledged
local. Shortly after she also found a room with a kitchen in
an old house with the bonus use of a small garden. Thus in
the fall she could store enough vegetables for the whole
winter. Whatever was left over, she sold at the roadside.
In the nearby woods she came to know every path, each
tiny track, bog and marsh. Often, even before she went to
work, she managed to do a quick tour of the woods to
gather flowers, mushrooms or berries. The chanterelles,
king porcinis and orange-capped scaber stalks she sold. Of
all the mushrooms she herself liked the honey gilled
mushrooms the best, although the locals never picked
these. And she loved cowberry jam.
Nadezhda Mihailovna tried not to look in a mirror. Having
brushed her teeth and washed her face, she instantly
reached for a towel and turned her back to the mirror. Only
occasionally, by chance, she caught glimpses of bits of
herself. Now and then a flash of a slanted eye, then the