Infatuated with the countryside, Henrik and Rebekka had moved to the area for the full, fly-swatting experience. At the edge of the village, where one last row of houses sat sharply against the green hillside, they moved into a little red-brick cottage that sandwiched itself between two large farmhouses.
On cold days, the farmers would hang up, by their hooves, large pigs, which greeted them along the path to their front door. On hot days, the wind carried sweet dunghill smells across the courtyards and into their kitchen. Henrik and Rebekka were in love.Read More