The sun had just dried the morning dew when Jonah met his cousin Maya at the edge of the field behind their grandparents' cottage. They were both visiting for the weekend — a brief escape from emails, meetings, and city noise.
“Ready for a forage walk?” Maya asked, passing Jonah a pair of thick gardening gloves.
Nina zipped her light jacket and stepped out into the late afternoon sun. The air was warm, the kind that coaxed flowers to bloom and made every step feel like a small renewal. She held a shallow basket in one hand and called to her niece, Ava, who was already skipping down the path.
“Let’s check on the chamomile,” Nina said. “I think it’s ready.”
It started as a simple plan — just a walk to get some sun after days of being cooped up indoors. A late spring breeze moved gently through the yard as Nora stepped outside, a wicker basket in one hand and a pair of shears in the other.
Her nephew, Theo, joined her, eyes squinting up at the sky. “What are we picking today?”
“Peppermint,” Nora said. “The patch by the fence has gone wild.”
The air was crisp that Saturday morning, carrying the scent of damp leaves and cool earth. Marcus zipped up his coat as Leila bounded down the porch steps, already tugging at his sleeve.
“Come on,” she said, eyes bright. “Let’s go see what Grandma’s growing.”
Their grandmother’s backyard wasn’t large, but it was full of life — raised beds overflowing with greens, rows of calendula, basil, lemon balm, and in the far corner, a patch of rough, thick-stemmed plants with long green leaves pushing up from the soil.
Lena’s family had long believed the old forest behind their cottage was special. It wasn’t just the towering oaks or the silver creek that ran through it — it was the whispers.
No one else seemed to hear them. Only Lena.
On a bright spring morning, she set out with her younger brother, Eli, and their grandmother, Mira. They carried a woven basket, a small tin of dried herbs, and a kettle.
Galen hadn’t visited the family cabin in over a decade. Life had filled itself with urgent things: work, prescriptions, routines, more work. The kind of life where the only nature he saw was the occasional houseplant by his window — and even that had wilted.
But when his younger cousin Mina called and said, “Come up — just for a weekend. We’ll walk the Pine Path like we used to,” he hesitated for only a moment before packing his duffel bag and his pill organizer.
Mari never used to believe in rest. Her calendar was color-coded chaos, her nights filled with half-slept hours, and her body — well, her body had decided it had enough. The flare-up wasn’t dramatic, but it was persistent: headaches, digestive issues, tight chest, scattered thoughts. Her doctor called it burnout, prescribed rest, light movement, and gently reminded her that medication only works if the system it enters isn’t constantly on fire.
So when her Aunt Lidia invited her to spend a weekend at the family cottage tucked in the hills, Mari gave in.
“I’ll just stay two days,” she had said.
The sun had just begun its descent over the hills, casting long shadows across the village square. In the middle of the bustling marketplace, Mei stood by her tea stand, pouring a fresh pot of lychee oolong. The scent was captivating, the sweet fragrance of lychee lifting through the air, pulling in curious passersby. Mei’s tea was becoming the talk of the village, not just for its unique flavor but for the sense of well-being it brought to those who drank it.
The picnic was a last-minute idea, born from a rare free Sunday and a cooler full of leftovers. Mara suggested the hill near the old orchard...