Zarkhesht is an incredibly beautiful place. It’s neither dry, soulless, and purposeless like modern villas nor dilapidated and uncomfortable like old rural homes. Every brick seems to hold an idea for its uniqueness (the “Zar”). From its mostly wooden architecture to the circular environment with its endlessly immersive feeling.

After breakfast, Ali and I went to his farmland, a stunning wheat field from Khorasan in one of the country’s most scenic areas. We walked for about half an hour, and I was delighted by everything I saw. We also talked about similar misfortunes we’ve experienced, and I expressed gratitude for surviving mine. On the way back, we collected some dry wood for a fire we planned to light.

After returning and a short rest (which turned into a nap), I was awakened by the sound of grass cutting in Zarkhesht’s yard. I didn’t want to waste these days lounging around and was eager to help wherever I could. Ali probably guessed that my contribution would be limited to watering trees and guided me to the hose. Although I also picked and replanted some mint, half of it died the next day. He was right.

We spent the afternoon by a fire in Ali’s handmade barbecue, sharing stories and memories. We roasted a few eggplants for tomorrow’s Mirza Ghasemi. Dinner was Ali’s special wheat kuku, and words can’t do its deliciousness justice. If you ever get a chance, make sure he prepares it for you.

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May 16, 2020, Zarkhesht (3) | Laboring Instead of Heartbreaking