Note the corner construction of the logs

This is the Dacha of my childhood. The cabin was built by my great-grandfather, Robert James Kelly, 1862-1932, and my husbands grandfather, Grassim Aleksei Oskolkoff, 1854-1920. It was constructed in a style often found in the villages of Russia. The logs are all hand-hewn and fit together without nails. It was chinked with moss and later wallpapered with Russian newspapers. Originally Kelly used it as sort of a Dacha. It was and is still called the "Ranch House". This is where Kelly raised his cattle and the family often planted a garden in the cattle fertilized soil. My grandmother raised her children here. My mother partially raised hers in this home and my children lived there when they young. This home housed five generations of my family. While I was young my Grandmother had an addition added off the backside. It was the "Kalidor" where the hatch to the root cellar was located and a coal bin. My Mother converted it into a kitchen and made a bedroom and closet (the original house was only one room) in part of the lower floor. Originally the entrance to the attic was a square opening by the wood stove and a ladder going straight up the walls. Later steps were added and the children used the stairs for a table to dine on. (We only had a small table and two chairs in front of the window at that time.) Eventually a window (giving the house a total of four windows) was added by the stove and the stairs were moved to a new location. The upstairs was one large open room with one window. The ceiling had bare rafters that sometimes leaked. I loved to lie on the army cots up there and read to the sound of the rain beating on the roof. I often think of how easy it would have been for the children to be trapped in the attic if a fire had occurred. Today the Dacha has been removed from the original site and placed in the village with dormers added and the kalidor removed. I find this heartbreaking but at least it is preserved. I own the original property where the house used to sit. This home was the only real home I knew as a child and the only stable thing in my life. I often think of it with a yearning in my heart. I would trade all of my modern conveniences of today to move back into "My Dacha." of yesterday. The tree standing in the yard was planted when my grandmother was very young. She passed away at the age of ninety- five this year (2000) and she was the oldest living person raised in the village of Ninilchik.Grandma, Alexandria (Sandra) This is the Dacha of my childhood. My great-grandfather, Robert James Kelly, 1862-1932, built the cabin assisted by my husband’s grandfather, Grassim Aleksei Oskolkoff, 1854-1920. It was constructed in a style often found in the villages of Russia. The logs are all hand-hewn and fit together without nails. It was chinked with moss and later wallpapered with Russian newspapers. Originally Kelly used it as sort of a Dacha. It was and is still called the "Ranch House". This is where Kelly raised his cattle and the family often planted a garden in the cattle fertilized soil. My grandmother raised her children here. My mother partially raised hers in this home and my children lived there when they young. This home housed five generations of my family. While I was young my Grandmother had an addition added off the backside. It was the "Kalidor" where the hatch to the root cellar was located and a coal bin. My Mother converted it into a kitchen and made a bedroom and closet (the original house was only one room) in part of the lower floor. Originally the entrance to the attic was a square opening by the wood stove and a ladder going straight up the walls. Later steps were added and the children used the stairs for a table to dine on. (We only had a small table and two chairs in front of the window at that time.) Eventually a window (giving the house a total of four downstairs windows) was added near the stove and the stairs were moved to a new location. The upstairs was one large open room with one window. The ceiling had bare rafters that sometimes leaked. I loved to lie on the army cots up there and read to the sound of the rain beating on the roof. I often think of how easy it would have been for the children to be trapped in the attic if a fire had occurred. Today the Dacha has been removed from the original site and placed in the village with dormers added and the kalidor removed. I find this heartbreaking but at least it is preserved. I own the original property where the house used to sit. This home was the only real home I knew as a child and the only stable thing in my life. I often think of it with a yearning in my heart. I would trade all of my modern conveniences of today to move back into "My Dacha." of yesterday. The tree standing in the yard was planted when my grandmother was very young. She passed away at the age of ninety- five this year (2000) and she was the oldest living person raised in the village of Ninilchik. Grandma, Alexandria (Sandra) Kelly Cooper Wells was a strong-minded person who worked into her eighties and only retired to tend her ailing husband. She out-lived her three children and bonded with her great-great grandchildren as if she was the grandmother. A very independent person she moved to an assisted living center in January of 1999 only because her eyesight failed her. The Dacha was situated on six acres of cleared land. Grandma learned about lawns and insisted the whole area be cut with a scythe. She would then cut it again with a sickle, butcher knife or whatever was handy. When this was done she would begin trimming the lawn around the house with scissors. She used to assign her grandchildren certain areas to trim with scissors daily. How we hated the job with mosquitoes biting us unrelentingly while we worked. Alexandria planted a huge garden where the barn was once situated. Some years she hired someone to plow it and other years she made her grandchildren and/or nephew dig it with shovels. Then came the endless job of packing water from the artesian spring to water her garden and the endless weeding. Grandma was very modern in some ways and I remember her taking her mother's wind-up phonograph and ripping out the insides to make a suitcase for my cousin. Our hearts were broken as we loved to play that ancient machine but she called it "old junk". I often think of excavating her old garbage dump to see how many relics she relentlessly tossed in there.