As we’ve driven north the broad-acre farms with derelict collective farm buildings have gradually given way to smaller fields between forests, with small villages not far apart, we guess for more community security in the harsh winters here in the high 50s latitude. There are more houses of timber and logs.
But now it’s summer, bright, lush, sunny and warm. The wildflowers are out and everyone is cheerful. The cars consistently rate a big smile, thumbs up, and a precarious one-handed photo from other drivers. The truckies still wave and toot, and a crowd always gathers at any stop.
The fruit stalls, previously with melon and honey, now hold berries, apples, mushrooms and preserves.