Last week marked the beginning of the Scandinavian White Nights. These are the short nights of the North. A magical time, when the daylight reigns and sun sets late at night.
White Nights, also called Light Nights, last officially in my part of the world from the 5th of May to the 7th of August (5/5-7/8). This is the most beautiful part of the year, peaking in the early summer, when sun sets for hours and never really disappears, only to turn into sunrise on the other side of midnight. Some of you might recall my short series of images which I shared last year, documenting this enticing phenomenon in yet another installment of my progressive photography. The culmination of this time of twilight occurs on Midsummer Night at the end of June; thus the countdown to this enchanted night has begun.
Below a collection of April and May sunsets, as seen from my windows. It might be of interest to note the visible difference of the position of the setting sun on the top left and the bottom right picture; the pictures are taken only ten days apart.
The title above has a certain uncomfortable feel to it. However, it doesn't refer to actual haunted towns, but rather to abandoned cities. They exist all across the world; eerie places that once flourished and functioned like any other settlement, but are now deserted and utterly devoid of any life.
The reasons why a town becomes a ghost town are numerous. It could be due to the collapse of its infrastructure, failing economic activity due to epidemics or relocation of its inhabitants, or due to natural or human-caused disasters such as a flood, government action, uncontrolled lawlessness, or war.
One ghost town that intrigues and haunts me more than any other has to be Pripyať. It is located in the zone of alienation, in northern Ukraine. The tragic story linked to this abandon city is well known.
Founded in 1970, Pripyať was to house the workers that were employed at Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant, located near the towns vicinity, then in the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic. First officially proclaimed as a city in 1979, it was home to some 50,000 people, right until that fateful spring night almost 25 years ago.
On April 26, 1986, reactor number four at the Chernobyl plant had a meltdown. This incident is commonly referred to as the Chernobyl Disaster. The resulting fire sent a plume of radioactive fallout into the atmosphere, spreading radioactive material over an extensive geographical area, including large parts of the western Soviet Union, Eastern Europe, Western Europe, and Northern Europe. Large areas in Ukraine, Belarus, and Russia had to be evacuated, with over 336,000 people resettled. A complete abandonment of Pripyať took place first on the second day after the incident, severely effecting the health of its inhabitants. No one was ever allowed to return, thus the city is now a ghost town.
I remember that day very vividly. Or rather the few days after. They were beautiful spring days in Sweden, coinciding with a weekend and most Scandinavians were outside, enjoying the sun. Including my family, quite oblivious to the fact that we were being hit by radioactive dust.
There are several factors about Pripyať that move me in an uneasy way. The obvious is the extend of the terrible accident, that even today is not under control. The ultimate sacrifice by the many workers who gave their life when participating in the initial clean up and the horrid conditions they had to work in. The tragic fate of their families and the effects still seen today in their descendants.
But even more perhaps it is the town itself. It reminds me of my childhood. I grew up in towns in former East Bloc, in very similar housing conditions as those seen on the many famous photographs. Concrete ghettos, the only way we knew how to live. I attended similar schools as the one that remained until very recently in Pripyať , sitting in similar school benches, attending similar activities as the children of this former communist city. Seeing that famous Ferris wheel, that now stands abandon and withered like a silent witness to a life that once flourished, sends shivers down my spine. Never used by children, it was about to be opened a few days after the incident, yet it looks so ancient today.
They say that the Chernobyl Disaster was in a certain way a catalyst to the fall of communism, which came later that decade. Today most of the countries in the former East Bloc have changed beyond recognition. New generation is growing up, with no recollection of the past and the traces of the old regime can not be seen anywhere.
In some way, Pripyať is a snapshot of a moment in time. The only city preserved in a haunting way, showing us what once was. A ruin of a not so distant past, a sad memorial to innocent lives lost, a symbol of human imperfection, a political system gone wrong and a piece of European history; all in one...
Slowly, the plants around are turning green. Despite the fact that last week was the coldest May week in the last 13 years, nature nevertheless still moves forward. This progress is always mostly visible on our trees. It is interesting to note their state right now; some are already green, some are barely displaying leaves, some are in bloom but leave-less and some are still bare.
Our Birch tree is now in full bloom and its foliage is getting more lush by every day. The update below is not as significant as last week, except for the Cherry tree to the left that is now displaying pink flowers. However, the trees around, which I assume to be Ash and Oak continue to be unchanged.
Except for these three (Birch, Oak and Ash), my immediate surroundings contain a selection of various fruit trees (including Cherry trees), some Fir trees and Spruces. Additionally, if I take a short walk, I can spot Elm, Hazel, Willow, Maple, Chestnut, Beech and a few Linden trees, which bear heavenly scented flowers in late summer. Still these account only for a selection of almost forty different species of trees that grow in Denmark. About 12% of the country surface is covered by woods an this number is luckily on the rise, expected to be 25% in 100 years. The Danes are very attentive when it comes to their nature and recognized early on the potential of large wooded areas.
In my city, there are numerous natural forests that follow the coastline and are a home to versatile plant and animal life. A stone throw away from almost any location one can find solace and tranquility in the shade of the crowns of many magnificent, at time ancient trees.
After a very cold, breezy but sunny week, it is raining. It is a gentle, spring rain that is so vital for plants and flowers, as they continue on their renewed cycle of growth.
A drizzle at the best, when the wind is absent and the air saturated with earthy scents of soil and fresh foliage. As it drenches my surroundings, it leaves behind drops of water, resembling scattered pearls, as if some gentle being passed through in a hurry, leaving behind magical beads of a precious necklace...
I do not know much about Masquerade. Except for the somewhat ethereal composition below, made in 1984 in collaboration with Drafi Deutscher. It moves me back at least two decades, when it was played on the radio and reminds me of care free times of my youth.
Even though the harmonies in "Guardian Angel" might be slightly old fashioned, the lyrics feel very time less...
"Perfection lies in the details, but perfection itself is not a detail".
My mother used to say this very often. Unfortunately I do not know the origins of this quote, which I believe carries a lot of truth in it. As it is often the details that create the big picture.
I am not a perfectionist, and although I like to pay attention to details in my surroundings, I do so only if I choose to. I can walk into a room and be quiet oblivious to its decor, as I usually rely on the overall impressions I feel upon entrance. First when that impression has settled in do I look around and notice the objects.
I can not claim to have any kind of talent in interior design. However, just like with fashion, I rely on my instinct, using colours and shapes that I feel create a pleasant atmosphere. With my inclination to the eclectic and bohemian, I stay away from the modern and streamlined. I most likely break all the design rules and my home is anything but stylish, but I hope it is unique in one particular way; there is not one single other one like it.
Inspired by a comment that the lovely Sandy left here recently and that was inspired by this post on her lovely blog, I decided to share with you the red details in my home. I have already disclosed in the past that I own a cosy red sofa. However, that is far from the only red in my home.
The red details can be found almost everywhere. They most likely do not create perfection in the overall sense, but they create a home perfect for me.
On Sunday evening, as I was talking with that handsome man in Ireland, discussing current events as we usually do, I happened to gaze out of my large living room window. Even though the remains of another magnificent spring sunset still lingered in form of a red line above the horizon in the northwest, the southwest which I was facing, appeared by now dark.
That is when I saw it. It took me a few seconds to piece together the visual information received at that very moment with the one I read online a few days ago. Still, eventually I knew exactly what I was looking at. It was a sight like I have never witnessed before.
A majestic bright object, resembling the biggest star that I have ever seen, was moving across the dark sky. Without a sound, effortlessly and with a constant speed, it was crossing the southwest horizon as the largest object in the jet black heavens. If I did not know better, I could have sworn I was witnessing a UFO sighting. However, I was seeing the International Space Station (ISS), definitely an 'identified flying object' and a man made one as well. Additionally, right after the moon, the largest orbiter of our Earth. I was holding my breath as it moved in a easterly direction, feeling very fortunate to have gazed out of my windows at the exactly right moment, to watch something that is rare and to me - extremely enticing.
Those of you who have read my many posts in the past know well that I am infinitely fascinated by the evening sky. There is nothing more captivating than watching the dark blanket above us, covered with zillions light specks of varied size and intensity. Knowing they are all part of distant and not so distant galaxies intrigues me. There is no other time, when the space seems more infinite and vast, then under the dark veil of the night. I fall asleep under the shine of stars, as I watch them in my roof top window. If I gaze at that small part of heavens for a short while, I can witness shooting stars and orbiting satellites. But I have never seen the Space Station until now.
Such a sighting is indeed rare and requires specific conditions to be in place. As stated by the wikipedia: "The station must be above the observer's horizon, and it must pass within about 2,000 kilometres (1,200 miles) of the observation site (the closer the better). It must be dark enough at the observer's location for stars to be visible, and the station must be in sunlight rather than in the Earth's shadow."
Operated as a joint project between the five participant space agencies, the ISS serves as a research laboratory that has a microgravity environment in which crews conduct experiments in biology, human biology, physics, astronomy and meteorology. The ISS is operated by Expedition crews; as of 18 March 2010, the crew of Expedition 23 is aboard.
My sighting of the Space Station the other night is the closest that I have come to observe something out of the ordinary in the skies. Except for one summer afternoon last year, when white, semi transparent globe moved high above me in an organized fashion; constant speed and direction. I gazed at it for a long time trying to solve its origins; perhaps it was a balloon or something else that can easily be explained. But perhaps not. Eventually, the fascination lies in the unexplained.
What about you, have any of you ever seen something infinitely intriguing, either identified or unidentified in the skies?
Quantum Leap is actually a physical phenomenon, but somehow it feels as a very adequate term to use in order to describe the progress our nature has made within this past week. And if you take a look at the images below, I am sure you will agree.
The change is enticing at the very least. As I write this, I recall some of your comforting words in your comments a few weeks ago, telling me that you see the changes happening over night and that I will too soon. Well, you were correct.
The progress is leaping forward with an astounding speed, almost each hour offers a new change. My hedge lining the back terrace has turned green within a matter of days. Once again, the patio becomes a secluded spot, hidden from view by the ever growing foliage. Our cherry trees are now in the beginning of their bloom and of course, the birch trees has changed beyond recognition.
The perfect combination of rain and sun that we received last week produced visible results. Our birch tree is not only in full bloom, but the very first leaves are now obvious. The recent three weeks delay has been shortened to only ten days.
As we make the transition from April to May, this signals the beginning of the absolutely best time of the year in Scandinavia. It brings not just the culmination of the spring season, but also the imminence of the magical white nights.
I have two terraces or patios connected to my house; a front terrace and a back one. They are both tiled and big enough to house many pots. I love to plant seasonal flowers, from spring to autumn, but my favorites are my perennial plants and my evergreens. They can grow in their pots for many years, always remaining green and luscious, giving the outdoors a feel of an exotic garden.
However, even though these are very sturdy plants and can withstand our winters quiet well, they too have a breaking point. This past winter with its record breaking prolonged subzero temperatures was simply too cold for my potted evergreens and most of them perished, to my great dismay. It breaks my heart every time I see a plant die. To me it is as alive as any animal and I love to see plants and flowers grow and flourish. While taking care of them for years and seeing them do well, they in a way become my very good friends.
Thus I have been with certain distress watching my old perennials, which over the past few weeks grew weaker, gradually loosing all their foliage and drying out. My herbs seemed to have met the same fate. Except for the hardy chives, all my other herbs sadly failed to make their seasonal come back.
Yesterday was an official day off and I decided it was time for a plant renewal, therefore I spend my free Friday visiting the local garden center. I love walking around in these large plantations, filled with flowers, shrubs, bushes and even trees. There is always an earthy, rich fragrance of soil in the air, mixed with the scent of seasonal flowers. I can spend hours just walking around there, relishing in the tranquility and the serenity that is always so significant of these beautiful spots.
I returned home with many fresh plants and spend my afternoon doing what I love to do the best; feeling the rich soil between my fingers and bringing a sense of renewal to my garden, while I parted with many of my old friends...
Last week marked the beginning of the Scandinavian White Nights. These are the short nights of the North. A magical time, when the daylight reigns and sun sets late at night.
