The Slow Decay
The disintegration of our ‘perfect home’ wasn’t just caused by the winter wind; it was fueled by the forced standstill. Without the resources and the logistics of our lost truck—and with the insurance process moving at a glacial pace—we were left to watch, empty-handed, as our legacy dissolved. This wasn’t just nature reclaiming the soil; it was bureaucracy enabling the destruction.
It took us time to recover physically. As the days passed, the euphoria of surviving without broken bones or internal injuries began to fade, replaced by a much deeper ache. Despite the winter and our severe bruises, we made a desperate attempt to save the shelter. We hauled cement bag by bag in our small Fiat Abarth—a city car never meant for such terrain.
There was no way to transport the manure for the trees, but we fought to at least finish the cement plaster. Fate, however, was not on our side; we blew a tire on the Fiat and had to call a friend for help. We didn’t make it. As winter took hold, the rain began to relentlessly wash away the cob, and the unprotected bags started to rot.
Our “perfect home” was disintegrating before our very eyes. Physical pain took a backseat to the agony of watching years of hard work crumble, washed away by the rain and carried off by the freezing winter wind.
In the Hands of Fate (and Insurers)
On the road, we were victims of a truck that crushed our physical world. Today, we are victims of a system that is crushing our time. While the insurance adjusters measure the ‘value’ of a pile of metal, the rain is measuring the endurance of our unprotected dreams. Every day of bureaucratic silence is another layer of our hard work washed away by the mud. We survived the collision with the truck, but we are struggling to survive the neglect of the insurers
The Second Collision
They say lightning doesn’t strike twice, but for us, it did. The first strike was made of steel and impact at a crossroad. The second strike is made of paper, delays, and indifference. We are no longer just fighting for a fair claim; we are fighting to save what remains of three years of our lives before the clock—and the insurance silence—runs out.