As it turns out, we actually have quite a connection with this place. Our group leader, Yveta, had stumbled upon a photo of Nicola’s farm on House Sitter two years ago. Out of curiosity, she clicked into Nicola’s Facebook profile and saw that a friend of hers appeared in one of the photos.
One time, Yveta happened to drive by, and Nicola welcomed her with a generous breakfast. She hadn’t anticipated anything like that.
Nicola and her family moved here from Birmingham 18 years ago. There’s only one bus a week from this village to Prague.
“But that’s enough.”
It had been Nicola’s idea all along to move here, though she never said it out loud. Then, one day, while they were driving through the Czech countryside, “my husband said, let’s buy it.” She smiled—perhaps her smile was the same as it had been eighteen years ago.
Nicola doesn’t charge her guests anything — in exchange, we help with small chores around the farm. Some of us were assigned to bathe the two adorable Samoyeds, Alfie and Boti. Others picked jack-by-the-hedge, carefully instructed to harvest only the leaves and leave the roots to continue growing. By the time we arrived, the sheep and pet pig, Piggy, had already been fed. I was tasked with clearing out cobwebs, but before that, I wanted to greet all the animals.
I played with a lovely black-and-white kitten. The kitten Odessacame from Ukraine. Ever since the war began, Nicola has been hosting Ukrainian families. Sometimes entire families come, hoping for the best while preparing for the worst. Nicola invited a plumber to install a proper water and drainage system in the hallway. She herself is fine using a liquid-only toilet, but since these people didn’t choose to leave their comfortable homes, she believes it’s only right to make things easier for them. Sometimes, she sells Bunbury postcards on Facebook to raise money in support of refugees.
Although Nicola can’t move around easily, she recommended that we take the dogs for a walk to a chocolate café in the nearby town, about 3.5 km away. It sounded far at first, but as we walked—singing along the way, through forests, across roads and golden-green plains—the beautiful Czech countryside made the time fly. She told us she often spends the whole afternoon there, enjoying the peace.
I found that the phone signal wasn’t very good in the area, so I decided to put my phone away. We took turns lying in the cradle, soaking up the sun. Nicola stayed in bed reading, and Alfie curled up beside her. Sunlight streamed in through the windows and onto the plants on the balcony. Everything quieted down.
As we walked, Yveta said to me, “We really don’t need our phones, do we?”
The next morning, Yveta was startled by a sudden rustling sound—but Nicola remained calm in bed, as if this was something she was used to. Turns out it was Piggy, the pig, knocking at the door. I opened the back door and walked out to the farm, where I found some warm, freshly laid eggs. I picked them up and made shakshuka, bringing it to Nicola’s bedside. Out here, self-sufficiency is a way of life.
I saw Nicola trying to get to the toilet. I walked over and offered to help push her wheelchair. She smiled and said, “Thank you—but I can do it.”
So I let go.
With a little effort, she moved forward with her own strength. The wheels bumped gently over the branches and stones on the grass, but she kept going, steady and calm.
Standing there, I suddenly realized that Nicola will be fine here—whether she is surrounded by guests or spending quiet days on her own.
In this place she chose—with the animals, the fields, the morning light — she has everything she needs.
And somehow, we leave feeling like we’ve been given something, too.
