Britt-Arnhild's House in the Woods

New Day, new Country

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Another day, another country,

 

......and hopefully soon time for blogging.....

 

Just a clue or two......

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Here is how I at this "dish" for breakfast today.......

....in "The Land of the Thousand Lakes"......

A guessing game....just for fun

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I am travelling, and without internet access. (managed to borrow a computer in a five minutes break for this......)

So my game, just for fun, in a hurry.

Where I am when I get this food to eat.
What is the food called, and what is it?

:-)

 

Deep in thoughts

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Some days my thoughts are like an old wooden rowing boat. 
Rich colours almost washed away.
Unable to float.
Water seeping in.
Upside down. 

I let my thoughts float.
Out into the deep ocean.

Washed clean.
It feels right.
I cling to, I let go. 

The green boat has its history.
So has my life.
A rich history.
I flip back a few pages.

Laughter in the air.
Sorrows.
Despair.
Joy.

Temptation to flip forward.
But that´s cheating:

Life is

here

now.

Ands my thoughs turns out to be

a prayer. 

 

The Apple Seed and the Apple Tree.

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Many, many years ago one of her forefathers found a strange seed in a bag of coffee beans. In the garden shed he picked up an old pot, filled it with rich soil from the garden, planted the seed, watered it, and waited, waited, waited.

The seed sprouted, it grew. First a tiny little leaf, then one more, and one more. The first couple of years he kept the pot inside, in the kitchen window sill. He had to change to a bigger pot a few times, and after a while he recognized the plant. It was an apple tree.

One summer he dig a hole in the garden, and planted the tiny little tree. The whole family watched. In awe. 

As the years went by the tree grew and bore fruit. A lot of fruit. Sweet apples. More than the family could use.

The story about the alien seed in the middle of the coffee beans followed the family. Was told from generation to generation. 

Sixty years ago, on a day in August, just when the first apple ripened, a little girl was born. She grew up with the apple tree. Slept her afternoon naps in its shade, had a swing hanging from the branches, made apple blossom perfume for her dolls, then apple pie and apple jam with her mother and sister. The little girl became a woman, and left the little house and its apple tree. But she returned every summer. First alone, then with her own growing family.
The apple tree was the first thing she looked for when she ran down the steep hill from the main road.

As the years passed by the apple tree bore fewer and fewer apples. The family tended the tree with love, and the tree kept on giving fruits for a few years. But one spring there were no green leaves, and during a heavy storm the tree let go of several of her branches.  The family was afraid it would fall down over the house, and one sad day it had to be cut down.

The apple tree became history.

 

The woman missed the tree and she missed the apples. She planned to buy a new tree. But years passed, and it came to nothing.

Then, one year, she invited a group of friends to celebrate her 60th birthday. None of these friends had seen the little house down the hill, the garden which used to have an apple tree. She decided tocelebrate her party in her childhood garden. The steep garden which ran down towards the fjord and the stony beach.

 

Her friends had heard of this place for many years. But they had never heard of the apple tree. They had no idea what the garden looked like, but since they knew there had to be a garden surrounding the house, and since they wanted to give the woman a birthday gift which would last...

 

 

 

......they decided to buy the woman an apple tree.

 

Now there is a new tree in the garden.

And a new family tale to tell.

 

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A true tale inspired by the birthday party I took part in on Saturday. And the apple tree I bought for the birthday girl.

A daughter. A friend. A woman. Happy 23!

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Happy birthday Ingrid Elise.

To climb the old church spire

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"May I climb the steep ladder up the spire, please?"

We were in the almost 400 years old church as part of a 60th birthday celebration, and the guide had told us about the fantastic view from there church spire. And also about the steep, steep ladder you had to climb to get there. This intrigued me. It sounded too exciting to let go. So instead of walking out to the graveyard surrounding the church, which was the guide´s suggestion, I couldn´t help myself asking:

"May I climb the ladder up the spire please?"

The guide was right.
The ladder was terrible steep.
And the view was terrific!

The village of Leksvika, the Trondheim Fjord and all the way out to the little monastery island Tautra.

Leksvik church has several treasures, among them a crusifix from the 1200 century. Its history is unknown, though the guide has her own version, which I love:

"As you know we are close to the island Tautra. The first Cisterciencer monks came there around 800 years ago. They built a church on Tautra which also became the church for the inhabitants here in Leksvik. The people was happy, they didn´t have to row all the way to Lade church in Trondheim, Tautra was much, much closer. Then one year a bride to be and her groom drowned on their way to the church at Tautra, during a heavy storm, and the inhabitants here in Leksvika decided it was full time to build a church in their own village. When the tiny little log church was finished the monks at Tautra, which were originally from France, came rowing over the fjord with a gift; this French crusifix"

 

There are tales for many a book hidden inside the walls of Leksvik church.
Our guide has materials for some them. 
A collector of words is needed to write them down.

Here you can read more about the church.

By the way, did you know that many old family portraits also have the dead children of the family included? They were often painted with white skin.

A Garden Tour

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California was not only blogging friends, birds, hiking, sailing, bbq, hamburgers, sun, San Francisco mist, grocery shopping, penguins, Yosemite, redwoods, Jack London and all that.

California was also gardens.
Many gardens.
Charming gardens.
Private gardens.
Small gardens.
Big gardens.
Colourful gardens.

Starting with the Japanese garden outside Jane and Lanny´s guest house. Where I had my breakfast every morning.
Ending with Cecilia and Steve´s garden, where we had out last, long, warm nights.

Ever since we came back from California I have wanted to travel back through mu photos on a garden tour. And today is the day.

Grab some fruit and come along, will you?

Many of the gardens we visited were gardens of friends.
Like sitting under a mimosa tree up in Grass Valley, visiting Debbie and her family.
Here is where we saw our first humming bird.

Unfortunately we didn´t have enough time in Jack London State Park.
The hydrangeas smelled lovely though.

A mountain range, an oleander forest, early morning, me and my journal.
That´s my kind of morning paradice :-)

 

Another kind of a garden,
a tour in Wine Country.

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A place to sit down with a friend.

A place to refresh.

Frightened by a scarecrow.

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I am still not halfway through my tour, through my pictures.
But it is time for breakfast,
and the post is getting too long.......

I had to say NO!

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You know you will be missing something when you get a phonecall with an invitation to travel to Ukraine, and YOU HAVE TO SAY NO!!!!!!!

 

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I do have a consolation though.
Today I will be paying the tickets for my November travel
to Hong Kong
and India! 

Babysitting a garden, or is it garden sitting :-)

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Our neighbours have been away for a few days, and I was babysitting their garden.
Baby sitting,

or may be it is called garden sitting?

Anyway, this is the view I have from my bathroom window. 
Every morning......over to my dear neighbour.
No fences. 

My neighbour Inger spends all day during the summer months out in the garden. From early morning till late night.
Together with her daughter (who has a full time job),
she does a tremendous job of love.

The garden is huge, the two ladies have no gardener to help them.
Still, the grass is always perfectly mowned,
there are seldom any weeds to be seen.

A couple of years ago Inger had this little garden house built.
It has become a favorite place to gather friends and neighbours for a bbq,
coffee, or just a chat.

Inger also asked another neighbour to babysit the garden while she was away.
The other neighbour is so much faster then me, and had already done the job when I came over in the afternoons, early nights.

My "hard labour" consisted of walking around,
enjoying.

Often together with my camera.

 

Smelling a rose,
picking a bouquet of Edelweiss,
tasting a strawberry.

My neighbour is back, the work is done, the garden has survived.
And I walk back to The House in the Woods.

You have never seen The House in the Woods from this angle before, have you?