It’s 11 PM, the kitchen smells of flour and yeast, and my hands are sticky. In the quiet hours after my daughter is asleep, I knead bread by hand—a simple act of care that makes every hour worth it.

When a friend asked why I choose to farm in a world where anything can be bought instantly, I realized how differently we see food. That moment stayed with me, not as a challenge, but as an invitation to look more closely at what modern convenience asks us to forget.