Zielona, the place I call home.

There is a village in the south of Poland, squeezed between three rivers and an old, vast forest. The village has no shop, pub, or church; it’s just a cluster of houses, and even those are not in abundance. There is only one cow, a living remnant of the past, chewing away at the clover (her favourite).

That’s where I grew up.

Although, that’s a lie. I grew up in the neighbouring village, much bigger, with a church, a school, a post office, a library, and five shops. The full package, one could say. I was 15 when my family moved to Zielona. What a charming name, isn’t it? Zielona. It means, simply: green. As a child, I spent a fair chunk of time in Zielona, where my grandparents live and my mum grew up.

I often think, how many people constantly find themselves, like me, going back in their thoughts to this dear place, where they spent the most (I’d hope) carefree years of their lives? How amazing, that all of us, the ones who got detached, tangled in the many roads leading to places we wouldn’t even dream of at the age of 6, find our way home. I realise, sometimes: if I had to explain to someone how to get to Zielona, it’d be a challenge.

Sometimes, I try to imagine other people’s journeys home. In London, where everyone is different but somehow similar in their difference, people are like a colourful wave. Marching through the busy streets, shopping, going to or from work, chatting, stopping to get a coffee from Pret, always in a hurry, somehow absent. But they all come from somewhere. All of them have a place on Earth they call or used to call, home. Where is this somewhere? How do they get there? How many planes, buses, and trains it takes them to get home?

Or should I even call it home? What is home, really? Is it the place where we grew up? The place we live now? What if we’re constantly moving—changing cities, flats, and rooms? When did “home” become such a central part of human interest? Is the need for a home instinctual? And is there a difference between being home and feeling at home? For me, home is so much more than just a physical space. It’s an idea—a sense of belonging, a place where we feel at ease, where we feel rooted. It doesn’t need to exist as a tangible building or place. It’s that fleeting, yet grounding feeling of peace when the anxiety of not belonging finally fades. It’s when you feel you can just be—yourself, unfiltered, and free.

When I was growing up, I dreamed big—so big it felt like the world couldn’t contain me. I devoured books as if my life depended on it, losing myself in the history of Ancient Mesopotamia, attempting to learn the hieroglyphs, and reading until I’d read or looked through most of the books in the village library. I dreamed of travel, of studying abroad, of speaking foreign languages. I couldn’t wait for the day I’d set myself free. I wanted to pack my things and leave, to begin my adventure, to be away.

And now? Now, I find myself longing for the very things I once did not know how to appreciate, or even see. I yearn for the changing seasons, so vivid in Poland. For the morning fog of November. For frost-dusted grass of winter mornings. For the vegetables from my mum’s garden. For my babcia’s soups. For the taste of fresh bread. The smell of the forest in spring. Mushroom picking. Riding a bike down familiar paths.

Nostalgia is a funny thing. It plays tricks on your mind; the longer you’re away, the more you find yourself idealising things that may not even be worth a second thought. You look back and reevaluate. Suddenly, the little details you barely noticed before seem appealing—interesting, even. I find myself dreaming of this utopian landscape I’ve crafted in my head, longing for it, missing it. But then, when I finally return and the initial awe fades, I catch myself yearning for home again.

And it makes me wonder: will I ever find a place where I can feel completely at home?

Zielona, the little village I call home, has a charm of its own. When I arrive, I’m struck by the calmness, the peacefulness, the unhurried rhythm of life. Someone rides by on a bike, moving slowly, without a hint of urgency. People stand patiently in line at the local shop, unbothered, unrushed. Even the dogs bark lazily, as if they’ve decided there’s no need to overdo it. With every minute, I feel the tiredness wearing off.

The village itself has a history that stretches back centuries. It was first mentioned in 1727 as part of the Mikluszowice parish. At the time, Zielona and its neighbouring villages were royal lands, known today as Gmina Drwinia in Polish. The forest, known as Puszcza Niepołomicka (Niepołomice Forest), stretches over a vast area in the western part of the Sandomierz Basin, about 20 kilometres east of Kraków. Its name originates from the old Polish adjective niepołomny, meaning “impassable” or “impossible to destroy or conquer.” Covering 94.43 hectares, the forest is home to many plant and animal species. It encompasses six nature reserves, boasting diverse flora and fauna, and is home to a rich variety of birds as well as European bison, wild boar, deer, wolves, lynx, and wildcats. At the heart of Niepołomice Forest lies one of its most protected areas, home to European bison (żubr)—the heaviest surviving land animal in Europe.

Due to its proximity to Kraków, which once served as Poland’s capital and the residence of Polish kings, Puszcza Niepołomicka became a favoured hunting ground for royalty as far back as the 13th century. The first recorded mention of the forest appears in a document from 1242, where it was referred to as “Kłaj”—a name now carried by a village near Bochnia.

In the forest’s vicinity, King Casimir III the Great commissioned the construction of a royal hunting castle in Niepołomice. Later rebuilt in the late Renaissance style, the castle is often referred to as “the second Wawel,” drawing comparisons to the iconic Royal Castle in Kraków.

As for Zielona, I especially like returning in May, it has always been my favourite month. Nature has awakened, but it’s not yet filled with the loud, vibrant buzz of June and July. The meadows are sprinkled with countless flowers in every imaginable colour. The forest is lush and alive with the songs of birds. The days are warm, but the nights are still a bit chilly. There’s something magical about sitting outside on the porch at night, listening to the chorus of frogs croaking in the darkness. It’s the most beautiful song, I think. The storks are back from their voyages, busy tidying their nests on the rooftops and lampposts, preparing to host new members of their stork families. Everything is in full bloom: cherry trees, and apple trees, all dusted with white flowers, like icing sugar. May is a cheerful month. with fresh, crisp weather, the greenness around, the frogs, and the storks, it is a great time to find yourself in a place like Zielona.

Here’s a new gallery of photos taken this summer (2019). Enjoy!