110. My experience living in the countryside.

About moving in spring, having an allotment, valuing community and surrendering to the cold —With voiceover.

I’ve now been living in the countryside for one year and a half and what a ride it’s been. We¹ moved to Barcelona in 2021 and lasted nine months there, it wasn’t what we were expecting or hoping for but it did teach us a lot of things we didn’t know we needed to learn. We packed up our 34 m² attic in Plaça Catalunya and carried our very heavy boxes one by one down five flights of stairs and drove for five hours to what would be our new home in La Rioja, the north of Spain.

We moved into a house our family had there so we’d spent a lot of time in that house before and we kind of knew what to expect but it was our first time living there for all four seasons. We’d stayed there during the summer holidays and random weekends throughout the year but being there full time was completely different. We arrived at the end of April when nature was deep in spring and we were welcomed by fields of tulips and sunny days. This of course helped us to feel like we were in paradise, which we were. We’d look out of the dark brown wooden window frames to see open fields of wheat crops until they reached tall mountains, which surrounded the whole village on one side.

Birds were singing, the fig tree in our garden was growing slowly but steadily, there were flowers everywhere we looked and the sun was always shining. We’d go for walks and see the same five neighbours that lived in our village and stand to one side to let the flock of sheep pass by on their daily strolls.

Living in the countryside is easy in spring and summer and I wish everyone could spend these two seasons in connection with nature because I think that it really does heal your soul. Life is slow, nature begins to wake up after a long winter, people take to the streets again instead of being huddled around the fire and life feels easy.

We started planting things in the allotment pretty much as soon as we moved there because it was the perfect time. We were lucky to have an extremely big and well looked after allotment there for us to plant whatever we wanted and so we did. We visited a garden center that turned out to be a part of someone’s house. They sold baby plants for 0.5-0.30 euros each.

We bought three types of lettuce, onions, too many cherry tomato plants which later on turned into a small forest, beetroots, cucumbers, a smaller variety of cucumbers to make canned pickles, pumpkins, melons, watermelons, peppers, eggplants, strawberries… and we began to take care of it all. After finishing work, remotely, we’d cross the road to the garden and watch the sun set while watering our little plants.

This activity would begin to take longer and longer until we finally reached summer and C. would begin watering at 8 a.m. because the water had to be shared with all of the other neighbours. The water came from the melted snow from the surrounding mountains and was collected in a type of pool-well to feed the allotments in summer. This water was free and would run along the village in little trenches alongside the road.

Going to water your allotment in summer at eight o’clock in the morning was a social activity. Everyone would be there before it got too hot and while the furrows filled with water, all of the men would stand around talking in their messy workwear clothes. Of course they’d compare how their plants were growing, talk about the weather, village gossip and usually tractors or some other agricultural machinery. I liked to listen and learn, and I ended up becoming friendly with some of them.

This leads me to something else I learned from living in the countryside: community. When I lived in Barcelona or Málaga, I never knew any of my neighbours. We all had our own busy lives and would smile awkwardly when having to share the ride in the elevator. Neighbours become family in a small village. I couldn’t tell you how many times somebody brought fruit and vegetables in bags to my front door as a gift while living there for one year in that small village. They’d give us boxes of twelve eggs from their free range chickens and even bring us baked goods like cakes they’d made that morning. We did the same for them, our next door neighbours tried chocolate brownies and cookies for the first time while we ate our first dried prunes. We only had three neighbours that lived on our street and they were all older than 80. One woman lived alone and the other two were a married couple. The couple would bring us freshly made popcorn every morning for breakfast, they’d make their own and also make us a bowl too. Apparently it’s good for getting your bowels moving, or so they’d say. When we were out or didn’t hear the doorbell, she’d open our front door and leave the bag of popcorn inside on the floor and close it quietly on her way out.

She’d always reuse plastic bags from packets of pasta or beans, or make her own like in this photo.

I really learned the importance of community during the darker months of the year when life is hard and the weather is harsh. There aren’t many things that grow in winter apart from broccoli, kale, cauliflower and a few other things we didn’t end up planting. When the trees have no leaves, the sky is grey and the outdoors is covered in snow, you appreciate your neighbours checking in on you and having short conversations with someone other than yourself or your partner. Winter in the countryside takes a toll mentally. It’s dark by 5 p.m. and there are no signs of life. The people that came to spend the summer in their holiday houses are all gone, there are no children making noise as they play outside, there are no flowers, no stray cats and no people walking up and down the streets. It’s just you and your inner voice, this was one of the hardest things I’ve ever lived.

I was brought up in the south of Spain, where it’s sunny all year and the waves are always crashing against the shore. The “cold” is a joke and you can’t wear a coat for very long until you start sweating. On top of that, I’d always lived in a town where there were lamp posts, cars on the road, children going to their extracurricular activities, adults in bars drinking and the darker months were ignored. We all kept chugging along without making many lifestyle changes apart from wearing a thinner or thicker coat and using an umbrella on the rare days it rained. This wasn’t a possibility in the village. There were no lamp posts once the sun set, there were no people around and there was nothing to do, you were surrounded by real darkness.

I have always been afraid of the dark as a kid and I understand why now. When there’s nothing to look at around you and there’s nothing to distract you, you’re stuck with yourself and your thoughts. That’s not something many of us are used to nowadays, we’re always filling our silences one way or another but I reached a point where nothing could help me escape from myself. I would be sat by the fire in the only warm room while the rest of the house was at five degrees Celsius and I’d reach a point where no book, no film and no journalling could distract me any longer. Everything felt uncomfortable. The dark and the cold can only be beaten by your mind. No matter how many layers you put on, it all comes down to controlling your thoughts and finding the way of being comfortable in uncomfortable situations. At first, it was excruciating. The thought of taking a shower made me want to cry because of how cold it was. Sitting on the toilet for a few seconds was enough to lose all of the body heat I’d worked so hard to build up, going to cook in the kitchen was like standing inside a freezer. But eventually, my mind clicked and I learned how to control my thoughts. I learned how to enjoy the cold and welcome it inside of me. I became more present in my body and learned how to pay attention to how my clothes felt warm on certain parts of my body. I learned how to giggle at how red and cold my nose was.

One book changed my life that year and it was “Wintering” by

Katherine May

. This mental click I speak about came thanks to reading her book which appeared in my life at the perfect time by chance. I remember reading that book by the fire while allowing all of my old mental patterns to break down and to understand winter for what it was: a sacred season that couldn’t be ignored. The more I tried to fight it and live my life as if it were still summer, the harder it was going to be.

After realising that we needed to adapt and make changes to how we were living, we moved our two single mattresses into the living room where the fireplace was and we’d spend all day in that room. We’d fold the bed away to make a sofa for the day time and unfold it again at night. We had a desk and a smaller knee-heigh table on the rug for working. We finally understood that we couldn’t live as if we were in a cold summer. Winter required change, transition, adaptation. We began to move with nature, letting it set the pace. We humans tend to think that we decide what happens and when, whereas in reality we’re totally insignificant on this planet. Nature has and will continue to mark the rhythm with or without us and by surrendering to it, we respect it and allow ourselves to become a part of the natural cycle we belong in.

Our current life in France is very similar to how it was last year in the north of Spain. It rains a lot more here which has required more surrendering and adapting but we understand that it’s what’s required. We haven’t started the fire yet and we both feel comfortable sitting in the kitchen-living room while the thermometer marks ten degrees Celsius. When our bones begin to feel cold and stiff, we use a hot water bottle to help us heat up.

Living in the countryside isn’t for everyone and there are many different ways of doing it if you were to decide to move there. For me, living in nature brings me peace of mind, a quiet and slow paced life, a much lower stress level, the feeling of being in connection with nature and feeling grateful for what it offers to me. I appreciate things much more because I understand that they can’t be a part of my life all year round. I don’t eat tomatoes in winter, I don’t eat melon in spring, I don’t eat pumpkin and broccoli in summer, I don’t eat strawberries and raspberries every day with my muesli because I know that each thing has its moment and can be respected. Do I get bored of eating potatoes and broccoli throughout the winter? Yes, sometimes. Does it feel weird to buy vegetables and fruit from a supermarket that has shipped them from across the world? Yes, it does a bit too. But I respect that everyone is living a complete different reality and that everyone decides how deep to dive into things.

Surrendering and allowing myself to have to relearn how to live in this new environment has been freeing and empowering, but again, it’s not for everyone.

STUFF I WANT TO SHARE

1. NOVEMBER BOOK CLUB - We’re going to read “Fierce Attachments” by Vivian Gornick so if you’re interested in joining our online Book Club, send me a message on Instagram and we’ll be super excited to welcome you. We’re a small group of chicas that have a lot of love for each other, it’s a safe space and everyone is welcome <3

2. This read was absolutely beautiful yet so painful at the same time: "pain scale” by

   Kayti Christian

3. I loved this post by

   Lupe
   called “getting it together” — “I can slowly understand where I am going, so I feel comfortable moving around with my eyes closed.” —This quote lives in my mind now.

4. Book recommendation: Anything Annie Ernaux. I’m obsessed.

5. I listen to this song at least five times a day right now: Got me started; Troye Sivan

6. A list of some books regarding Palestine that you may find helpful if wanting to learn more.

1. When I say “we” I’m referring to my partner “C.” and I.