One of our great Swedish poets once wrote “Ingen maj en dager sprider som den klarnande april” which loosely translates as “no May day ever shines as brightly as the returning light in April”. I totally agree: April is the month of LIGHT up here in the north.
We write the 6th of April today, and as everyone in Sweden knows (not really, but they should) this is the day when the wagtail returns after having hibernated elsewhere. And yes, most years we see them for the first time on the same date, which, if you think about it, is very odd.
Wagtail in Stockholm, photo by Bengt Nyman (Common Creatives)I love wagtails. Not only are they portents of spring and summer warmth, but I like how they strut about, tails wagging teasingly. They drive Asterix (our poodle) crazy, and I do believe the birds do it on purpose.
There is Asterix, relaxing in the grass, and a wagtail lands a couple of metres away.
Wag, wag, wag goes its tail as it struts back and forth in front of the dog.
Asterix rises to his feet as soundlessly as possible.
He has his gaze fixed on the enervating tease. Slowly, slowly, he lifts a paw.
Wag, wag, wag goes the wagtail, now turning its back on the dog.
This is when Asterix starts to believe he has a chance. Silly dog, he falls for it every time. So he starts stalking the bird, one very slow pace at the time. Just a little bit closer, just a little bit, he likely tells himself, his hind legs bunching as he prepares for that final leap.
Asterix leaps.
The bird flies—and lands a metre or so away. Wag, wag, wag goes its tail, and I swear, if it could laugh, it would.
Ernst Norlind, Cranes at sunsetSpring is very much about returning birds for us—not that I know all that much about them, but I do have my favourites, including the wagtail. The mournful call of the lapwings as they dart and circle their nests, the hooting of the cranes as they fly overhead in huge formations, aiming for the north and their nesting grounds, the acrobatic flight of the swifts—but they won’t be here for a further few weeks, they don’t like nippy spring nights—it all yells spring and sun to me. Suddenly, nature is so full of life, be it the anemones dotting the ground, the shrubs shifting to green, and I am so glad that winter is over and that before us lie months and months of long days and light.
Easter is late this year, and I am hoping for days warm enough to spend outside as we will have the entire clan visiting us in our country house, potentially ten adults and four children (and a dog who thinks all those children are rather intimidating and so prefers chasing wagtails). I am already planning my menus, although some days do not need planning. Good Friday is always cured salmon, Easter Sunday is always lamb in some form or other. I’m guessing most of us have traditional foods we eat at our respective holidays, no matter what religion we ascribe to, right?
I am also hoping to write this Easter. (This is when I want everyone else to be outdoors) I am starting to feel that itch again that makes it fun to write, and I have this absolutely crazy storyline developing in my head. Erin is about to meet Russian nobles, Finnish and Swedish prisoners-of-war, greedy merchants clustered on the island of Kronstadt, the perceptively mild tsaritsa Katarina, the morose Peter the Great and I don’t know how many more. No wagtails though. Wrong season for them, as it will be too cold for this chirpy little bird to tease the new addition to the Erin and Duncan household, a borzoi pup named Gogol.
“Eet ees not fair to me,” Alma protests as she leans over my shoulder to read the above. “What about me and Rodrigo?”
Well, it wouldn’t be the first time I write two stories simultaneously, even if leaping between 14th century Spain and early 18th century Russia is a bit of a trial.
“We’ve been waiting for two years,” Erin tells Alma. “Two years!” she adds with a bit of a bite.
“Ever heard of life?” I retort. I mean, grandbabies, work, renovation projects—sometimes, there isn’t enough time to write.
“Pfff! Our life is in your hands, lady. You owe us to tell us the whole story!” Erin says.
“Si,” Alma agrees.
She wouldn’t agree quite as readily if she knew just what life is going to be throwing her way in the coming decades, but I bite my tongue. Alma is still young and hopeful. And as to Erin . . . well, she’s had plenty of adventure as it is, but more is coming.
“Why Russia?” she asks. “I don’t even know Russian!”
“But you know French.”
“Now I do.” She grimaces. “Only good thing to have come out of having to live in London.” She sighs, something dark shadowing her face.
“You’re unhappy,” I conclude.
“Very.” She stares off, her gaze lingering on my budding chestnut tree, the white of the anemones under the beeches. “I want to go home,” she whispers, and I am not sure if she means go home to her time or to the American continent. Oh, dear: my gut tightens. Obviously, Anna has work to do here!
By now, you’ve all worked out that I am a bit torn between my two WIPs. Good news is that there are two WIPs and that hopefully, soon there will be a new book!
In other news, I have just proof listened to Their Castilian Orphan which will soon be out in audio. Made me cry – not sure if that is due to Greg Patmore’s excellent rendition or the story as such. Probably a combo.
Finally, a couple of reading suggestions:
I just finished The Ballad of Mary Kearney by K Mezzacappa. What a fantastic read – even if the first few chapters were a bit hard to get through, I recommend you to persevere, especially if you are interested in Irish history.
I also recently read The Archduchess investigates: The case of Princess Schwarzenberg 1757 by M.M Grentze. If you’re into the Habsburgs—in this case the court of Maria Teresa—this is a great little read, submerging you entirely in the culture, fashion and traditions of the time.
And if you didn’t catch the series of excellent posts about historic women on my blog, why not start here and work yourself backwards?
With that, I wish you a wonderful, bright and light April!
Anna