Follow-up to: Is Belarus actually hard to farm?
The poem I love by Kanstancyja Bujla contains the following lines:
I love our Byelorussian nation,
Cottages where green orchards throng,
The ploughlands, gleaming gold with harvest,
Our woods and groves, their murmured song...
I love the spring, adorning gladly
The earth with flowers and green anew,
The storks a-chatter at their nesting,
The song of skylarks love I too.
This seems to run directly contrary to many of the other poems in the same collection that complain about how difficult Belarus is to farm. Can someone explain this apparent contradiction? Why does this author's experience seem to be so contrary to the experience of other authors in the collection?