There was a time when the Bears fulfilled the will of men, contrived destinies, changed the fate of all living beings – either for good or for evil. Some of them were young and beautiful, and they wore white, silky clothes, and others – old and quarrelsome, they wore black clothes, covered with ash. They gave or punished at the will: women and men, young and old, and often entangled in the warp. Many things in our lives have remained from the days when bears were part of people’s lives.

Once upon a time there was an old woman who lived in a village with her niece. She lost her parents very early and was raised by her grandmother. The girl was as good as a prayer and as lenient as a Sunday, but she did not say a word. They were all amazed at her silence, because she heard and understood what they were saying, but she did not speak to anyone, and no one had ever heard her voice. The grandmother guarded the girl with her life and taught her the crafts she knew: she treated sick, she took care of the women of the village, and she was good at field and forest plants. And in all the houses the grandmother was invited when large meals were prepared: wedding, baptism or memorial. The old woman knew the secrets of ovens, the purpose of baking bread, and she knew how to prepare dishes for a multitude of people out of few dishes. It increased the work in her hands, so that everyone was amazed at everything she was good at. She knew how to clog the oven full of pots, to keep the right fire so that the meals and dishes are towards fulfillment on the table: sausages, meat or pies. The girl learnt her grandmother’s hidden secrets, being of great help to her. And she was silent…

One day the child was sent by her grandmother to bring elderberry and jasmine flowers from The Enchanted Valley. No one remembered why this place was called so. There was a clearing in the middle of the forest, where the path from the edge of the village reached. Often the girl could be seen here, gathering healing weeds, mushrooms or flowers. But this time, arriving in the valley, the girl heard a secret call-like breeze of wind, or a tremor of leaves, as before the rain. Always cautious, now she succumbed to the call and headed to the place where the barely felt noise came from. The girl had forgotten that at the end of prayer the bears gathered in places close to the eyes of the world – and danced, and sang, and plotted mysteries and fates… ordinary mortals were not given to see them even in a million years . Only a pure and upright soul was allowed to see their dance. She remained in hiding, amazed at what her eyes could see. The Bears, with wreaths of flowers on their heads, had each come with a gift to the Enchanted Glade: they brought their own doughnut to bake gingerbread in the sunset. One of the bearers had brought some eggs from the Great Bird, oil from the chalice with myrrh, flour from the fruitful abundance of the Earth, milk from the Milky Way, and white honey from the silver bees. An old bear, dressed in a black robe, gathered all the gifts in measures known to her, with a special care of the order in which they were mixed. The Bears charmed the dough and endowed the pie with virtues: with joy, with affection, with fulfillment, with love and self-giving. At sunset, in its last rays, the pie was baked, scattering around it dizzying scent, so the mouth was watering.

The child, tired in her wake of secrecy, had tried to stretch her tired legs. Only then the witches noticed the girl. They were so surprised when they understood that the girl could see them and hear them. Only the old bear, with her wisdom, told them that it had been written in the stars that this pure soul might know them. She could not tell anyone about what she had seen and because she was good she was given by the bears the secret of knowing this sweet pie. The old bear invited her to bite off the miracle pie, then they led her to the path leading to the village. The child knew that she had received blessing from the bears to bake the pie and for people…to become a little more sincere, a little more fulfilled, a little happier…

And since then Moldovans began to bake “black baba”, that is old black woman – all the ingredients in it are white at first, but at the end the pie is black…