My parents are farmers. They have a small organic farm in Hawaii, and that is where I am now.
The farm is paradise. Hot, insect infested, weed filled, dirty, hard-work paradise.
On the farm the ants are the size of cockroaches, and the cockroaches are the size of rats, and the rats are the size of dogs, and the local dogs go feral and take down human sized goats.
On the farm, and in Hawaii in general, things attract dirt like a politician attracts sycophants. Whites quickly become pale red-yellow. When you take of your shoes at the end of the day you can see the pattern of the straps, not from your tan line, but from the dust in your pores. Banana sap dripped on your clothes will never, ever come out. Iron rich red dirt rubbed into your clothes will never, ever come out. Papaya sap dripped on your clothes will eat a hole in the fabric. The air is so moist that paint grows mildew as fast as you can repaint it. In wet winters clothes hung in closets mold.
But I love it. At least in small doses.
So for now I enjoy my wild, untamed paradise, and in a few weeks I look forward to returning to civilisation.