If you follow a minor dirt road not far from here, which leaves the main road to reach some farms further in, you will pass a house that is left to sleep so deep that soon I think no one will be able to kiss it awake. Lilacs grow over the wide stonehege, which also make up part of a root cellar. Old beeches strech their heavy branches over the narrow road. Beauty for all senses.
About 35 years ago there lived a joyful farmer there who managed this little farm meticulously, in a friendly manner. But old age at last got the better of him and he left this life for the eternal one. A cousin of his inherited the house, but she didn’t care for it, nor the farm, just the idea of owning a property. She has never visited it, just left it there. Nature has slowly made the garden into a small charming wilderness.
During my whole life I have watched how the seedlings that took root by the walls of the house, slowly have grown into trees, how the smaller barn with wooden roof at last collapsed and returned to the earth it was made from. Many times I have stopped there dreaming to restore it to that neat little fram it once was. But there is a fascination of the forgotten one with hidden memories. However, when I passed this time I could not resist entering through the one gate that is still hanging on its hinges.
I sat down in the grass among the old apple trees in the meadow of red and yellow primroses. Nothing disturbed the peace and quiet of the garden. I did not feel as an intruder, more of a guest taking part of a flowers feast.
I wonder if anyone will ever live in that house again, call it a home, sit where I sat admiring the flowers, but not as a guest but considering this place as part of their life. What a happy owner it would be.
The Month of Virgin Mary is ended, it always fills me with a bit of sadness. During one of our May processions in the garden, our cat Joseph, which has found a home here, thought it was so cosy that he decided to take a nap at Virgin Mary’s feet. Animals never stop surprising me with their initiatives.
The bees and ants have woken up. It is fascinating to see their dedication and their industrious work as their gather food for their queen and larvae. They have a common project, in their nature completely unselfish.
The first flowers have begun to bloom. A walk in the garden becomes almost like an exploration in search for new signs of spring. The crocuses have started their colourful display. The Christmas rose keeps flowering, enjoying the mild weather and warm sun of March.
But with the crocuses flowering, it is time to sow indoors some of the vegetables that need a longer growing season than our nordic climate can offer. This year I have tried to sow onion indoors to see if this can yield a better harvest. The tomatoes are next on turn.
The sunsets have enlighten my evenings with different rosy nuances. And even in the nights signs of Spring are present. As I was out taking a walk with Toby, two whooper swans flew over us, their calling clear and beautiful even after they were gone behind the forest.
I am sitting in the living room with the Christmas tree on my right hand and a crackling fire in the tile stove on my left. Both the night and day have been stormy and the mild spring feeling turned into dry and cold winter weather, but with a clear light blue sky. A day like this one, my thoughts turn to the warm colours of autumn. There are two species that stand out, perhaps because of their soft lilac colour, October aster and the autumn crocus.
While the October aster is hardier with small flowers in abundance, the autumn crocus is more gentle and on the verge of surrealistic. You find it there in the bare soil of the flowerbed without any fragrance and without leaves to accompany the weak flowers, but with a colour that even the bright roses of summer would be proud of.
During winter the brightest colour we have is the blue sky. I love to look at it in all its brightness. But there are other colours to be found which the snow enhances and brings to my attention. When visiting my sleeping little corner of the garden, the rose hips in their red colour brightens my day. Without the snow, they wouldn’t really have caught my eye, beautiful.
In the woods apart from the maturated emerald colour of the firs, the ferns are my favourites. It is something in their light brown colour that is so beautifully contrasted with the snow which causes me to stop and just watch and ponder.