It’s the language of the valleys where we kept returning over years. I grew up hearing this word Patgific. It’s Romansh – nearly 300 years old in central Graubünden. From the Latin pacificus: peace-making. Not rushing. Savoring what’s in front of you. The kind of happiness that doesn’t need to be witnessed. This is good. Not just fine. Good. That’s patgific.

My father taught art in the Swiss Surselva region and he would bring us with him – not as a tourist passing through, but to be there, from time to time. He’d take his students out to paint. Often to this one specific ruin. I still go there sometimes. Bringing my kids to hike the trails I walked when I was small.

Growing up Dutch, I’d recognize the word as close to gezellig. That same warmth. That same contained contentment. Italians might call it il dolce far niente, though patgific has more intentionality to it. Less about doing nothing, more about savoring what’s there. The way people live when mountains set the pace.

In Graubünden, they speak Romansh. In the Dolomites, Ladin. Same linguistic family, different peaks. In the Dolomites, everything has had three names for hundreds of years: German, Ladin and Italian. In Iceland, there’s þetta reddast: “it will all work out.” Not optimism. Fact. Things work out because you adapt. Because you don’t fight what you can’t control. These aren’t just words. They’re orientations. Ways of being in places where nature decides your day.

Staying longer than you planned because you can’t quite let go yet. Laughing so hard your face hurts. The moment you stop thinking about what comes next. Bread still warm. Glass already poured.