The Art of the June Simmer

(Notes from the Dutch Countryside)

It is a rare and beautiful thing to find yourself entirely off the clock with absolutely nowhere you have to be.

Right now, I am experiencing a glorious, four-day oasis of freedom. The phone lines are quiet, the tarot decks are resting, and I have nothing but time stretching out before me.

If you’ve never experienced June in the rural Netherlands, it has a specific, grounding magic. The air smells like fresh grass, the sky is an ever-shifting canvas of dramatic clouds, and the local wildlife (mostly overly opinionated sheep) provide a steady ambient soundtrack.

As an American expat living out here on the farm, I’ve been trying to master a concept the Dutch call gezelligheid. It doesn’t have a direct English translation, but it’s a mix of coziness, connection, and just being completely present in a pleasant moment.

So, instead of treating this time off as a frantic race to be productive, I am practicing the art of the slow simmer.

I’m sitting on the porch with a coffee, letting the countryside do its thing. It turns out that when you completely step away from the noise and just let yourself stare at a flat horizon for a while, the creative gears start turning all on their own. In the quiet spaces between the farm chores, the plots for the Utopia novel are finally untangling, and the visual aesthetics for shabbies are clicking into place.

Sometimes, the best career move is to just sit still and let the ideas catch up to you.