One of my lovely readers wrote recently that she would like to learn more about Estonia. As she is not the only non-Estonian reader of the blog (it’s about fifty-fifty), this got me thinking. What could I possibly write about that would fit on the blog (a history lesson would probably seem out of place), be doable (in terms of pictures and my own knowledge) and also say something about Estonia?

I have spent the last three days in the Estonian countryside, reading and cooking and taking pictures of J’s family’s country house and the garden. And that was, of course, the answer. If there is one thing typically Estonian, in addition to the ubiquitous free wifi, the love of cross-country skiing and the inability to engage in polite small talk, it is spending your summer in the country.

Despite the incredibly rapid progress of the last decades, Estonia is still a relatively rural country – especially if I compare to Belgium, mu current home. A bit less than 70% of the people live in cities and towns, the rest in the countryside. But even more relevant is the fact that most city-dwellers also have a place in the country: either a second house of their own, or they have grandparents, other relatives and/or friends in the countryside whom they can visit.

There are fancy houses, old manors or historical buildings – either shabby chic or fully restored to their former glory; there are the eco, hipster places with artfully bohemian tableware and a Mac or two; the proper farmsteads with cows or goats or pigs or all the above; the ordinary wooden houses painted in slightly unfashionable colours and surrounded by the mandatory flower beds and vegetable patches. And yes, the ugly, the desolate, the forgotten houses, too.

Regardless of the house, come holidays, everybody goes. I exaggerate for dramatic effect, but still, many do. And despite the different houses, country life is a leveller. The sea is the same for all, cold or very cold, the wild strawberries taste equally amazing for everybody, a thunderstorm can leave you without electricity or access to main roads, whoever you are. Anyone can go and pick chanterelles and with the help of some butter, salt and new potatoes, eat like a king.

I am far from thinking that Estonians have some sort of monopoly on the closeness to nature and the land, but I would still argue that this link is stronger here than in many developed western countries. If you don’t yourself, there is certainly someone you know who goes mushroom and berry picking, fishing or hunting, hiking or sailing. And I would also argue, without any research to back me up, that this has grounded the country and the people and kept us sane(er). There is still a significant amount of respect for being able to build and grow things, an alternative source of pride to earning lots of money.

I have no illusions about living in the country. I grew up in a tiny village, working in the garden and in the field every summer since I was very little, certainly before starting school. I wanted to escape very badly. I’ve seen firsthand that country life can make you bitter and break you just as easily as the life in the city. While I admire people with the skills and the capacity for hard physical labour, I cannot agree with the way Estonians occasionally fetishize this ability. I once asked my grandmother, why she has to wake up 4AM every single morning. Why, but of course so that I’d have all the morning chores finished by 6AM, she said. My grandfather built two houses and never had a day of rest, unless he was delirious with fever.

Many people would say that what my generation does now, spending a week or two in the country in the summer, drinking craft beer and instagramming colourful carrots, has nothing to do with real country life – it’s all exhibitionism and consumerism. There is some truth in that, but I also think that we should give it time. I’m sure there is a happy medium out there, but the pendulum has to finish the swings. 15 years ago, I was sure I’ll never leave the city again. And look at me now.