SLOVENIA'S 5 CORE VALUES

Not big, not small, but just right, would say Milan Zavasnik, the leader of the expedition and a man who knew how to bring people together without superfluous words. He was the kind of man who stood there in his blue windbreaker and said, »Well, let's go, so we don't get too cold without a connection.«

The group was made up of diverse people. Anica, who already had three grandchildren but insisted on walking as long as her legs would walk. Simon, quiet and thoughtful, always watching the trees as he walked, as if reading their thoughts. And young Sara, who liked to take short videos and share them online, while people marvelled at how beautiful nature was in their immediate vicinity.

But what made these walks different from many others was not the route, but a habit that had become their routine - moderation. And the associated litter picking. Not as a punishment or an obligation, but as a habit born out of anger that grew into pride.

The first event of this kind happened quite spontaneously. Milan saw a bag of crisps on the side of the road, glistening in the morning sun, as if trying to challenge everyone around him. He stopped, picked it up and said, »This will come down with us. It won't be here Blade for all eternity.« The next week they came with gloves, the third week with extra bags. And so it began.

The journey to the Holy Three Kings was not easy, but it was not overly difficult either. Just right for good company and a short escape from everyday life. As we walked, we could often hear the sound of muffled laughter, the thud of sticks against stones and the rustle of bags slowly filling up.

One Saturday, Marko, a local man who was more used to sitting in an office than walking up a hill, was also in the group. His breath was already knocked out of him before the first steep terrain, and when he saw Annica picking up a bottle with ease, he took heart and asked, »Why are you picking that up? You didn't throw this rubbish away.«

Anica looked at him, smiled slightly and said, »Yes, but who will if we don't? The trees?«

Marko kept quiet, but that day he took three bags out of the forest. When he got home, for the first time in a long time, he was proud of himself - not because he had walked up a hill, but because he had done something meaningful.

The value of moderation has quietly, almost imperceptibly, spread to the whole group. They no longer bought energy drinks or snacks in plastic. They carried canteens, fruit and sandwiches made from homemade bread. They adapted their habits to nature, not the other way around. No one rushed and competed. Each one of them was valued. Everyone walked as fast as they could and picked up as much rubbish as they could carry.

When they reached the summit one late autumn Saturday, the fog was slowly clearing and the outline of the church began to show through. Cows could be heard in the distance and everything smelled of wet leaves. The group stood silently, as if they knew it was necessary.

Sara took her phone out of her pocket, but then put it back. »This needs to be seen with the eyes, not through a screen,« she whispered to herself.

Milan nodded, looked at everyone in turn and said, »If anyone asks us why we do this, tell them it's for moderation. For balance. If humans take too much, nature suffers, but if we take as much as we need and give at least some back, then it is good for all of us."

At that moment, nobody was in a hurry to go to the valley. It seemed that even the forest was listening and that the hill had friends. And maybe it was true.

"Nature does not belong to us, we belong to it. And what we give back to it today, our children will breathe in the air tomorrow. Moderation is not a limitation, it is the freedom to let life go on. If we do not live it, no one will be able to live it for us. Ours is not self-growing, but grows out of what we do here and now.«

Zala Krupljan, 1. 1. 2026