Although I lived with my parents on a farm near Novi Bečej, on the road to Kumane, all my close friends during those childhood years were from Vranjevo. Thanks to their stories, I fell in love with certain parts, or rather places, of the Vranjevo field more than with those of Novi Bečej, and I was eager to get to know them better.
Among the closest, and especially beautiful and interesting places, was the Forest. But it wasn’t so close, especially for me, coming from the opposite end of Novi Bečej, making walking there out of the question. This was why we decided to wait for better weather and go by bike. Out of the five of us—Živan Trbić, Mira Rajkov, Miša and Voja Glavaški, and me—only Živan and I had bikes. Still, the five of us went on those unforgettable trips.
We agreed on a spring Saturday that, if the weather was nice, we would head to the pine forest on the Beodra road the following Sunday. I returned home, excited, which wasn’t usual after a morning at school. I was fascinated by my friends' stories about how beautiful the forest was, and in my mind, I imagined its beauty. The thought that I would meet it the next day practically carried me. While tending to the cows that Saturday afternoon, my thoughts were entirely on that journey. I mentally pictured every part of the road, even though I had never traveled in that direction before.
I planned my departure time so that I would get to Živan Trbić’s house, where we were to meet at 8 a.m. on Sunday. Although I went to bed early, I fell asleep much later than usual, as my mind was full of images of the forest. I imagined it to be like Gradište, which was the first and only forest I had seen up until then. I didn’t even know what a pine tree was, so I thought all coniferous trees were spruces, and for me, they were tall, at least as tall as the three or four spruces I had seen between Marković and Rohonci’s houses, which seemed as tall as poplars in Gradište.
Although I had gone to bed late, I woke up earlier than usual. As we had agreed, we were to meet at Živan’s house at 8, but by a little after 7, we were all gathered. It was a beautiful May Sunday morning, and every street I passed on my way from our farm to Živan’s house seemed festive, clean, and beautiful. On Saturdays, all the housewives would clean the sidewalks in front of their homes in the evening, many of them ensuring no dust was raised. But this time, I had the impression that everyone had done it better than usual.
The streets were peaceful, as most of the residents, since it was Sunday, were still asleep, except for the housewives who were hurrying to the Novi Bečej market to buy or sell something, so they could return in time to prepare Sunday lunch. You could also spot a few elderly people returning from mass, slowly heading home, pa stopping to chat with anyone they met along the way. Whether it was necessary to chat or just a good opportunity to rest from walking, it was easy to guess. Everyone was dressed in black suits with black hats and canes, and the women wore black dresses and matching scarves, which seemed unusual to me that morning.
Despite the cheerful mood, the journey felt long, as I feared I might be late and that the others would be waiting for me. But there was no reason to worry, as I left much earlier than necessary for the bike ride. I had always been exceptionally punctual, even from a young age, and that meant I arrived much earlier than planned. Once again, I was the first to arrive, and I found Živan just getting dressed.
It wasn’t long before the others arrived, and as I said, by 7 o'clock, we were all together. We quickly divided ourselves into two bikes: Mira Rajkov sat in front of me on the bike’s front bar, and Miša Glavaški, who was quite skilled, stood on the rear wheel, balancing on the axle screws. Živan, on his bike, would carry Voja Glavaški, who was a bit heavier than the rest of us. We decided this arrangement fairly, and we would swap positions during the trip.
We started off happy and excited, and we didn’t even notice how quickly we passed the big mill, then the brick factory, and soon found ourselves on the road to Beodra. Back then, as now, on the left side of the road, there was a long row of modest, poor houses, which were built a meter or slightly less below the level of the road. On the right side stretched the railway, which would follow us all the way to the forest. Between the road and the railway, there was a summer path, which was better for cycling than the gravel road. In some places, there was an even better pedestrian path, which we used to make our journey easier.
Despite choosing the best route for cycling, the awkward position we were in caused us to feel tired right after leaving Vranjevo. We had to take a short break so those riding on the front bars could stretch their backs, Miša could rest his feet, and we who were cycling could catch our breath. It wasn’t easy carrying someone else on the bike, especially two, next to the rider. We were still young, and we could barely reach the pedals while sitting on the adult bikes—mine was a "Vesta," and Živan’s was a "Marshal."
Even though the thought of continuing was tough, impatience pushed us forward, as resting would mean wasting time. The forest was not far, and the beauty of the green fields stretching beyond the railway, the scent of the still uncut grass between the summer path and the railway, urged us to keep going.
We continued on, and to forget the fatigue, perhaps more the discomfort from our awkward positions than actual tiredness, those who weren’t cycling started commenting loudly on the beauty around us. However, we stayed focused on the path, ignoring their comments because we were all consumed with thoughts of how much further we had to go to reach the forest.
Fortunately, we soon passed a small, charming roadside house. It was probably the simplest and most modest house, but knowing that we had reached our goal, and maybe due to its location, it seemed charming. It stood close to the road, and below it, the Vranjevo stream meandered, overgrown with reeds, and just a hundred meters further, in the direction of Beodra, began the long-awaited forest.
We were excited to have reached the forest but didn’t have time to dwell on it. The first joy came from having arrived and knowing we could rest.
The forest stretched between the road and the Vranjevo stream, about 30-40 meters wide and 150-200 meters long. It was fairly dense, but the trees were small and thin, unlike Gradište, so it didn’t seem as impressive as I had expected.
It’s not good when you create an image of something special and unseen in your mind based on stories, and reality falls short. This leads to a slight deflation of excitement and even disappointment. Fortunately, this didn’t affect me much, as I had never seen so many pines (coniferous trees) in one place before, and that alone was enough to keep my spirits high, despite the fact that some of my expectations were unmet.
The location of the forest was especially beautiful. It seemed as though the Vranjevo stream had pressed up against it, its level 2-3 meters lower than the forest, which felt like quite a depth to me. On the other side was a lovely, straight road I had never seen before.
I softened my disappointment by realizing that these were young trees planted a few years ago. But I must admit that I was mistaken, as the thickness of the trunks and the height of the branches are still almost the same today, some sixty years later, as they were when I first visited. The only difference is that there were surely ten times more trees back then. As the saying goes, "Old trees last forever," so it is with the pines in our forest.
Despite everything, the forest remained a pleasant memory for me. It was much denser then, and I was especially enchanted by the wildflowers surrounding it and the birds singing in the reeds by the Vranjevo stream, just like they sang in the canal near our farm. I was particularly captivated by the "ćuvik" (a small hill) at the edge of the forest toward Beodra. We rested there, admired the beauty of nature, and tried to find the most fitting words to express it. Later, after resting, we strolled through the forest, walked down to the reeds by the Vranjevo stream, and searched for the bird whose song had so delighted us. We barely found it, and when we did, we were a bit disappointed, except for me, because I had already seen this type of bird in our canal. It was so simple, with gray feathers and a few white stripes on its wings, yet it sang beautifully.
We disturbed it, but as we moved away from the stream, it resumed its song.
We returned to our hill, now feeling like conquerors of the forest. The view from it was unusual for our flatland surroundings. It was quite high, about 2-3 meters higher than the rest of the forest and the road. When you looked from it toward the Vranjevo stream, which was lower than the forest, and further toward the Vranjevo marshes, it seemed even higher—5-6 meters in total.
We were thrilled by the view, the fresh air full of pine scent, and the wonderful shade, all seasoned with our cheerfulness, as we lay on the soft grass, competing to tell the most beautiful experience.
In such a mood, we didn’t realize how much time had passed. Though none of us had a watch (since, in those days, it was rare for adults to have one, and especially not for kids), we must have sensed the time by the position of the sun and the shortening shadows. Miša Glavaški, who was good at this, noticed it and said it was time to head home.
The thought of returning was difficult, as it meant another bike ride. But we couldn’t avoid it, so we set off.
The return trip seemed twice as long as the outward journey. It felt like we would never reach the first houses, and the road, which was already long, seemed to stretch even further. We reached the brick factory, and then we got off the bikes and walked to the mill, where we parted ways. The others were almost home, and I still had 3-4 kilometers of cycling to reach our farm.
The hardest part of the journey was the main street of Novi Bečej, with its Turkish cobblestones. You had to carefully choose where to ride, to avoid too much bouncing. You can imagine how uncomfortable it was for me, riding on the hard saddle on a flat road. The sidewalks along the main street were paved, but bikes weren’t allowed there. The municipal police strictly enforced this rule. The fine was supposedly high, though I never heard of anyone being fined, yet I was always afraid of them and never rode on the sidewalk.
I arrived, exhausted from the cobblestones, at the Građanska street and walked the final 500 meters to my farm. The journey ended, but the joy of it stayed with me.
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