Robert Eržen
@roberterzen.bsky.social
👨🌾 Life at remote mountain farm Podbukovc. Simple living, mindful work & beauty all around.
📍Slovenia 🇸🇮 🇪🇺
📍Slovenia 🇸🇮 🇪🇺
THIS is farm life—the slow living kind. A small goat family grazing in peace on a mountain slope. 🐐💚 #Podbukovc
August 16, 2025 at 1:02 PM
THIS is farm life—the slow living kind. A small goat family grazing in peace on a mountain slope. 🐐💚 #Podbukovc
Soft cheeps, golden fluff, and rain-washed grass — life in the chicken coop is quietly beautiful. 🐥
August 15, 2025 at 1:06 PM
Soft cheeps, golden fluff, and rain-washed grass — life in the chicken coop is quietly beautiful. 🐥
Between blueberries, raspberries, and warm blossoms, time melts into slowness.
Colors grow deeper, scents grow softer, and every leaf breathes with the sun.
Here, there is no rush – here, you listen.
Which summer bloom instantly brings you peace? 🌸 For me, it’s the marigold in the evening light.
Colors grow deeper, scents grow softer, and every leaf breathes with the sun.
Here, there is no rush – here, you listen.
Which summer bloom instantly brings you peace? 🌸 For me, it’s the marigold in the evening light.
August 14, 2025 at 6:31 AM
Between blueberries, raspberries, and warm blossoms, time melts into slowness.
Colors grow deeper, scents grow softer, and every leaf breathes with the sun.
Here, there is no rush – here, you listen.
Which summer bloom instantly brings you peace? 🌸 For me, it’s the marigold in the evening light.
Colors grow deeper, scents grow softer, and every leaf breathes with the sun.
Here, there is no rush – here, you listen.
Which summer bloom instantly brings you peace? 🌸 For me, it’s the marigold in the evening light.
The forest is no place for carelessness.
Every tool we bring in has a job: the wedge that tips the giant, the saw that shapes the fall, the helmet that lets us walk away. Strength matters, but it’s precision that keep the work safe — and keep the day from ending in the wrong kind of ride. 🌲🌳
Every tool we bring in has a job: the wedge that tips the giant, the saw that shapes the fall, the helmet that lets us walk away. Strength matters, but it’s precision that keep the work safe — and keep the day from ending in the wrong kind of ride. 🌲🌳
August 13, 2025 at 12:43 PM
The forest is no place for carelessness.
Every tool we bring in has a job: the wedge that tips the giant, the saw that shapes the fall, the helmet that lets us walk away. Strength matters, but it’s precision that keep the work safe — and keep the day from ending in the wrong kind of ride. 🌲🌳
Every tool we bring in has a job: the wedge that tips the giant, the saw that shapes the fall, the helmet that lets us walk away. Strength matters, but it’s precision that keep the work safe — and keep the day from ending in the wrong kind of ride. 🌲🌳
Not every day the countryside reveals a rare guest.
Today, just outside our home, I met the giant oak longhorn beetle — a quiet wanderer of the old forests, moving with the slow patience of time itself.
Nature’s treasures are often small… yet full of stories worth listening to. 🌿
Today, just outside our home, I met the giant oak longhorn beetle — a quiet wanderer of the old forests, moving with the slow patience of time itself.
Nature’s treasures are often small… yet full of stories worth listening to. 🌿
August 12, 2025 at 4:04 PM
Not every day the countryside reveals a rare guest.
Today, just outside our home, I met the giant oak longhorn beetle — a quiet wanderer of the old forests, moving with the slow patience of time itself.
Nature’s treasures are often small… yet full of stories worth listening to. 🌿
Today, just outside our home, I met the giant oak longhorn beetle — a quiet wanderer of the old forests, moving with the slow patience of time itself.
Nature’s treasures are often small… yet full of stories worth listening to. 🌿
There’s a kind of joy that lives only on the hillside—where little ones bounce around old ones who graze in slow peace.
The world may rush, but up here, the rhythm belongs to the young and old who live together in harmony.
Sometimes, happiness wears tiny horns and runs downhill just because it can.
The world may rush, but up here, the rhythm belongs to the young and old who live together in harmony.
Sometimes, happiness wears tiny horns and runs downhill just because it can.
August 7, 2025 at 5:55 PM
There’s a kind of joy that lives only on the hillside—where little ones bounce around old ones who graze in slow peace.
The world may rush, but up here, the rhythm belongs to the young and old who live together in harmony.
Sometimes, happiness wears tiny horns and runs downhill just because it can.
The world may rush, but up here, the rhythm belongs to the young and old who live together in harmony.
Sometimes, happiness wears tiny horns and runs downhill just because it can.
Sometimes, the narrowest paths lead to the richest encounters. 🌲🚜
The tree’s surface is like a worn journal — carved by insects, weather, and time. 🐜🌳
A hollow in the heartwood, shaped with precision — by beak or by beetle. 🕳️🦜
The tree’s surface is like a worn journal — carved by insects, weather, and time. 🐜🌳
A hollow in the heartwood, shaped with precision — by beak or by beetle. 🕳️🦜
August 6, 2025 at 4:42 PM
Sometimes, the narrowest paths lead to the richest encounters. 🌲🚜
The tree’s surface is like a worn journal — carved by insects, weather, and time. 🐜🌳
A hollow in the heartwood, shaped with precision — by beak or by beetle. 🕳️🦜
The tree’s surface is like a worn journal — carved by insects, weather, and time. 🐜🌳
A hollow in the heartwood, shaped with precision — by beak or by beetle. 🕳️🦜
Some wounds never hardened him.
He grew into his own silence —
noble, alert, still.
Sir Richard lost one eye as a kitten to an infection, but never lost his poise.
He watches the valley with steady peace, as if nothing is missing.
Maybe that's the lesson:
Even with less, we can still be whole.
He grew into his own silence —
noble, alert, still.
Sir Richard lost one eye as a kitten to an infection, but never lost his poise.
He watches the valley with steady peace, as if nothing is missing.
Maybe that's the lesson:
Even with less, we can still be whole.
August 5, 2025 at 5:31 PM
Some wounds never hardened him.
He grew into his own silence —
noble, alert, still.
Sir Richard lost one eye as a kitten to an infection, but never lost his poise.
He watches the valley with steady peace, as if nothing is missing.
Maybe that's the lesson:
Even with less, we can still be whole.
He grew into his own silence —
noble, alert, still.
Sir Richard lost one eye as a kitten to an infection, but never lost his poise.
He watches the valley with steady peace, as if nothing is missing.
Maybe that's the lesson:
Even with less, we can still be whole.
Up here, the world slows to a whisper.
There’s no signal but your breath, no noise but birdsong and leaf-rustle.
Climbing isn’t just upward — it’s inward. 🌲🪜
And when you finally look up…
you realize: the forest has been holding you all along. 🌳☁️
There’s no signal but your breath, no noise but birdsong and leaf-rustle.
Climbing isn’t just upward — it’s inward. 🌲🪜
And when you finally look up…
you realize: the forest has been holding you all along. 🌳☁️
August 4, 2025 at 4:58 PM
Up here, the world slows to a whisper.
There’s no signal but your breath, no noise but birdsong and leaf-rustle.
Climbing isn’t just upward — it’s inward. 🌲🪜
And when you finally look up…
you realize: the forest has been holding you all along. 🌳☁️
There’s no signal but your breath, no noise but birdsong and leaf-rustle.
Climbing isn’t just upward — it’s inward. 🌲🪜
And when you finally look up…
you realize: the forest has been holding you all along. 🌳☁️
In this season of sun, the garden speaks in color and ripeness. 🍏💜
Nothing rushed. Nothing wasted. Just the humble beauty of summer, exactly as it is.
A gentle reminder: life ripens when we stop hurrying. 🌿
Nothing rushed. Nothing wasted. Just the humble beauty of summer, exactly as it is.
A gentle reminder: life ripens when we stop hurrying. 🌿
August 2, 2025 at 4:27 PM
In this season of sun, the garden speaks in color and ripeness. 🍏💜
Nothing rushed. Nothing wasted. Just the humble beauty of summer, exactly as it is.
A gentle reminder: life ripens when we stop hurrying. 🌿
Nothing rushed. Nothing wasted. Just the humble beauty of summer, exactly as it is.
A gentle reminder: life ripens when we stop hurrying. 🌿
Dolly didn’t hurry.
She paused at each curve of the path,
listened to the stream murmur secrets,
let the forest wrap her in green silence.
There’s a rhythm older than clocks out here.
One pawstep, one breath, one moment at a time.
And somehow, that feels like enough. 🌿🐶💦
She paused at each curve of the path,
listened to the stream murmur secrets,
let the forest wrap her in green silence.
There’s a rhythm older than clocks out here.
One pawstep, one breath, one moment at a time.
And somehow, that feels like enough. 🌿🐶💦
August 1, 2025 at 11:20 AM
Dolly didn’t hurry.
She paused at each curve of the path,
listened to the stream murmur secrets,
let the forest wrap her in green silence.
There’s a rhythm older than clocks out here.
One pawstep, one breath, one moment at a time.
And somehow, that feels like enough. 🌿🐶💦
She paused at each curve of the path,
listened to the stream murmur secrets,
let the forest wrap her in green silence.
There’s a rhythm older than clocks out here.
One pawstep, one breath, one moment at a time.
And somehow, that feels like enough. 🌿🐶💦
The forest teaches patience.
Among the tall trees and quiet slopes, every cut and every step feels both ancient and necessary. It’s not about speed. It’s about presence. 🌲✨
Among the tall trees and quiet slopes, every cut and every step feels both ancient and necessary. It’s not about speed. It’s about presence. 🌲✨
July 31, 2025 at 3:04 PM
The forest teaches patience.
Among the tall trees and quiet slopes, every cut and every step feels both ancient and necessary. It’s not about speed. It’s about presence. 🌲✨
Among the tall trees and quiet slopes, every cut and every step feels both ancient and necessary. It’s not about speed. It’s about presence. 🌲✨
A lively little stream, tucked under moss and time, flowing through the woods. It doesn't shout for attention. It just is.
The forest doesn’t ask you to hurry. It waits, quietly, for those who slow down enough to notice. 🌿💧
The forest doesn’t ask you to hurry. It waits, quietly, for those who slow down enough to notice. 🌿💧
July 30, 2025 at 2:04 PM
A lively little stream, tucked under moss and time, flowing through the woods. It doesn't shout for attention. It just is.
The forest doesn’t ask you to hurry. It waits, quietly, for those who slow down enough to notice. 🌿💧
The forest doesn’t ask you to hurry. It waits, quietly, for those who slow down enough to notice. 🌿💧
Koprivnik 🌿.
It’s just across the valley from us,
but stepping there feels like entering a page from a photographic dream.
Summer unfolds—fields sway, birdsong lingers, and the air carries the joy of simply being.
This is why we stay.
For hills like this. For days like this.
It’s just across the valley from us,
but stepping there feels like entering a page from a photographic dream.
Summer unfolds—fields sway, birdsong lingers, and the air carries the joy of simply being.
This is why we stay.
For hills like this. For days like this.
July 29, 2025 at 2:14 PM
Koprivnik 🌿.
It’s just across the valley from us,
but stepping there feels like entering a page from a photographic dream.
Summer unfolds—fields sway, birdsong lingers, and the air carries the joy of simply being.
This is why we stay.
For hills like this. For days like this.
It’s just across the valley from us,
but stepping there feels like entering a page from a photographic dream.
Summer unfolds—fields sway, birdsong lingers, and the air carries the joy of simply being.
This is why we stay.
For hills like this. For days like this.
There’s no easy way to move logs off a steep mountain slope.
But there’s a rhythm to it. A strength in repetition.
Chain the log.
Let the meadow carry the weight.
Breathe. Unhook. Stack. And begin again.
This is what sustainable forestry looks like – not just the work, but the care behind it.
But there’s a rhythm to it. A strength in repetition.
Chain the log.
Let the meadow carry the weight.
Breathe. Unhook. Stack. And begin again.
This is what sustainable forestry looks like – not just the work, but the care behind it.
July 28, 2025 at 2:45 PM
There’s no easy way to move logs off a steep mountain slope.
But there’s a rhythm to it. A strength in repetition.
Chain the log.
Let the meadow carry the weight.
Breathe. Unhook. Stack. And begin again.
This is what sustainable forestry looks like – not just the work, but the care behind it.
But there’s a rhythm to it. A strength in repetition.
Chain the log.
Let the meadow carry the weight.
Breathe. Unhook. Stack. And begin again.
This is what sustainable forestry looks like – not just the work, but the care behind it.
Not everything is in a rush to arrive.
Some sweetness takes its time.
A vineyard waits in stillness.
Berries blush under soft leaves.
Even the woods—green, mossy, and humming with hidden life—are not in a hurry.
Here, ripening is not a task.
It's a quiet promise,
fulfilled when it’s time.
Some sweetness takes its time.
A vineyard waits in stillness.
Berries blush under soft leaves.
Even the woods—green, mossy, and humming with hidden life—are not in a hurry.
Here, ripening is not a task.
It's a quiet promise,
fulfilled when it’s time.
July 27, 2025 at 12:56 PM
Not everything is in a rush to arrive.
Some sweetness takes its time.
A vineyard waits in stillness.
Berries blush under soft leaves.
Even the woods—green, mossy, and humming with hidden life—are not in a hurry.
Here, ripening is not a task.
It's a quiet promise,
fulfilled when it’s time.
Some sweetness takes its time.
A vineyard waits in stillness.
Berries blush under soft leaves.
Even the woods—green, mossy, and humming with hidden life—are not in a hurry.
Here, ripening is not a task.
It's a quiet promise,
fulfilled when it’s time.
It’s not easy work. The slope is unforgiving.
But I long for it. This stillness. This rhythm. This honest kind of tired.
Out here, the forest doesn’t rush you.
It only asks for presence — and gives peace in return.
And when I return home, sore and quiet,
I know something ancient has been fed.
But I long for it. This stillness. This rhythm. This honest kind of tired.
Out here, the forest doesn’t rush you.
It only asks for presence — and gives peace in return.
And when I return home, sore and quiet,
I know something ancient has been fed.
July 26, 2025 at 12:18 PM
It’s not easy work. The slope is unforgiving.
But I long for it. This stillness. This rhythm. This honest kind of tired.
Out here, the forest doesn’t rush you.
It only asks for presence — and gives peace in return.
And when I return home, sore and quiet,
I know something ancient has been fed.
But I long for it. This stillness. This rhythm. This honest kind of tired.
Out here, the forest doesn’t rush you.
It only asks for presence — and gives peace in return.
And when I return home, sore and quiet,
I know something ancient has been fed.
While we kneel in the soil, hands deep in the warm earth, we discover a familiar pattern—our "furry coworkers" have been here too. Neatly nibbled potatoes tell tales of a vole’s secret harvest.
Farming teaches humility: not everything we grow is truly ours. But it’s still a joy. And it's enough.
Farming teaches humility: not everything we grow is truly ours. But it’s still a joy. And it's enough.
July 25, 2025 at 1:13 PM
While we kneel in the soil, hands deep in the warm earth, we discover a familiar pattern—our "furry coworkers" have been here too. Neatly nibbled potatoes tell tales of a vole’s secret harvest.
Farming teaches humility: not everything we grow is truly ours. But it’s still a joy. And it's enough.
Farming teaches humility: not everything we grow is truly ours. But it’s still a joy. And it's enough.
There’s a rhythm to life here that doesn’t need a clock.
Just footsteps in the grass.
And eyes that look at you like you matter.
We call them “animals,”
but they’re really coworkers in slower living —
keepers of presence, bringers of joy, reminders that we belong to something bigger.
Just footsteps in the grass.
And eyes that look at you like you matter.
We call them “animals,”
but they’re really coworkers in slower living —
keepers of presence, bringers of joy, reminders that we belong to something bigger.
July 24, 2025 at 11:32 AM
There’s a rhythm to life here that doesn’t need a clock.
Just footsteps in the grass.
And eyes that look at you like you matter.
We call them “animals,”
but they’re really coworkers in slower living —
keepers of presence, bringers of joy, reminders that we belong to something bigger.
Just footsteps in the grass.
And eyes that look at you like you matter.
We call them “animals,”
but they’re really coworkers in slower living —
keepers of presence, bringers of joy, reminders that we belong to something bigger.
🌼 The stillness of a summer day on the farm…
No rush. Just golden light and a breeze moving through the flowers.
In a world that runs fast, here’s your invitation to pause. 🌿
A moment of slow living, soaked in peaceful farm life and natural beauty.
No rush. Just golden light and a breeze moving through the flowers.
In a world that runs fast, here’s your invitation to pause. 🌿
A moment of slow living, soaked in peaceful farm life and natural beauty.
July 23, 2025 at 10:16 AM
🌼 The stillness of a summer day on the farm…
No rush. Just golden light and a breeze moving through the flowers.
In a world that runs fast, here’s your invitation to pause. 🌿
A moment of slow living, soaked in peaceful farm life and natural beauty.
No rush. Just golden light and a breeze moving through the flowers.
In a world that runs fast, here’s your invitation to pause. 🌿
A moment of slow living, soaked in peaceful farm life and natural beauty.
Some days feel like a memory even while you're living them.
The hum of insects, golden hay under bare feet, the rhythm of simple work in the sun. 🌾
No rush. No noise. Just the steady breath of summer on a mountain farm.
Would you trade a few busy days for one like this?
The hum of insects, golden hay under bare feet, the rhythm of simple work in the sun. 🌾
No rush. No noise. Just the steady breath of summer on a mountain farm.
Would you trade a few busy days for one like this?
July 22, 2025 at 12:20 PM
Some days feel like a memory even while you're living them.
The hum of insects, golden hay under bare feet, the rhythm of simple work in the sun. 🌾
No rush. No noise. Just the steady breath of summer on a mountain farm.
Would you trade a few busy days for one like this?
The hum of insects, golden hay under bare feet, the rhythm of simple work in the sun. 🌾
No rush. No noise. Just the steady breath of summer on a mountain farm.
Would you trade a few busy days for one like this?
Ever wished you'd be living in a postcard? Škofja Loka is a place for you! 🌄 Wander its cobblestone streets, with nature & history painting every corner. The castle's views are breathtaking, and the river whispers tales of old. 📸
July 21, 2025 at 4:55 PM
Ever wished you'd be living in a postcard? Škofja Loka is a place for you! 🌄 Wander its cobblestone streets, with nature & history painting every corner. The castle's views are breathtaking, and the river whispers tales of old. 📸
☀️ Long summer days stretch across the hills…
Bare arms, hot sun, the scent of hay in the meadow.
This is slow living countryside at its purest. No rush. Just work one task at a time. Just presence. Just peace.
Could life be more golden than this? 🌾✨
Bare arms, hot sun, the scent of hay in the meadow.
This is slow living countryside at its purest. No rush. Just work one task at a time. Just presence. Just peace.
Could life be more golden than this? 🌾✨
July 21, 2025 at 7:06 AM
☀️ Long summer days stretch across the hills…
Bare arms, hot sun, the scent of hay in the meadow.
This is slow living countryside at its purest. No rush. Just work one task at a time. Just presence. Just peace.
Could life be more golden than this? 🌾✨
Bare arms, hot sun, the scent of hay in the meadow.
This is slow living countryside at its purest. No rush. Just work one task at a time. Just presence. Just peace.
Could life be more golden than this? 🌾✨
Life begins in quiet places — under feathers, on a bed of straw, in the soft light of morning. Welcome to the world, little one. 🐣🌿
#NewBeginnings #Podbukovc #RuralLife
#NewBeginnings #Podbukovc #RuralLife
May 3, 2025 at 11:45 AM
Life begins in quiet places — under feathers, on a bed of straw, in the soft light of morning. Welcome to the world, little one. 🐣🌿
#NewBeginnings #Podbukovc #RuralLife
#NewBeginnings #Podbukovc #RuralLife