I am currently hiding away in Sietesz, a small farming village in lesser Poland, a ways away a from any city.
I’m a big fan of country life; it’s quiet and it’s relaxing, and you never really have anywhere to be. I would spend my entire summers here as a kid, playing with village children, picking fruit, helping with the harvest and spending time with my family. Not much has changed since I’ve been here as a child. I spent the last two days swinging on homemade wooden bench, picking apples off the ground and watching children play.
There’s still about three, sometimes four, dogs, a cat, a handful of chickens, a vicious rooster, and two ducks constantly circling around your feet.
The air smells like grass and wheat, and manure on occasion. But the mornings are my favorite because the caramel smell of dried nuts and fruits fills the air, when my uncle’s warehouse is in full swing.
In the countryside, relationships with others take priority in daily responsibilities and neighbors come and go all day, while the number of children I watch rises and falls. I’m actually not quite sure where some of them even come from. People talk about their fields, and what needs to be harvested. Other times they just mull over the village gossip. In fact, I’ve only been here about two days and I already know about all the marriages, births, courtships, illegitimate children, arrests and deaths that have occurred since my last visit. Their word of mouth information system works so well that within 24 hours the entire village knew that I, the “American,” had arrived. The village is like a giant soap opera, really, and makes you grateful to live in a city where people tend to mind their own biscuits.
In the meantime, I’ll just be here, swinging away under an apple tree minding my own business.
