I've never been under the illusion that a farm is a romantic place with a straw hat, a blanket, and a cup of coffee against a backdrop of endless fields.

Although sometimes that's exactly what happens.

But more often, it's dirty boots, getting up early, a tractor breaking down at the most inopportune moment, and a phone that rings just when you're trying to have at least five minutes to eat.

And yet, I love it.

I like knowing that a tiny seed, almost invisible in the palm of your hand today, will become part of a vast golden field in a few months.

There's something very honest about that. The earth can't be coaxed, can't be fooled by pretty words. You can do everything right, but you're still dependent on rain, sun, wind, and a hundred other things beyond human control.

The farm probably taught me more patience than anything else in life.

When you work the land, you start to think differently about time.

You can't plant a seed today and expect a harvest tomorrow. You can't rush life forever.

Sometimes you just have to do your job and wait.

And you know, I think it's pretty much the same with people.

Too often, we want to understand someone right away, get answers right away, decide right away whether something will work out between two people.

But true intimacy doesn't happen overnight either.

First comes interest.

Then comes the habit of waiting for a message.

Then comes the desire to tell someone some completely trivial, silly thing that somehow seems important to them. And then one day, you feel like they've already become a part of your day.

That's probably why I prefer simple things.

I can work for hours, and then sit by the window in the evening with a cup of tea and enjoy a perfectly ordinary sunset.

I can get my hands dirty with soil, and ten minutes later I'm laughing at something trivial.

I like to cook with what grew literally a few meters from the house.

There's a special pleasure in preparing dinner from ingredients that were part of your garden that morning.

And I've noticed something funny: farm life doesn't teach you to be perfect.

It teaches you to be real.

Sometimes your hair is messy.

Sometimes there's a soil stain on your clothes.

Sometimes, instead of a beautiful evening, you have work again.

But then you know the value of that moment when it's finally all over, you sit on the porch, everything is quiet, and in the distance, all you can hear is the wind in the field.

It's at times like these that I understand especially well what I want from life.💓🌿