The sound of crickets

We spent February and the whole of spring in Belgium. The boys were busy with homeschooling and their various activities; Sylvain focused on building his new office, while I worked on releasing my only series of the year, Sun & Moon, and preparing for my very first solo exhibition—an invitation from the curator at Holleken Farm in the south of Brussels.

As June approached, we packed our bags with tools, summer clothes, paint, brushes, and goods we’d collected over months of Sunday flea-market trips for the house. We then hit the road to return to our beloved moara (mill, in Romanian) in the Carpathians.

On arrival, we were anxious about what we might find. Last time, mice had completely taken over the kitchen and even visited the beds (yuck!). This time, before leaving in January, we cleared away all potential food and installed frequency plugs (I think that’s what they’re called). To our relief, it worked. The house was clean, almost dust-free, and apart from a few insects here and there, all was well. The grass, on the other hand, had grown. A lot. We spent much of the first weeks dealing with piles of hay, which I lovingly shaped into large căpiță, as they’re called here.

We also had the visit of friends and, although we were not yet in our most comfortable hosting capacities, we loved having them with us. The simplicity of our set-up and the life we have here made everything feel lighter, joyful, special.

A few days later, we headed to Negreni, an absolutely gigantic flea market where you can find everything from traditional Romanian textiles and antique icons to mămăligă and thousands of second-hand trainers. It’s vibrant, colourful, hot and an experience that never fails to inspire us.

Since then, our days have been filled with practical work. We build, cook, clean, cut, wash, plaster, wire and build some more. And through it all, we feel wonderfully alive. For a few hours each day, usually when the air is cooler, I paint in view of the exhibition and fulfil orders. The boys fish in the river daily, and they’re getting impressively good at it. I love seeing them absorbed in such a skill. They’ve also made plenty of friends after rejoining the local football club. They’re now almost fluent in Romanian, which is more than Sylvain and I can say, but we’re slowly catching up.

Life here is certainly different. It is soft, beautiful, raw and hard at times. I once told Denisa, a dear friend from a nearby village, “Life in the countryside can be harsh and gentle all at once.” Tranquil summer evenings with the soothing sound of crickets can turn into storms that bring down hundred-year-old trees but I guess that is what makes it all so special to us.