Roots and Resilience

Zinaida Katasonova had built worlds with her hands. A zootechnician and poultry specialist, she understood growth — how something fragile could become strong with careful nurturing. Her life in Yakovlivka was a testament to that skill: a village constructed by her own community, pine trees they’d planted with pride, a fabric of life carefully woven.

The war didn’t arrive suddenly. It crept in since 2014, a constant shadow. Military presence became as familiar as the landscape. Her son joined the territorial defense, her daughter worried constantly.

On April 22, 2022, when Russian tanks were just two kilometers away, her daughter finally convinced her to leave. The village that had been their entire world suddenly became a place of danger.

From Dnipro’s sports complex to a tense rental in Vinnytsia, displacement became her new profession. Constantly moved, constantly unsettled. Landlords who seemed more interested in collecting rent than providing stability.

Her health told a story of stress — hypertension, stenocardia — a body holding the weight of uncertainty.

Senior Chudo Village wasn’t just a new home. It was an unexpected grace. Free of charge, with leadership that seemed to genuinely care — something she’d stopped believing was possible.

To the younger generation, she offered pure Ukrainian spirit: “Believe in Ukraine. Believe in victory. Never give up! Fight, because without struggle, there are no victories.”

To Dell Loy Hansen, she would offer more than gratitude. She would speak of a kindness so profound she’d want to kiss him like family.

Her plans were simple. To adjust. To remember. To hope.

At 73, Zinaida was more than a survivor. She was a keeper of stories, of resilience, of the quiet strength that keeps communities alive