Dacha

Dmitry Yurchenko

2024 – Tallinn, Estonia

About this series

The village of Laitse, 40 kilometers from Tallinn, saw a boom in summer house (dacha) construction during the 1970s, when Estonia was part of the Soviet Union. Originally built as weekend retreats for workers from Tallinn, some of these dachas were later rebuilt into permanent homes.
I began photographing an old dacha in Laitse in 2014, shortly after my daughter’s birth, and continued after my son was born in 2015. My friend, the owner, eventually left city life to renovate and settle in his inherited house. Visiting the dacha became a weekend tradition for me and my children, offering both entertainment and a welcome escape.
When the COVID-19 pandemic struck in 2020, the dacha provided refuge from the panic and restrictions of city life. It became a constant sanctuary through personal and global challenges, including divorce, depression, and economic instability.
Almost a decade later, I have taken hundreds of photographs capturing these moments. However, as my children grow, their interests have shifted, and our visits to Laitse have become less frequent. Activities we once loved—exploring swamps, sorting old books in the attic, or bouncing on the trampoline—no longer hold the same magic. Now, I wonder how much longer these trips will last. Will my children still want to spend weekends at the dacha in a few years? When will I take the final photo in this series?

Photographer: Dmitry Yurchenko
Nationality: Russian
Based in: Tallinn, Estonia
Instagram: @kvakabaka_dy

I was born in Riga, Latvia, graduated from the Faculty of Civil Engineering. After working for a few years in my field, I moved to the south of Spain for a year and a half, completely changing my life.
Since 2010, have been living in Estonia. I have two wonderful children, whom I love very much and who often become the subjects of my photos. For me, the process of photographing is the repetition of the same questions over and over: “What is this? What am I looking at? What’s happening around me?” Why does my peripheral vision suddenly react to some external trigger? I try to understand what sets off the chain of events that leads to a photograph being born. It’s a fascinating pursuit. It’s like a game of dice: instead of combinations of numbers, it’s combinations of visual images that you sift through year after year, hoping to find a true treasure, to hit the jackpot.