Tag: Nature

A farm between the hills

There is something wondrous about inhabited farms, even though the fields are cultivated and cows graze in the pasture in summer.

There is such a farm some kilometres from our farm, isolated up between high hills in the middle of a big forest. The view is stunning, enabling you to see firs and pines along the horizon far away. The access road is long and winding, ending in a peaceful dirt road some kilomteres from the main road. In the winter when the farm is completely abandoned, the feeling of loneliness becomes manifest, the dark small rooms with dusty furniture, the windows covered with frost, and the lack of footprints in the snow.

For about 50 years ago a brother and his sister lived there. Too humble a life for many I think. They worked the fields, cared for their animals, seemingly contented with each other’s company, growing old together. Their life changed suddenly when a fire broke out and completely destroyed their home. History and future burnt to ashes.

An small road streching through the forest to one of the fields. Both the gate and the gateposts are gone.

The only thing that now remains of their home is the ground and the doorstep, nothing else, except for the small adjoining buildings, tells about the home in which they grew up, lived and grew older. Too old to start afresh they moved, still together, hired a house and lived there until they moved to an elderly home. The sister died first. The brother followed her some years after. Their life is as unknown, as their home, untalked of, unimportant to this fast, efficient society. I think though that they are together now, much happier, in joy, their friendship and goodness having an eternal value.

Standing there breathing the atmosphere of silence wanting to revive the farm, but at the same time filled with fascination for its sleep, I realise my own mortality, my own limitation, well aware of that my wish never will be realised. But to be a guest, though uninvited, has its charm, enjoying the peace and the beauty, free to imagine what could have been.

Hepatica which I found growing next to one of the stone hedges.

An old man in the wood

I have a favourite trail. It stretches over fields, pastures, through forests and on country roads. Though not long, it is varied and it also takes me past one of the most beautiful little farms in the area. The house is situated far from the main road surrounded by fields and trees. A river runs next to it and passes an old broken water mill. The farm sleeps, waiting for someone to wake it up.

On my way from the farm, the river is calm after fall.

I have walked this trail for several years, but it always gives me new small surprises, as today. I passed a stone and I noticed the beautiful nuance of the red granit contrasted by the green moss that partly covered it. I kneeled down to catch it on camera. Suddenly I saw not a stone but an old man with green beard. He looked a little stern as if he was, against all odds, determined to stay there for some hundreds years more.

The old man in the wood

Sunday walk

Toby and I went out for a brisk day’s walk before noon. It had been quite cold during the night, but the temperature had risen during the morning. The damp air softened the colours of both trees and ground.

I love the colour of the reeds on these days, similar to that of ferns, but more distinct, perhaps since they are much bigger. The rustling sound as the wind moves through them soothes my mind as it enhances the silence, making the walk very peaceful.

A surprise

I realised that my ewe was expecting lambs, not as I had planned having them in May, but as she liked, in January. When the time of delivery grew closer, I started to get up in the middle of the night to check on her, but nothing happened except that she grew bigger and bigger, and bigger. At last I gave up and checked on her three times a day, hoping that I would be there so that I could help if she needed.

One day around noon, I sat in my room studying, and my sister calls me and said that my ewe had got her lambs. I asked her, as I hurriedly went out to the barn, how many? “Two” she said, “or three, no it’s four!”

And there they were for white lambs and one of them very small and thin. She cared a lot for them all and that was wonderful. But now came the task of making the little one survive.

Precicely past the most critical stage, he has normal temperature.

He got his rawmilk, which is essential for his immune system, but he dropped in temperature. I installed a heat lamp, he was to weak to both stand and suckle by himself so I fed him through a bottle, every fourth hour. His temperature raised to normal quite quickly, which was a good sign. After two days of slowly improving he gained strength and now after a week he is as alert as the others, allthough smaller. I have named him Richard, he must have a great name, her is real fighter. It is so wonderful that he survived.

First time he manged to drink by himself.

The others treated him very well and they kept him warm. So now I have my quartette Richard, Roger, Agnes and Cecilia.

One week old, meet Agnes, Roger, Richard, and behind them, Cecilia

The lake sang today

I started my walk today with just the intention of having a little longer ordninary walk. As I was just on my way to take the first steps I turned around and for just some seconds I beheld the sun setting in gold and rosy colours, reflecting the warm colours in the little pond in front of me. Some seconds of beauty and then all was gray and pale pink again. It was lovely to catch sight of it, even just for some seconds.

The stars kept us company the last half hour of our walk. Almost home, I walked along our little lake. Suddenly I heard a hollow tone, the lake was singing. It is wondrous to hear the muffled sounds echoing through the ice, so unlike any other, calling here and there, never knowing from where the next sound will come.

Pain and beauty

We had just said hello, and were beginning to present ourselves when her voice broke. Everything about her looked like a dream. She was beautiful, she was young, studying to become an art teacher. Sitting there in the airy room with the ivy climbing up along the window, she looked like to have a lovely life, fresh like a summer morning.

I saw her pain when she tried to explain, divorce, just the beginning while she made an attempt to cover her face with her hand to hide her tears. My heart became heavy to see her pain. I wanted to cry with her, but my words were clumbsy, “how terrible, poor you”. I could suddenly see her loss, both life, love and future, dreams, crushed, rejected, but I could not do anything to help her.

It wasn’t meant to be like that from the beginning.

“To love is when the loved one’s good is willed”

I stopped for a moment

I was out running with Toby. The weather was uncertain, but we took the chance and left for the woods and soft roads. We were running uphill into the forrest when the sun suddenly shone through the trees.

Together, the damp air and the beams made a beautiful display in front of me. And there stood Toby in the middle of all the light, waiting for me to catch up, a perfect part of the beauty that surrounded him, but unaware of it. I hesitated, stopped for a moment and gazed. Sometimes it feels that you have finally stepped on the right spot and entered into a fairytale.

I came upon a tree…

I was walking along the shore, immersed in my thoughts and many things more. And I came upon a tree, that stood there whispering about the secrets of the sea. Solace for my soul, after all the tales by the tree that I was told.

While I was taking a walk today I suddenly remembered this walk I took in the south of Sweden. So many things have happened since then, but I think the tree is still there gathering still more tales of the sea.

Some walks just remain in your heart.