When we first walked this land, the soil was tired and the grass grew taller than us. We did not rush. We observed the rain, the wind, the way the water moved down the hillside after a storm.
Then the gardens came slowly: banana circles to drink the greywater, swales to hold the rain, and seedlings pressed into beds by hands of every age. Today the harvest table outside the bamboo hall carries more than we can eat — and the surplus goes to the neighbours, as fair share always intended.
If you visit, take a moment to taste a tomato straight from the vine. That flavour is the story of patience.
