Those of you who have been reading my writing for a while know that I am a nature lover. Most of all, I love trees - birch trees in particularly. There is something almost elf like in their shape and the texture of their alabaster bark.
I have had a special relationship with birch trees in Denmark, it seems.
The westerly panoramas of my white house on the hill were lined by a row of them. Additionally, there was a stunning tree that adorned my easterly view. I was so fascinated by it, that I documented its changes over a course of four seasons. Those images are all that remains as a testimony to its existence, as it was cut down by my neighbors shortly before I moved, much to my great shock and disbelief.
When I moved up north, there was an old birch growing in the front yard of our old, rental home. I loved to watch it shift throughout the year from my favorite spot in the kitchen.
Walking around our new property the other day, I was overjoyed when I found a very young, baby birch next to the greenhouse. It has the most beautiful, paper thin, ivory bark I have ever seen and in the shine of the late winter sun it stood out almost illuminated against the azure blue sky. The slim branches carry already buds, which will turn into catkins in about a month, announcing the arrival of spring.
This time around this birch belongs to us. Its fate is in our hands and it is safe. I find it very exhilarating to know that once again I can watch - and document - the seasonal changes of a stunning tree, completely undisturbed, hopefully for years to come.
Fall is slowly concluding and the fiery glow of the ostentatious season is now only a memory. Instead, the outlines of trees stand naked, dark and ominous against a milky sky, their branches damp and still, resembling almost menacing silhouettes.
The remains of foliage and long gone bloom turns putrefied, instigating a sense of decay.
Late fall melancholy is by now truly apparent. To me it comes across as an intermission, a moment of stillness and tranquility that stands between the flamboyance of colours and the illumination of the Holiday Season.
I have been somewhat absent, in my writing and in my on-line life, for which I apologize. I do still ponder the bigger questions and I do still notice the enchantment around me, I only need more time to convey it in words and pictures to all of you you.
There are continuously issues that occupy my thinking, such as the fact that I find myself increasingly disenchanted with my line of work, a sensation that started a couple of years back and which only grows in intensity by each passing day.
I find this puzzling - that which once defined me and brought me happiness feels now as a burden and has lost its allure all together.
Is it midlife crises, I wonder, or is it I who have changed...
I feel a deep longing to realize old dreams, using my creative abilities, devoting what remains of my working life to an occupation that is novel and better suited the new me.
Curiously, life never works fully on all levels - if it did, I guess we would be done living it.
My reality evolves constantly and for someone who has lived by predictable routines for decades, I find the ongoing growth curiously reassuring. My husband's children are spending increasing amount of time with us, which changes the dynamic of our lives. It is a challenge on all levels, as I am thrown into parenthood of three teenagers, having never hold them in my arms as babies. Trying to be their friend and guardian and yet at the same time guiding them with gentle but firm rules as a stepmother is a balancing act of a novel kind. Yet as I refine my skills, the rewards are of indescribable measures - they are the children I will never have and their love and devotion surpasses all my expectations.
A move to a new house is now slowly becoming reality and soon we will be finally having a home of our very own where we can live as a family, with a sense of privacy and safe continuity. Thus as I look out onto our misty garden, I wonder whether this is the last November noir I am witnessing outside my windows in this old house. So much emotions and changes has undergone between its walls in such a short time. I know I will miss it in a certain way...
Nature is indeed winding down. It is entering a deep sleep, discarding the old and shriveled, renewing itself from within, in order to emerge reborn and revitalized a few months down the road.
This is a contagious rejuvenation, that applies to everything living, us humans too. Most likely when winter turns into spring, my own life will be reborn in a new place.
Late fall is in my perception always defined by one single masterpiece; Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 21.
Thus when I look into the mist, I can hear piano and strings of violins, giving the melancholy of November a truly poetic, symbolic and almost meditative feel.
November comes across as a very nostalgic month.
In my native language it carries a poetic name, loosely translated as leaf-fall. Indeed, during the next few weeks, our trees will be robbed of their ornate attire, until they stand bare, instigating a sense of sadness, almost melancholy.
This penultimate month of the year makes me feel as if we are standing between seasons.
Autumn is slowly concluding and the fiery colours are vanishing, being replaced by grey scale and monochrome. The daylight turns into twilight and the dry air becomes cold, damp and misty.
However, as winter closes in, once in a while we wake up to a subtle platinum dawn, revealing frozen landscape - that first preview of what is to come a few weeks down the road.
Continuing my fascination with macro-photography, I tried to immortalize the first frost on our lawn this past week, as it adorned the remains of summer bloom and intensified the contour of fallen foliage.
The views came across as a time-warp, bridging three seasons into a moment of delicate natural beauty, only visible to an early riser, vanishing upon the gentle touch of the fragile morning sun.
With only a few warm weeks here and there, this summer has been one of the coldest ones on record. The sun holds enough heat to warm up the ground during the day, yet the cold arctic air streaming until very recently straight from the North Pole has kept our nights unseasonably cool and our mornings defined by dew, the droplets of which hold a hidden beauty to be found by an early riser.
Our lawn is full of miniature spiders which spin their invisible, tiny webs in the twilight of the white nights. Their masterpieces are usually unseen to the human eye. Yet, morning dew and even soft rain visualize these silky, fragile architectures for a few hours upon dawn. Resembling glass beads threaded on silk, one can marvel over this natural wonder of nature, before the sun burns the water droplets away, hiding these treasures from our view, as if they never even existed at all ...
Seven years ago I purchased two plants and planted them together in the same pot. Being still the very inexperienced gardener then, I experimented myself to knowledge and made a few mistakes along the way - as to be expected.
One of the plants completely vanished in the end of the summer, the other kept on going all the way until the first frost in late November. I knew both were perennials, as it said so on the little tags that accompanied the plants. Thus I just let the survivor stand outside during winter, hoping for the best, yet watching it sadly as it slowly dried out, to eventually burn away by subzero temperatures, perishing into only a bundle of yellow stalks. And I said to myself - 'well this was another bad mistake I wont repeat again'.
In the spring the following year, as I was getting ready to toss the seemingly dead plant out, I saw small buds and green shoots appearing here and there, signifying new life. My heart skipped a beat as I became overcome with joy. Trimming away way the perished parts, I watched the plant grow and flourish, blooming with beautiful violet blue star-like flowers during the whole summer.
This continued year after year and I kept wondering how this incredibly resilient flower can come back after tough conditions, such as a few arctic winters with months of deep freeze, renewing itself annually with will and determination in the same pot, with no new soil added ever to nurture its growth...
I must admit that I do use a mild fertilizer during the summer watering, yet it is still astounding that this plant can keep growing stronger as time progresses. I never knew its name and finally now after endless and tedious research I realize it was called campanula (birch hybrid). I simply had to know, as this summer season the plant is the most stunning to date. I have never seen it flowering this magnificently - it truly thrives in our new home.
Covered fully and completely by amethyst coloured stars, it reinforces my belief in the miracle of nature and in the endless beauty of plant life.
My Campanula anno 2012
My Campanula, in July 2005, just planted with it's "yellow" friend
I recently complained about the lack of alluring views. Those that I used to marveled over in my former home. While this fact still remains, I have also realized that if I only take the time to look, stunning light shows still take place right above me.
Last week, as I opened our bedroom window close to midnight, I could glimpse beautifully painted heavens to my left. Stepping out into our garden illuminated by the twilight of a white night, I could see purple clouds moving across a scintillated sky. The traces of a late summer sunset lingered across the north, reflecting the sun which moved just below the horizon on its way to the east, in order to rise in just a few hours.
I stood there in the stillness of the colourful night and felt deeply sentimental, as I got enveloped in bittersweet remembrance of what once was, while fully aware of the magic I was witnessing right then and there and simultaneously exhilarated about the endless possibilities of what is yet to come...
I grew up in apartments and thus when I purchased my first house, I had no experience in gardening. Furthermore, I had no true inclinations or any kind of emotional or practical association with a garden, not even plants. It was my mom and my sister who had the green thumb, not me. All I recall from my childhood was my mother tending to the few potted plants we had at home, changing the dirt in the spring on our balcony or patio.
My parents did live for a few years in a townhouse with a tiny backyard, which they slowly transformed into a tranquil hideaway. By that time I no longer lived at home and thus could follow the progress in growth and development every time I came to visit.
Therefore fueled by my parents enthusiasm, the two terraces of my former home became a play ground for me in terms of my gardening experimenting.
I can in no way claim to be an experienced or skillful gardener, a far cry from that I must admit. The limited knowledge I posses today was born mostly out of my mistakes. If anything, I am a perceptive gardener - I go with my feelings and intuition. Additionally I follow one simple advice I heard once spoken by an expert on a garden television show; give a plant food, water and sun - or no sun, depending on its natural habitat. Indeed in time I realized that is really all one needs to know. Taken together with a joy, interest and genuine love for plant life, anyone can tend to a garden and make it flourish and prosper.
The garden of my dreams is a wild and untamed one, almost a secret garden. A lush and secluded spot, which when entered feels enchanted. I am not a fan of meticulously maintained flowerbeds and trimmed bushes. To me the most beautiful is that which gets to grow free and unrestricted, creating tranquil oases, hidden from view, scented by natural perfumes. One day perhaps I will have my dream come true - until then I tend to the garden of my reality. And without any doubt, it is the only real asset of our old house.
Despite the fact that my father in law is an avid and extremely skillful gardener, my husband has no interest whatsoever in plants. To him gardening is just a bunch of boring chores, such as mowing the lawn and trimming the hedge. Thus when I moved in with him, I got the freedom and privilege to do whatever I pleased when it came to our yard.
To transform a neglected place to a lovely garden takes years and we might not even live here by then. Still, currently the outdoors offers the best therapy and seems to be the perfect recipe to cure my temporary sadness and loneliness. There is nothing like planting something and watching it grow and thrive. I take immense joy in looking after the plants and I survey them each day, looking for small changes that might have occurred over night. It gives me such a great satisfaction when the sun is out and I can tend to all the life that seems to spire and excel outside my home.
I can sense that our garden has already been established once, I only had to revive that which was already there - a multitude of roses, lilies, hollies, hollyhocks and scented shrubs. I added a few potted plants and flower baskets to our patio and planted a few vines to transform it into a lush and tranquil spot. I am also currently experimenting with seeds, which promise to grow into scented bloom attracting butterflies. Tending to our garden this way, I leave small souvenirs for the future occupants of the
house. An imprint of my time here. Hopefully they will rejoice in the bloom I introduce just as I enjoy the the work of our predecessors.
Gardening is like exercise - it must become a way of life, or it looses it's allure and is impossible to maintain. To me though there is nothing more magical than the outdoors. Plant and animal life and natural beauty holds almost a primal affection in my perception as the connection with nature is ancient and contained within my genes. I have always found solace and affirmation in its pristine beauty and will continue to see all natural life as an endless source of miracles and enchantment.
(All images in this post are taken in our garden, June 2012)
Perhaps some of you recall my fascination with a beautiful silver birch, which I could watch outside the windows of my old house.
I documented its changes over the course of a year in pictures and found the reward for watching a tree during the various seasons to be priceless.
Little did I know then that the tree would be cut down by my neighbours a few years later, to my shock and disbelief. Thus my photography is all that remains as a testimony to its existence...
Therefore I was thrilled to find a birch in the front garden of my new home and have likewise captured its changes throughout the past summer and autumn, from green to bare.
This spring I returned with camera in hand to document its awakening and the results can be seen in the pictures below, including a shot I took in winter as well, concluding its yearly cycle.
I love to watch the swaying of its branches outside our kitchen window. This birch can not match the beauty of the one I used to feast my eyes on in my former home. Yet it is ours and as long as we live here, it is safe. Its presence grants me the privilege to follow the natural transformations throughout the seasons, as they pass my views with uncanny precision and reassurance.
We have crossed yet another seasonal
threshold.
The day of the Summer Solstice is such an
enchanting occurrence and yet it also instigates a gentle melancholy in me.
June is signified by the duality of Gemini and thus the first summer day reflects too
a joy and simultaneously a sadness. A pinnacle of light has been reached – even
though summer is only beginning; the sun now embarks onto a reverse journey away from us, shortening our daylight by each passing week...
Ever since my move north a year ago, I rarely thought about the stunning
vistas at the white house - yet I do so very much currently and I truly miss them...
Gone is the unrestricted view
of the horizon, the mesmerizing late night sunsets, which set the heaven on fire, the beauty of the illuminated midnight sky and the enticing glow of noctilucent
clouds - these light shows played out in front of my windows almost every day through out the summer - year after year, never to loose their allure.
Our low lying house has no extraordinary views to speak off. The only sign telling me we are indeed
amidst the time of the white nights are our solar lamps and lanterns, decorating the shielded patio and glowing silently yet persistently in
the dusk that has replaced the nights.
And yet, stepping out into our garden in the
stillness of the midnight twilight, I can nevertheless trace the silvery sky beyond
the treetops and gaze mesmerized at the starless heavens above me as we cross into the small hours of the morning. Unmistakably, the air holds an aura of enchantment and one
can easily fall for the magic of the Midsummer Night, when secret portals are
open and the esoteric lurks in the shadows.
This past weekend simply rained away. After cold, autumn like days with strong winds, the week concluded in heavy precipitation.
As I recovered from my initial irritation, realizing I had to spend my free days indoors, dreaming of the non existent sunshine - I realized that there was a certain hidden beauty in rain.
It was clear that the vital liquid revived my surroundings. Everything turned supple and lush and seemed revitalized and incredibly green. Indeed, even the colours of flowers appeared more vibrant and brighter than in sunshine.
I gave into the urge to walk out onto our lawn barefoot, in between the downpours, laughing and feeling giddy like a school girl. Do you recall how fun it used to be to get soaked?
Greeted by that incredible fragrance that rain leaves behind - a blend of wet soil, perfumes of bloom and humid air, I saw natural beauty, as drops of water lingered everywhere, like crystal beads strewn onto the stalks of grass, leaves of trees and shrubs and the petals of the early summer bloom.
Nature is alluring and surprising in any weather and in any season. All we need to do is to notice.
We have entered the first summer month and yet it feels weather wise as if we have stepped into fall. What a difference a week can make - the end of May was hot and sunny, while now rain and grey skies with plummeting temperatures are our reality.
Still, officially summer arrives first in a few weeks, thus the hope for sunny skies, hot days and warm nights is nevertheless alive.
One thing we will be granted for sure - the culmination of white nights - as the countdown to summer solstice has already commenced.
Before it all truly begins, I would love though to take you back to the past three months in pictures. Back to the time that is infinitely defined by bloom, awakenings and growth.
Discovering our garden in spring, I enjoyed watching the vernal bloom and marveled over its versatility in regards to the blossom period, the colours, the texture and consistency of the flowers and of course, the scent. I saw some familiar faces yet also made my acquaintance with some novel beauties, walking around our garden with camera in hand.
As always, so much treasure waits to be discovered just outside our doorstep - if we only look.
Returning from the mountains of central Europe, the twelve hour drive back took us through two seasons. Leaving the snowy tree tops of fairytale landscape behind, so very saturated by a winter wonderland, we crossed the threshold into early spring upon our return home.
Winter in Scandinavia is certainly on retreat, even though it might still leave us in dust of snow as it gives up its reign.
There is that unmistakable feeling in the air, so difficult to define, yet so very easy to perceive. The sun has gained in strength beyond belief, shining stronger and longer. Finding a spot in our garden, shielded from the westerly winds, I can sit outside for the first time this year, savoring its vital warmth.
Our yard is littered with signs of life and renewal, as the first spring flowers begin to bloom. I find it infinitely exhilarating as I explore the spring vegetation surrounding my home, finding stalks of crocuses and daffodils which I planted last autumn as well as established flowers that has been here for years.
As we enter the third month of the year, we experience a vernal prelude signifying an imminent change of seasons and the beginning of the best time of the year here in the cold North.
The first snow is enchanting and alluring.
When the initial snowflakes appear, I watch them with such delightful intensity, as if I have never seen snowfall before. Indeed, how differently I perceive this wintry precipitation late in the season, when it comes across as impeding and distressing.
We got our first and very brief taste of winter this week, when sleet swept over the country, leaving behind slippery roads, snow dusted fields and wet snow in our streets - for a few hours only, melting away quickly in the fragile rays of the early winter sun.
Of course, I simply had to capture the first snow with my camera and thus I hope you will indulge me one more time, as I share with you the images of our overgrown lawn. I have shown it previously covered with droplets of dew in early autumn and the first frost in late October.
Here it is hence once again covered in slush ice.
We are in the midst of an uncanny Indian Summer. Yesterday was the warmest day in October ever measured and indeed our second month of the fall began warmer than our July.
As the sun heats up the air to record breaking temperatures, the nights are nevertheless still cool, giving rise to misty mornings and dew covered ground. Being up early, I literally waded through our overgrown lawn - having not been mowed for over two months, it belongs more appropriately in a jungle than in a garden.
Yet the long grass offered an unexpected surprise. Among the vibrant and juicy green slender leafs, tiny droplets of water shone as if thousands of diamonds were thrown onto the ground. Spread all across the grassy carpet, these reflected the low lying autumn sun like miniature mirrors. It was as if an enchanted being crossed here in a hurry upon day break, leaving behind beads of a broken necklace. Accidentally strewn onto the leafage, some drops got caught up in the silky threads of spider webs - a treasure to find for those who look.
And indeed, what beauty lies hidden between the green straws if we only take the time to notice. Brilliant splendor in the grass, a reward for an early riser and a delightful last kiss of summer as it waves good bye.
