When we bought our first house many, many years ago, it was a very small house in a very large garden. It was something of a magical garden, having been planted more than fifty years before to ensure whoever lived in the house was self-sufficient on potatoes, vegetables, berries of all sorts, apples, plums and […]
Ask anyone what flower they associate with the House of Lancaster, and chances are they’ll answer a rose. And yes, during the War of the Roses, Lancaster had a red rose as a badge. Their fierce opponents, the House of York, sported a white rose. And by now all of those who know your history
Forget-me-not – or a flowery take on an usurpation Read More »
At present, I am out travelling. Two weeks in which the general idea is that I should take some time off everything (including writing) and instead immerse myself in the here and now. The here and now being our trip through various stunning locations in the US. Leaving aside the fact that I cannot ever
Very many years ago, on this exact date, I was sitting in our large dining room with my mother. It was only us. My father was out in the Amazon somewhere for business purposes and our house in Lima felt very large without him. My sister was still a baby, asleep upstairs. The maid had
Quae Mutatio Rerum – or how things have changed (or not) Read More »
Today, Sweden celebrates Midsummer’s Eve. (Being a pragmatic people, we decided quite some years ago to always celebrate Midsummer on a Friday, no matter when the solstice actually happens) All over Sweden, people will be gearing up for one of our favourite holidays, albeit that very often the hoped for sunny weather doesn’t make an
From where I am sitting on this cold winter day, I can see a stand of snowdrops. Puny little things, giving little reassurance spring is anywhere close. Unfortunately, no matter how I look, I cannot find the pointy narrow green shoots that presage my favourite among spring flowers, the crocus. But seeing as I am
Behold a baby oak. Well, baby and baby – as per my reckoning, this thin little thing is at least 7 years old, but from the perspective of an oak, I suppose that means it is an infant. Hubby has recently scythed the meadows, but whenever he comes across an oak sapling, he detours, saying
We took a walk through the woods some days ago. It was quiet. Most of the migrating birds have already left for warmer climes – albeit that it has been very warm up here the last few weeks. Anyway: other than the odd chirping sparrow and the high-pitched call of the kites that soared over
Les feuilles mortes – a reflection over impending autumn Read More »
This time of the year, I spend a lot of time outside. Other than weeding my few flower beds and calling down eternal curses on those foolish monks who decided to introduce ground elder in Scandinavia (it’s edible – but it’s also wildly invasive) I rather enjoy studying the plants that grow on our meadow.
The fragrance of the mock orange perfumes the air. To the west, a faint line of lighter green is still visible on the horizon, to the east, the sky is streaked with greyish pink. The Nordic summer night is brief, a shadow, no more, between light and light. Such nights should not be spent indoors.