POSTCARD FROM HUNGARY // vol. 2

This old house, fields full of fruit, and how we find home

Hello, 

It’s been two weeks since I wrote to you about life in Hungary, but it feels like a month. Village days start with the roosters and end with evening church bells, when the sun slips beneath the hills and the swallows swarm in the sky–their African migration nearing. 

It’s then that we pour out of the kitchen into the yard – wooden platters piled h…