In this part of Huta there is no longer a real farmer. I write about the old life because today's more and more often means empty houses.
Today, in this part of the village where the Kępiński farm lies, we will no longer find a real farmer. Many have leased or sold their land, most often to farmers from neighbouring villages. Many buildings no longer exist or stand empty, visited only now and then by the family.
Agricultural policy, poor soils and unprofitable production — despite subsidies — all drove the village's depopulation. The young leave: for studies, for abroad, for surer bread.
That is why I set it all down. Not out of grief — or at least not only. Rather out of a conviction that if this world falls silent, someone ought to record how it once sounded. I close the book with a poem that is not my own: "And when it has touched heaven, for a life has been lived, I know what I shall say then: Ah, God… it was worth it!"
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