Carpeted with leaves

I collected some rosebay willowherb (fireweed) stalks on Friday evening, before the rain came, and laid them out on the floor to wilt overnight.
It's the first step in making my favourite herbal tea, the one called 'Ivan chai' because  it was traditionally made in Slav regions.
(I've blipped about the tea before here so I won't repeat it all.)

Seeing the stalks lying here started me thinking about the rug they're on and I realised that now five generations of my family have used it. No wonder it's quite literally threadbare.

It must have been a prized possession  of my Russian grandfather who had it hanging on the wall of his house in Switzerland - see the old photo (extra) which must have been taken in the early 1900s. I know nothing about its origin although I assume it originally came from the Caucasus to his home in Ukraine. I believe it was special in having a lot of green in it, which is uncommon in these traditional hand-woven rugs. 
The rug, along with the bureau, the huge settee and a lot more stuff, came to my family in the 1950s after my grandfather's second wife died (long after he did.) I remember two enormous pantechnicons trundling up the bumpy track to our house. We didn't have room for it all and most of the stuff was gradually disposed of over subsequent years. But not this rug, which my father was loathe to see anyone step on even though we had nowhere to put it apart from on the floor.

Well, since my father's been gone I regret to say the precious rug has endured the full rigours of family life with animals and children paying it  no respect at all. Now in its dotage it's a playspace for the fifth generation, my granddaughters. 

On reflection, how fortunate it is. It left Russia well before the revolution, sat out WW1, the Stalin years, WW2 and the early Cold War era in peaceful Switzerland before sojourns in Wales, England and Wales again.


Right now in Ukraine now every family has lost, or stands to lose, a member, never mind their homes, possessions, pets.
This one is exceptionally tragic.