Our travel to a fruitful land begins. Like a leaf that has survived the mild winter and been ungratefully let go by its tree, you’re sailing freely through the air. Now look down. What do you see in this faraway land?

You are looking at acres and acres of hilly, prosperous land beneath you. Winter has just ended, and silver lining of morning dew covers the hills. Well, winter is actually not the right word to use in this corner of the world - the temperature never really drops below zero. But they do have four seasons, and winter is the official name for this time of the year.

As soon as the sun touches the earth, the ground turns a dark, chocolate-brown colour. Nothing is growing yet, and while you sail through the crisp air you can hear an engine starting up in the distance.

It’s 7 a.m., and Farmer Gonzales has started his working day. 15 minutes later, his red tractor is running up and down the hills, turning the fruitful ground, getting ready for the next week’s seeding session.

By the late afternoon and after a short sandwich picnic under an old oak tree, Farmer Gonzales finishes his last field. They are now all symmetrically combed in one direction. From above, the picture could be from a postcard. Like the lavender fields you see in the South of France, just a darker colour.

As the day ends, the evening sun dyes the scenery into an orangey-brown picture, with the old oak tree as the only green spot. Above, the stars come out in the dark blue sky, and start to twinkle in expectation of what’s to come.

As the night fully takes over, the land quietens, and, one by one, the farmhouses turn off their lights.

In their barn, the seeds of the country’s future plants rustle in excitement. They are the souls of the land, the souls of Pimientos de Padrón. For generations they have been planted, have grown and have given birth to plants and their peppers. Their constant rebirth has allowed them to experience the evolution of life, one decade after another. The knowledge they store is exceptional, and there’s not an area of life they’re not taught about.

*****

The heavy seed bags, which only a strong man can lift, lean against each other in rows. Inside the gunny sacks, the seeds of life rub against each other with a rhythmic melody. They sing tales of past lives, their hopes for the future, their luscious green leaves and the most enchanting flowers that will grow from their pod. It’s their destiny to be the most beautiful, weather-resistant home to the future Padróns. They will play their role in life per