Good morning.
Like every Saturday, I sat down for a while to watch the news with my coffee and came across a story that left me a little worried and thoughtful.
It made me want to ask myself the following question: What happened to analog time?
Until a few minutes ago, I was reading about social media abuse, loss of concentration, and the increase in anxiety from being glued to screens all day.
They cited data and warnings from the Spanish Society of Neurology, and when you hear it from neurologists, it's impressive.
And that's why my question about analog time. Because, {nombre}, how different the pace was when we weren't connected all the time.
But you can slow down, and I'll tell you how we do it around here...
In the countryside, we still preserve a time that is not measured in likes, but in sun, in water, and in hands.
We get up early, go out to pick oranges or whatever needs harvesting, and then directly to the box. Several farmers work this way.
And we do it our way, artisanal, as our grandparents did, with patience and with the skill learned over the years.
What I like most about this job is that everything pushes you to slow down. Here you talk face-to-face with people. With Clara, with Julio, with Antonio, with the neighbor who passes by and asks how the flowers are coming along.
There's no like button, there's a "that bed turned out great" said looking you in the eyes. That little thing, which isn't little at all, grounds you.
And then there's the clock of the earth, which doesn't understand urgency.
You have to wait for fruit, nothing is immediate. You can refresh the weather app ten times, but the avocado won't ripen faster because of it.
What we do is simply return to the old ways. And perhaps doing it in our daily lives will get us off the screen a bit.
Take a walk, visit a friend, talk to a family member. As if the phone wasn't there.
I don't want to demonize screens. They also help us organize, talk to you, and let you know when a season starts.
In the countryside, rewards are slow. Seeing a tiny sapling each day, and months later seeing it grow strong, reminds you of what's important: Patience.
Now that anxiety is high everywhere, looking out each morning and seeing an orange grow or a tomato plant stretch soothes more than many meditations. It puts you in your place, reminds you that there are processes that know nothing of haste or pushing.
And when the fruit arrives, the pleasure is double, because you know what it took to get there 🍊
Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for supporting what we do. Because every order you place not only supports a way of farming, but also a way of experiencing time.
You allow us to continue going to the plot to harvest just what's needed, to continue talking with neighbors, to continue caring for trees that will bear fruit when it's time.
And, by the way, you remind us that not everything has to be immediate to be good 🌱
A big hug from the garden of Valencia, thank you for being there and for choosing us,
