Britt-Arnhild's House in the Woods

How to live and love the simple life

 

The moon was full the other night. It was the night before my birthday and I sat quietly, enjoying the silence, enjoying the beauty, enjoying the simplicity.

In the beginning of this week I asked you what you wanted me to blog about from the cabin, and Fran had some questions about how we live the everyday life, like cooking, daily chores without electricity. I have had her quetsions in my mind during this week, and the more I think of it, the more I realise how I value the different life out here.

I have gathered a few photos and a few words, and as my birthday gift for you, my dear readers, I'll take you along. Please come and enjoy the simple life with us.

 

We were expecting guests for dinner. I am starting the salad while cooking chicken and rice.

 

 

Cooking is done on gas, which is not what we are used to at home. There we use have electricity.

 

When darkness reaches us, we lit candes and cerosene lamps in every corner. Marta gave me this one for my birthday. Isn't it the most perfect gift?

 

Doing the dishes is aways shared. Often three of us, one to clean, one to dry and one to put the dishes away. I have a thing for beautiful china......also at the cabin.

 

Marta and Terje on their way to the well to get water. Two buckets are filled several times a day.

 

 

 

Back at cabin with the buckets full. To the right you can see our "little house", the outdoor toilet, where I go day and night, rain or shine.......

 

 

 

I have started to set the table for my birthday lunch. I wish I coud invite you all!

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tonight we will do our Easter egg hunt. I will play along with my camera. May be there will be photos and stories for you tomorrow.

How do you celebrate Easter?

I have washed my hair, now is my birthday :-)

 

We have been here many days now. Many days without a shower, without a proper bathroom. Without running water. Today is my birthday and it is time to wash my hair.

 

Well,do I need a bathroom with running water when I am surrounded by God's nature, I have the two helping hands of a loving husband, and a daughter who loves to play with the camera?

 

It is my birthday today. My parents and one of my aunts come out for the day, Ingrid and boyfriend Marius come to stay for the week-end.

Strong memories from 2nd World War

 

Aure, where we have our cabin, is on the coast, west of Trondheim. To sail in the Trondheim Fjord, coming from south, you pass Aure, and with the island Hitra situated north, the sea is quite narrow for some time. During the last stage of the 2nd world war the Germans found this a perfect place to set up their artillery to defend the land they wanted as part of their huge dream.

 

On Christmas Eve 1944, a few months before the end of the war, a group of Germans came to Skardsøya at Aure. They wanted to set up a fort to prevent ships sailing in to Trondheim. Dad's aunt and uncle lived out here, and my father used to spend many childhood summers with them. War memories are still strong here.

 

A railway line, about one kilometer long ,was built, mines were set out and marked on a map. When peace came, German soliders had to do the hard work of moving and destroying the mines.

The ground is watered with blood, sweat, tears.......

 

We did a walk out there yesterday. History came close when I could tell Marta that all this happened when grandpa, morfar,  was a boy. She needed time to take it in. She needed time to ask her questions, to dwell on the few answers we could give.

 

April 9th 2009. It is 69 years today since war came to Norway, April 9th 1940.

 

Norway lives in peace today, but war and struggles can be found around the word. Children suffering, innocent people struggling for their lives.

It has not always been peace here, we have no garantee that our peace will last. It is up to us. Up to you. Up to me.

 

God, on this Maudy Thursday, let us remember what you did for us. Let us never forget, and help us to use the love you have given us, the love you give us, to make peace. In our own lives, for our children, in our neighbourhood, in our marriages. In our countries. Around the world.

   

Sweet, sweet honey

 

In the nice spring weather we did a walk along a path which took us close to the sea, around the old church, ending up at the old mill house. There is a small river behind the mill house where we use to swim in summer. Now the river goes wild with melted snow water from the mountains.

 

On our way we passed a row of bee hives, and I said to Terje; "May be the owner has some honey to sell?" I aways buy honey when I travel abroad, but have not found many places in Norway where the local farmers sell their products directly from their farm.

 

Coming closer to the house, we were met by a group of hens, and when I started photographing them the owner came out to meet us. "You know" I told him, "Your bee hives originally came from the house next to our cabin. Now I wonder if you have some honey to sell us?" Yes, the bee man agreed about the location of the hives, he got them from our neighbour many years ago. And yes, he had honey for us. Sweet honey, pure nature. The best there is.

 

We bought a kilo of honey, and the bee man was right. It has the best taste of honey I've ever tasted. Yellow, smiing, as sweet as.........yes, sweet as honey.

 

The "bee man" is an artist, a potter. He invited me into his workshop in the basement of the old mill house. I was thrilled, and too shy to ask permission to photograph.

May be next time........

-----------------------------------------------------------

I am working on two different blog posts now, 1 - the history of our cabin, and 2 - how we manage everyday life, where we get our water, where we cook and so on. It opens my eyes to the beauty of what we have here. The beauty of simplicity. 

Tomorrow though, April 9th, it is 69 years since 2nd World War, and I have a special War Memorial post for you.

Can you imagine the pleasure.......

 

I think that you have to be a Norwegian, or at least from The Norths, to understand what I am talking about, this strong, sensational pleasure to suddenly be placed in the pure middle of spring. Directy from long, dark months of ice and snow, waiting, waiting, waiting.........and here it is. The cabin garden is overflowing.......

 

The cabin garden, which is only a few years old, and growing every year, is not big. But still big enough to give me flows of roses during summer, big enough to surround me with daffodills at Easter. And scillas, my beloved scillas which aways take me back to mormor Olga's memory garden.

 

It was raining yesterday, and we spent the better part of the day spring cleaning. We spring clean the cabin every year, and we do it propery! Alot of work, but so much fun to go through all what we have hear, clean it. And when I say all I mean ALL. We open every cupboard and drawer, we dust and clean, and in the end we are fully awarded with a completely clean cabin. Joy. Pure joy!

This morning we woke up to a blue sky. Not a cloud to be seen. Birdsong filling the air. Time for gardening. Time to get soil under my nails, time to breath the fresh perfume of spring flowers.

 

I can almost see the leaves on the rosebushes grow. The summer will bring hundreds of roses.

 

Look at these rhuburbs. It is my 51st birthday on Friday. I plan to give myself a homemade rhuburb dessert as a very special birthday gift.

-------------------------------------------------------------

How would you spend an Easter week at the cabin. Where the ony thing to worry about is wether to start making some coffee now or in an hour......or why worry at all when there is northing to worry about.........

What do you want me to blog about from the cabin week? Let me know, and may be I can do something about it.

Tomorrow I pan to take you with us on a walk near the church, visiting the old mill.

Leaving winter, welcoming spring

 

Coming down from the snowy mountain we were met by spring at the cabin. Afternoon coffee out on the terrace, Terje's chocolate cake.

 

We have already eaten half of the cake. Now we must try to save the rest for guests........

 

The recipe? It is an old one we got from father-in-law when we were newlywed. I will share it over in The Blue Cafe some day.......

Stop halfways, for cross country skiing

 

It takes two hours to drive from home to the cabin. We pass a mountain, and in winter we often stop there for some cross country skiing. The weather was not the best today, rainshowers and sun chasing each other. But we decided it was worth the risk of getting wet.

Sure it was!

 

A few kilometers of skiing, and then it was time to sit down. Make a fire, grill sausages, and Marta was ready for playing.

    

    

It didn't take much effort to persuade Terje to play with :-)

  

    

I played aong as well........with my camera.....

 

    

    

--------------------------------------

I have my laptop and a mobile wireess network with me. It wil be so much fun to blog daily directly from the cabin :-)

The Slow life - together.

 

Sunday morning and I just had my last shower for more than a week. The mist is laying heavy over my outdoor world, wet and cold. It is Easter break and we are soon on our way to the cabin.

    

  

We could have gone out to the cabin right after work on Friday, we could have gone yesterday morning. But we decided to give ourselves an extra day at home, for al lthose small "things" which you never find time for during the days of working. For an extra Slow Life day.

As so often when I have time at hand, I spent alot of it in the kitchen. Vafler for lunch, pizza for supper, baking loads of sweets rools, many of them vanilla filled, for the cabin week ahead. Terje made is speciality, chocolate cake.

 

Ingrid and Marius spent the Saturday night home with us. They are short of money, saving for a flat where they can move in together when they start their studies in the fal.l "Oh mamma, I don't like not having money. We should have spent Saturday night out with friends, but we realy can't afford it!" Marta was thrilled to have them home playing games with her, and in the end Ingrid and Marius agreed that a Saturday night at home with parents and little sister was not a bad thing at all.

 

Vafler have always been The cCmfort Food in my family. Mormor Olga made them, my mother did during my childhood, both my mother and my father still make them, always. It was the first "thing" our children learned to make in the kitchen by themselves.

Never a recipe. I don't think I have ever seen one. Starting with the eggs I stir them well with a little sugar, some grains of salt. Then I add melted butter, milk, flour and work till I have a smooth "vaffelrøre". We have had several different irons over the years. Electrical at home, an old one to use over the fire at the cabin.

 

We eat the vafler with jam, or I often prefere the sweet brown goat cheese. An extra treat when the vafler are stil warm is to spread butter on them, always the salted butter, and when the butter starts to melt you add sugar. Deicious.

 

Well, cabin time is soon here. Though it is still Sunday morning and the rest of the house is asleep. When I went to bed around midnight last night, Terje still had to make the cream for his chocolate cake. It is good for him to get some extra sleep now.

It is me, Terje and Marta which are leaving today.Friday is my birthday, and then Ingrid and Marius, my parents and my aunt will also come. We will celebrate The Slow Life - together.

------------------------------------------

How will your Easter be this year?

The first snowdrops, life a new.....

 

Though The Blue Garden is still covered in loads of old, dirty snow, it is starting to melt around the corners. And up through snow and ice the first snowdrops force their tiny white heads and their green leaves. It is a miracle every spring to watch life grow. Yet again. The ground has been frozen deep, deep during the long, dark wintermonths, and in this cold ice, life has patiently been waitng. Waiting for its time. Waiting for God's time.

Grandma Olga, mormor Olga, became a widow when I was only two months old. She was barely 60 by then, and for the next 30-40 years, her grandchildren became the light of her life. I was lucky to be one of them, and loved to spend time with mormor. Mormor lived in a big house with a big garden. I can't remember any snowdrops in mormor's garden, but I remember the vivid blue scillas, mormor's first spring flowers. May be my love of blue has its root from the scillas. of mormor's garden? 

In all the gardens where I have lived, where I live, I plant scillas. They are so tiny, they look so fragile, but their appearence in spring gives me flowering memories of a happy childhood in mormor's garden. The scillas of The Blue Garden are still covered in a deep layer of snow, but their bulbs are slowly coming out of their long sleep, and with their awakening a blue flow of childhood memories are starting to fill my mind.

Stories told, the tale of tales

 

It is the last day at work before Easter break. A long week at the cabin. Nights in candlelight, no television, no work which has to be done. Reading, talking, playing games, eating, watching the stars.

 

I am planning the week. I have bought a new book which we will read aloud, I will buy a new boardgame, I have been thinking about buying a new audio cd for the drive out to the cabin.

   

In the middle of all this I stop. Stop and think. Do I need books, games and audios to fill every minute? What about the telling of tales. We don't need words written by others all the time. We have all the words in our own minds, in our own hearts.

 

Are we forgetting the art of telling stories? Fairytales, or eventyr as we call them in Norway, folktales. But also life stories. Memories, dreams of days to come, dreams of days which we know will never come but the dreams have their own value.

Sharing meals give us opportunities. While preparing the food together there are stories of other meal preparations in the air. Remember when we got that fish? Oh, let us go up in the mountains to pick berries again this summer. Once, in Italy, I wanted to buy shells like these. In India thay had a vegetable called ...............

Around the table there is always time. Time to share. Time to tell. Time for tales.

The stories are there, but we are often too busy to pick them. To make bouquets.

 

We are not leaving untill Sunday. Tonight we have invited friends for dinner. Spaghetti vongole. We will gather around the table. We will share food. We will share friendship. We will share tales.

 

Blogging and letter writing are places for me to share stories.  Life stories. We don't need to travel the world, we don't need to live among the famous. My best penpal through 14 years is disabeled and more or less house bound. Her letters, which I recieve a couple of times a month, are filled with life stories, with tales of lived life.

------------------------------------------------------------

A wonderful story from yesterday's blogworld can he found by following this link.

------------------------------------------------------------

Do you have a story to tell? A tale to share?