A few Saturdays ago, we had a tree planting activity in the outskirts of town — one of those simple yet meaningful mornings that remind me why I love living in the province. The air was cool and crisp, the kind that gently brushes your face as if saying good morning. We arrived early, armed with seedlings, shovels, and the quiet enthusiasm that comes with doing something good for the earth.
After hours of digging, planting, and laughing under the sun, our group gathered in a small bahay kubo nearby. It was the perfect spot — shaded, breezy, and surrounded by the very trees we had just planted. Someone had prepared breakfast, and as we sat down, the aroma of freshly cooked food filled the air. There was lechon glistening in its golden perfection, warm saging na saba, ginamos (salted fish), steaming rice, and soft puto. It was a humble feast, yet it felt special because it was shared among friends and nature itself.
In that moment, everything was peaceful. The sound of birds, the rustle of leaves, and the chatter of people created a comforting rhythm. Little did we know, it was the calm before the storm. Just days later, a 6.8 magnitude earthquake shook our city — a sudden reminder of how fragile everything can be.
Looking back, that Saturday felt like a quiet gift — a pause before chaos. It showed me how simple joys in the province, like eating breakfast in a bamboo hut after a morning of hard work, can be grounding and meaningful. Life here moves slower, but it’s filled with moments that matter: laughter over shared food, the scent of soil after rain, and the resilience that binds communities together when nature reminds us of her power.
Sometimes, it takes a calm morning — and a storm after — to realize how beautiful and fleeting peace can be.
That's it for today's blog. See you in my next one!
Sending some love and light
With love, Jane