Renata’s Home

It had been a few quiet days since the market, and Renata found herself falling back into her rural rhythm—early mornings, slow breakfasts, writing down flavor ideas with one hand while stirring a pot of berries with the other. Yet, the conversation with Emma and Julia lingered in her mind like the scent of warm fruit in a kitchen.

There was something about the way they had tasted the jam—curious, thoughtful, and fully present—that made her think of something she hadn’t done before: inviting guests into her video.

Renata lived about twenty minutes outside Vilnius Old Town, in a quiet village that still held traces of the past—weathered wooden houses, winding gravel paths, and the occasional stork nesting on a chimney.

Her small home sat on the edge of the village, just beyond a gentle slope of wild grass and apple trees, where the morning fog often clung to the ground in thin ribbons. From her kitchen window, she could see the distant spires of the city glint faintly in the early light, yet it felt worlds away. Here, the rhythm of life was slower—guided by soil, seasons, and the sun’s position in the sky.

On a breezy Friday morning, she stood by her kitchen window, tying back her hair with a linen scarf. A bowl of strawberries and young mint sat on the counter, freshly picked from the garden. Lemon balm leaves had been steeping in warm water for tea. A basket of small, golden-skinned new potatoes waited nearby, still dusted with soil.

Summer was just beginning to show. The bees hummed outside the window, and the air smelled of damp earth and thyme.

Renata flipped through her notebook, filled with handwritten recipes, short reflections, and video notes. She paused on a half-finished page titled “Seasonal Taste, Seasonal Memory.”

What if the next video was less like a tutorial, and more like a conversation? Not just about how to make jam—but why she made it. What it reminded her of. Where the berries came from. And maybe—what others tasted in it, too.

She thought of Emma’s quiet focus, Julia’s wide-eyed curiosity. And the way both of them had seemed so grounded, yet open. She smiled a little to herself, then picked up her phone.

“Would you be interested in joining me this weekend? I’m filming something simple—summer food traditions, stories behind recipes. We can cook, talk, and if you’re comfortable, maybe film a bit too. Nothing formal, just something from the garden and the heart.”

She hit send before she could overthink it.

Then she stepped outside, barefoot on the warm stones, to check on the sourdough rising in the back porch. The dough was puffed, gentle and alive—just like this idea, just like this season.

Renata 的家

市集過後的幾天，村莊進入了一段安靜的節奏。Renata 重新回到她熟悉的鄉村生活—清晨早起，慢慢地吃完早餐，一邊用筆記下新的風味構想，一邊用木匙攝動著爐上那鍋正鬆發香氣的莓果。

但那天與 Emma 和 Julia 的對話卻一直留在她心裏，就像廚房裏久久不散的果香。她們品鹹果醬時那專注而誠懇的樣子，讓她產生了一個從沒嘗試過的念頭－－在影片裏邀請其他人，一起入鏡、一起說故事。

Renata 住在距離維爾紐斯老城區約二十分鐘車程的一個靜謐小村莊裏。那裡還保留著不少舊時光的痕跡—斜斑的木造老屋、彎彎曲曲的碎石小路，偶爾還能看到一隻白鴛在磚煙嚪上積巢。

她的小屋坐落在村子的邊緣，屋後是一片起伏溫柔的草坡和幾棵蘋果樹。早晨的霧氣總是像薄紗一樣，靜靜地浮在地面上。

從廚房的窗戶望出去，遠處城市的尖塔在晨光中閃著微微的光，但那感覺仿佛是另一個世界。在這裏，生活的節奏是隊著泥土、季節與太陽的高度而調整的。

週五早晨，風很軟，陽光透過窗戶灑進廚房。

Renata 把頭髮束起來，纏上亞麻髮帆。她身旁的櫃面上擺著一碗剛從花園摘下來的草莓和薄荷葉。

檳麻馬麵草的葉子正泡在熱水裏，空氣中漂著青草的清香。旁邊的籃子裏，是剛挖起來、還淨著泥土的春季小馬鈴薛。

夏天正悠悠來到。窗外傳來嗤嗤的蜜蜂聲，風裏混著百里香與濕土的味道。

她翻開那本手寫的筆記本，裏頭有食譜、拍攝計畫、還有一些靈感短語。她停在一頁寫著「季節的味道，季節的記憶」的頁面上，眼神柔和了下來。

「或許，這支影片不必再像過去一樣，是我一個人說說說、示範示範，」她心想，「這一次，可以是一場對話。」

不只是「怎麼做果醬」，而是「為什麼做果醬」，這些味道帶來哪些回憶，這些果實從哪裡來，還有－－其他人，會從這些滋味裏感受到什麼？

她想起 Emma 那種沈靜的專注，還有 Julia 眼裏閃著的好奇與望望。

這兩位來自遠方的訪客，或許正好能成為她這次影片的靈魂之一角。

她拿起手機，快速打了一段訊息：

「這週末妳們有空嗎？我正在拍一段關於夏季食譜與食物記憶的小影片。我們可以一起下廚、聊聊妳們的味道記憶。如果妳們願意，也可以順便拍些片段，不正式，就像朋友們在廚房裏過一個午後那樣。」

她沒有多想，就按下了傳送。

接著，她趴腳走出門，踏上溫熱的石板，走向後陽台那邊的麵糊。

發酵的酸麵包麵糊已經鬆了起來，柔軟而充滿生命，就像她腦海中這個剛剛萌芽的念頭，也像這個季節一樣，靜靜地在心裏伸展著。

🎥 A Gentle Invitation

When Emma received Renata’s message, she was sitting by the window with a notebook on her lap, trying to organize her thoughts after a long day. The message lit up her screen with a kind of warmth—informal, thoughtful, and exactly what she needed.

She read it twice before looking up at Julia, who was in the kitchen pouring herself some herbal tea.

“Renata just invited us to film something with her this weekend,” Emma said. “It’s about summer food traditions and stories—nothing formal.”

Julia turned, curious. “Like cooking together?”

“Yeah. And maybe being part of the video, if we feel comfortable.”

Julia smiled. “Honestly, that sounds kind of lovely. After this week, something light and hands-on might be exactly what we need.”

Emma nodded. “And I liked her vibe. She’s thoughtful, not performative.”

The two of them sat down at the small kitchen table, setting their mugs beside the laptop. Out of curiosity, Emma opened Renata’s YouTube channel. The screen filled with soft images of gardens, rustic kitchens, slow cooking, and her calm, unpolished narration.

They started with a recent video—“Edible Memories: The Soup My Father Taught Me.”

In it, Renata moved around a modest countryside kitchen, chopping onions and slicing cabbage while telling the story of her father’s quiet resilience during difficult times. The way she described the steam rising from the pot, and the smell of caraway seeds and bay leaves, made Julia’s shoulders drop. It was soothing in a way neither of them expected.

Next came “Autumn in a Jar.” Renata stirred plum and cinnamon jam slowly, letting the fruit speak for itself. She mentioned how her grandmother taught her to recognize the moment when jam was ready—not by temperature, but by feel. The phrase, “When the spoon stands on its own,” made both women smile.

As the evening darkened, they kept watching: a wordless winter video of baking rye bread and serving it with pine honey; another where Renata wandered through a spring meadow gathering wild nettles for soup, quietly talking about how the land changes each year.

In between, she offered moments of silence, allowing wind or birdsong to fill the space.

“I love how she doesn’t explain too much,” Julia murmured. “It feels like she trusts you to notice what matters.”

Emma nodded. “It’s the opposite of content for attention. It’s… care.”

They watched until the laptop battery blinked red. The final video of the night was “The Lost Cakes,” where Renata recreated a forgotten honey-almond cake from an old handwritten recipe. When she took it out of the oven and whispered, “This smells like the house I grew up in,” neither Emma nor Julia said a word.

Later, Emma sent the message:

“We’d love to. Just let us know when to come and if we should bring anything.”

And with that, the night settled around them—quiet, thoughtful, and full of flavor.

🎥 輕柔的邀約

當 Emma 收到 Renata 的訊息時，她正坐在窗邊，腿上放著筆記本，思索著今天的研究進展。手機螢幕亮起，那段訊息帶著一種溫柔的語氣——不正式、不刻意，正是她此刻需要的。

她讀了兩遍，才抬起頭看向正在廚房泡草本茶的 Julia。

「Renata 邀請我們週末去她家，拍一段關於夏季飲食和食物故事的影片。」Emma 說道，「不正式，只是做菜、聊天，如果我們願意，也可以入鏡。」

Julia 一邊倒茶一邊轉身，興致盎然地回應：「聽起來不錯耶。這週忙下來，我也覺得應該做點輕鬆又實在的事。」

Emma 點點頭：「我喜歡她的氣質，真誠、不做作。」

她們倆坐在廚房的小桌旁，端著茶，打開筆電，開始瀏覽 Renata 的 YouTube 頻道。

螢幕上是靜靜的一幀幀畫面，有花園、有老廚房、有慢火熬煮的湯，也有她帶著點沙啞的、沒有修飾的旁白。

她們先看了一部名為《可食的記憶：父親教我的湯》。

影片裡，Renata 在廚房切洋蔥、削高麗菜，一邊講述她父親在蘇聯時期如何在物資匱乏中撫養家人的故事。燉鍋裡冒著熱氣，香料的氣味仿佛穿過螢幕，讓 Julia 整個人都放鬆下來。

接著，她們又點開《秋天的果醬》——Renata 正用李子與肉桂熬煮果醬，慢慢地攪拌，一邊說著祖母傳下來的經驗：「果醬什麼時候煮好了？當湯匙能自己站起來的時候。」

Emma 和 Julia 相視而笑，這種老派又溫柔的說法實在讓人難忘。

夜漸深，她們繼續看著：冬季無旁白的烤黑麥麵包影片、春天在田野採集蕁麻與酢漿草的紀錄片段。

Renata 偶爾停下來聽鳥鳴，或只是望著風中搖曳的草，那些靜默讓人覺得被信任。

「我喜歡她沒有多說。」Julia 輕聲道，「她相信你看得懂。」

Emma 點頭：「不是為了博取注意力的內容，是為了傳遞某種真實感。」

她們一直看到筆電電量快耗盡，才停下來。最後一部是《遺失的蛋糕》，Renata 從一本泛黃筆記本裡翻出一份蜂蜜杏仁蛋糕的食譜，烤好後，她輕聲說道：「這味道，像我小時候的家。」那一刻，Emma 和 Julia 都靜靜地坐著，沒再多說什麼。

Emma 打開手機，發出訊息：

「我們很樂意參加！妳告訴我們時間就好，看有沒有需要我們帶什麼。」

夜晚重新歸於平靜，那不只是一個拍攝邀約，更像是生活節奏中的一次轉折——慢下來、靠近了，也準備好迎接一些不期而遇的故事。