Author: An unknown Lûvian traveler

Published in the magazine: Bärinar Wanderings

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A Lûvian traveler visits one of the oldest homesteads in Mâr Bärinar. What he discovered among the fields of apples and grain forever altered his understanding of what it truly means to have a home.

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Hûfäm niv Kämûv – Where the Apples Outscent the Wind

When I left Ost Jômil and took the northwestern path, the landscape opened up into a vastness known only to Mâr Bärinar. The light here is not harsh, but serene. The fields stretch to the horizon, and the wind plays with the grain as if guided by an unseen hand.

Nine kilometers from the settlement lies a place of which I had heard long before I even set foot in these parts. Hûfäm niv Kämûv. A farm that has stood here almost since the very first months of Ost Jômil’s existence. Founded in the same year as the settlement itself, it was named after the Kämûv Plains, which early explorers once marked as the most fertile part of this land.

At first glance, it does not appear ostentatious. The main house is spacious, well-structured, and sturdy. Surrounding it are orchards and fields, several barns and silos, and smaller dwellings for the farmhands. Everything feels orderly, functional, and devoid of needless pride. And yet, one senses something more than mere labor here.

Perhaps it is the scent.

The apples here smell different than anywhere else. The air is sweet and pure, mingled with the fine dust of grain and the crisp coolness from a nearby pond that supplies the farm with water. A stream quietly flows past, and the landscape is so open that one feels as though they can see all the way to the Kämûv nämûnän itself.

The Lärkän lineage has held this farm for generations. The locals speak of them with respect, yet without grandiosity. “Hardworking. Reliable. Good people,” a shopkeeper in Ost Jômil told me when I inquired about them. And she was right.

Nine family members reside permanently on the farm. The grandmother, a petite woman with a firm voice, remains the head of all matters. Not loudly, not harshly. Simply naturally. Her son with his family, her daughter with hers. Generations sharing not only the soil, but the very rhythm of the day.

During the harvest, up to twenty-four people move across the grounds. The fields come alive. Heavy wagons set out at dawn, small machines whir between the trees, and the aroma of food for everyone wafts from the large communal dining hall. Outside of harvest time, the pace is calmer. Four adults tend to the work, with the grandmother occasionally lending a hand. Apprentices come to learn about saplings and the careful selection of trees.

The apple trees are the pride of this place. New saplings are propagated in glasshouses, while old trees are replaced only after meticulous consideration. The timber of the felled trees possesses a peculiar grain—a blue-green core and a silvery-blue bark. It is often sold before the tree even hits the ground.

The apples make their way to the Jômil market, the local shop, other settlements, and Bärinar itself. Most frequently, however, they end up in the Jômil bakery. There, they are turned into pies that are spoken of in taverns dozens of kilometers away.

The grain from Hûfäm niv Kämûv is destined primarily for the breweries of Bärinar. Five silos stand in a row like guardians of the harvest. It is said that the malt from this grain is of extraordinary quality. I am no connoisseur of beer, but during an evening in Ost Jômil, I indulged in one. And I must admit, it possessed a fullness of flavor I had not tasted in a long time.

The farm is by no means cut off from the world. Two cargo trucks for grain, one for the daily transport of apples, multi-purpose vehicles for field work, a harvester, and a heavy plowing vehicle—everything operates with the aid of advanced Savrös technologies. Cooling systems in the barns, an automated apple-processing line, and irrigation managed more precisely than the human eye could ever estimate.

And yet, nothing here feels cold.

Every morning, I would see the grandmother using her personal vehicle to drive her grandchildren to school in Ost Jômil. On her way back, she would gather provisions and return to the fields. It is a small thing. But it is precisely those small things that hold the world together.

As I was leaving the farm, the wind rose, and the fields billowed like the sea. I realized that some places are not significant because they are grand or famous. They are significant because they preserve continuity.

Hûfäm niv Kämûv is one of those places.

It is not merely a farm. It is the living memory of the land of Mâr Bärinar.

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Author’s Notes:

• Hûfäm niv Kämûv is historically linked to the Lärkän family, who have managed it since its inception.
• The ancestral lineage of the character Arëvin Lärkän originates from this farm; her story is captured in the book series Stories of the Savrös Empire I – The Journey of Young Arëvin.
• “Nämûnän” means plains in Old Savrös.
• “Hûfäm” denotes a homestead or farm in Old Savrös.