Grass

Grass is at the heart of life in rural Transylvania. Iarbă, in the Romanian dictionary, means grass, or herbs – here in the village it means the botanically precious wildflower meadows everywhere you look. Iarba turns to fân, the sweet, organic, nutrient-dense hay that keeps the animals fed through the long winter. Iarba is a vital commodity – it’s the core of the simple system that has worked so well for the thousand years or more that the village has been here. Probably since humankind began farming this land.

It’s a system that has kept people, their livestock and the land itself healthy and self-sustaining all this time; and it’s a system that European Union bureaucrats, in their urban, theoretical, obsessive unwisdom, are trying their very best to destroy in as short a time as possible.

In essence, the annual cycle starts in Spring, when the new grass pushes up through the dead stalks of the previous year, and the hillsides turn from brown to green in a few days…