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The hedge monster

Category: Garden | Posted: Sat May 10, 2008 10:31 pm

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When we moved in 12 years ago, the border hedge was three meters tall, that's nearly 10 foot. The neighbour wanted to trim it, so I asked him to start on his side, and I'd follow up on our side. Only thing was, we didn't have an electrical hedge trimmer, and the hedge is about 38-40 meters long, that's 41-43 yards. So I took what we had, a chain saw. Since I'm short, I had to lift it over my head in order to get the proper height. The cutting part was easy, I just walked slowly, chain saw above my head, all the way from one end to the other. The cleaning-up part was far worse! The hedge is a kind of Spirea that blooms white in spring and looks good when untrimmed with the hanging, blooming branches.




It's got lovely scent too. Right now we're arguing with the next-door neighbour about that hedge but I think I've told you all about that before. I just wanted to show the hedge. It starts where I'm standing and goes all the way to those tall trees in the distance.

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Border overviews

Category: Garden | Posted: Fri May 02, 2008 2:56 pm

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We've got three flower borders that look nice, and three more that look like disaster areas. They're up for a change, and I'm not showing them, but I'd like to share the other ones with the Stewbies.

This is the big border to the west. It currently holds 12 peonies, a multitude of Aquilegia, lilies, primroses, crocus, Arisema, iris and other assorted bulbs and perennials of all sizes and flowering times:



This border is further to the east, but still on the west side of the house. It's two years old and everything in it is still small. The top is the herbs area, but also has a magnolia and a peony. Further down are 14 auriculas. In between we've got sedum, sempervivum, Oxalis and other small alpine perennials. Nearest area has Monarda, Haquetia, lilies, grasses and geranium:



Then it's the south-and-east monster, where the acid soil plants live. We've got roses, peonies, hostas, more hostas, lilies, larkspurs, trilliums, ferns, astilbe, meconopsis, woodland anemone, primroses, rhododendron and some evergreens and more besides.

Starting on the southside:





Looking eastward:



Furthest east:



And looking north:



It looks kind of boring now, with nearly nothing growing, but at least it shows the area we've got to play in. I hope you liked the tour.

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Spring flowering Primula and a bit more besides

Category: Garden | Posted: Thu Apr 24, 2008 7:48 pm

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I adore my early flowering Primula. They are colourful, they've got a lovely fragrance and they ask for so little but give me so much pleasure.

One of the Primula auriculas:



A double one with a white edge:



This one has a funny colour but I like it all the same:



These two were survivors from last year's indoor primrose shopping spree:





I've got three different Primula denticulata and I'm on the look-out for the pinker and more purple ones:







Another absolute favourite is the Fritillaria meleagris. I let them self-seed and have a big clump, but only one is blooming so far:



My last two Pulsatillas. I need to re-stock, I've lost a blue, purple, yellow and pink one.





The blue Anemone nemorosa:



I'd be lost without my spring flowers! It's still early and there are lots more under way out there. I greet each one by touching them, just to make sure they're for real maybe. Yes, I've probably got some diagnosis, but I'm happily ignorant and let's keep it that way.

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A new experience, but such fun!

Category: Pets and other animals | Posted: Sat Apr 05, 2008 6:42 pm

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Today was the first do in the new riding house. The Icelandic people rented it for their gait competition. Iceland horses have five gaits. In addition to the walk, trot and gallop, they have two more unique to them. They walk like camels moving both legs on the same side the same way at the same time. That's called pass. It rocks and makes you feel sea sick. Then there's the tølt. It's faster than trot, slower than gallop and so smooth you feel more like flying than riding. When tølting the horses lift their forelegs so high it's unbelievable, and it looks very elegant and energetic at the same time. The Iceland horse is very small, and is actually a pony, but they don't know that so we won't tell them.

I watched the preparations for the competition. It was very different from what I'm used to seeing. First they evened the track nicely. Then they put chairs and tables in the middle and defined the track width. Then they brought in big cars and drove around in there to make the surface hard and even. And then the show started, but not one by one. They started in groups from two to five participants. Here are a few photos to show what it looked like:

The three judges watching the contestants:



One of two participants from our stables:



The oldest:



The youngest:



Do my eyes deceive me? One group and all men!



One of the prize winning stallions and a world championship rider:



As you can see, both skill and age differed a lot! It was fun to observe how supportive the old hands were towards the young beginners. That's the proper way to do it to get new riders in. Our young rider managed a third place, which is very good considering it's her first do ever. We're very proud of her and the horse.

Here's a small film that shows one icelandic horse doing the tølt, for those who might be interested. flying pace

Last edited: Sat Apr 05, 2008 6:43 pm

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Easter in Norway

Category: Ramblings | Posted: Thu Mar 20, 2008 8:57 am

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Last week-end was Palm Sunday, and this week is called the silent week. Schools are closed all week. Monday and Tuesday are normal work days, but Wednesday is a half-day. Thursday and Friday are red days, the shops open briefly on Saturday, and both Sunday and Monday are red days. Many Norwegians take the opportunity to go away over Easter. Some are lucky enough to get to use some of their holiday and spend an entire week-and-a-half somewhere else. Others set out Wednesday afternoon, and most go in search of snow and fun.

The Norwegian mountains have lots of cabins, normally clustered together like a little village. Easter is the time of year when those little villages come to life. If you're not lucky enough to have someone to look after your cabin, you'll probably meet a huge pile of snow with a chimney sticking out, and then it's digging time. Once the front door's been found it's time to get the fire place started, unpack and head for the slopes or the cross-country trails. Not surprisingly, lots of cabin villages are located close to the slopes or prepared trails. People without cabins often rent one or stay in hotels.

To many, the perfect Easter vacation is hot sun, powdery snow and all the time in the world to enjoy it with family or friends. Imagine, sitting by the wall with the sun in your face, eating oranges and biscuit chocolate. Mmmm! And board games in the evenings. In order to make the most of the vacation, people get very stressed. Yesterday the police had speed controls all over the country and they fined a speeder every five minutes. That's a nice start to the vacation, isn't it? The Red Cross is very busy during Easter too. People don't stop to think that they're out of training before strapping the skis on, and subsequently lots of them get hurt and get to spend Easter in hospital.

For those staying at home, Easter is a good time to enjoy the family, make good food, invite friends and let the stress of everyday life evaporate. Lamb is popular food, and magazines have loads of tempting recipes. The chickens and other decorations are brought out of hiding, and most homes have a plethora of yellow around Easter. The children are looking forward to Easter Sunday, when the Easter bunny has left the big Easter eggs by their beds, filled with all kinds of goodies. And one for the grown-ups too, of course.


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Where do all the old words go?

Category: Ramblings | Posted: Thu Mar 13, 2008 9:08 pm

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I talked to an old farmer earlier this week. During the conversation he used words I haven't heard since my grandmother passed away, and words I didn't understand the meaning of at all. I was curious enough to ask him to explain them, and he had to use many words to replace the one he had used before. The words described bear cubs at different ages, the feel of dry hay, the amount of hay given to a cow, the quality of the wind blowing and the texture of melting snow, amongst other things.

As we talked, I realized that the words he used are needless these days. They're of no use to us anymore. Nobody has seen a bear cub in our area for nigh on 100 years, and their age-describing words are only used in place names. The names were probably given because there once was a bear den, and one shouldn't venture too near it. As for hay, well, no farmer will put poles in the ground, thread three heights of wire between them and hang grass to dry. It's too time consuming, it has to be done by hand, and the silage bales are easier to do, easier to store and easier to move with the tractor. If they want dry hay, they invest in a hay dryer and install it in their barns. The cows get to eat all the silage they want in order to keep the milk production up, and there's never a question of having to ration the hay to make it last all winter. The winds are measured and named according to Beaufort, and whether it's a cold one, chilly one, mild one or warm one is irrelevant information. We won't die from exposure in our heated cars anyway. As far as snow is concerned, we've either got too little, too much or too heavy. We don't need to know the texture, because we don't need to ski on it in order to get anywhere anymore.

I felt very sad when I realized that lots and lots of words that were crucial to our forefathers are now becoming obsolete. Of course, we've got new words that are crucial to us now, but I still can't help feeling sorry for all those old, well-worn words that are going out of use and into oblivion. Some of those words have been needed for hundreds of years. They've got places named after them, but we've forgotten what the words mean, and now they're just place names. And I started wondering where they all end up.

I'm picturing an old words' home somewhere, an ancient landscape where the words are gathering one after the other when people forget about them. There they are, all in a jumble, making sounds that are meaningless to our ears. We'll never find them there and get them back into everyday use. At least not until they're needed again.

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Why the snowdrops have green tips

Category: Garden | Posted: Mon Feb 25, 2008 8:18 pm

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A long time ago when all animals, flowers and everything else was created, they were all given their own colour. The sunflowers stood tall and proud and rejoiced at their lovely yellow. The bluebells whispered amongst themselves: «Look at us, look how pretty we are!» The red roses nodded and mirrored themselves in the puddles, and were very pleased with what they saw. Yes, they were all very happy and thought themselves very lucky to have such wonderful colours.

«But what about me?» asked the snow. «I haven't got any colour at all.»

«Oh dear, oh dear,» cried the colour fairies. «We forgot about you, and now all the colours have been used. We have nothing left. We'll go and ask the flowers if any of them are willing to share their colour with you.»

So out they went and asked all the flowers, but to no avail. Neither the humble primrose nor the proud delphinium wanted to share their colour with the snow. Everywhere the snow fairies got the same answer: «We're sorry, but we need all the colour ourselves,» they said.

The colour fairies were about to give up when a small snowdrop spoke in a timid voice. «I'll share my colour with the snow, if the snow thinks my colour is pretty enough for it.» The snow was very pleased to get a colour and thanked the snowdrop very politely.

The snow never forgets the kindness of the snowdrop, and does his best not to harm her if he falls while she is blooming. And that's why the snowdrop has green tips on her flowers.



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A slight soreness in the heart region

Category: Ramblings | Posted: Tue Feb 19, 2008 10:39 pm

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"I can't understand why you're keeping that car. You can certainly afford to get yourself a better one to drive around in." I didn't realize at first that the statement was meant for me, but when I looked around there was only me and him in there, and unless the horses had taken up driving, the chap was addressing me.

I straightened up and took a long look at my car. It's 19 years old, it starts when I want it to, takes me as far as I want to go, has heating in the seats, a bit of rust around the bottom, lots of little scratches and dents all over, and only stop when I say so. It's grey, and dirtier on the inside than on the outside. I can pull fencing out of the grass with it, drive up steep, snow covered hills without any problems, and even push heavy hay bales or pull other cars out of ditches if need be.

"Well, it's in perfect working order..." I said. The truth is, it suits me fine. Mainly because it works and it's what I need. Which of course my conversation partner couldn't understand, and proceeded to tell me so in no uncertain terms. I felt a bit confused, but managed to understand the main message of his monologue: My car's a disgrace and I should be ashamed to drive in it.

Now, why should I bother listening to him, and even feel bad about what he said? Probably because I've heard other verses of the same song for most of my life. About my clothes, my chosen studies, curtains, carpets, furniture and husband. They just aren't good enough. "For whom?" I ask. Well, for me, of course! That's when they loose me.

As long as I'm perfectly content with what I have, and what I have works just fine, how can it not be "good enough"? I refuse to change my curtains and carpets because the style is indefinable. I selected them for just that purpose, because I want them to last for longer than one season. I am not throwing the coffee table out because it has some scratches, and I'm definately not changing the sofa just because it was bought back in 1995. It's dark leather and I can't see any signs of wear on it so far.

I know people who love interior decorating, and others who have a passion for fashion, but I'd never stand myself on a pedestal and start deriding them for their life styles. I can see the pleasure they get from adding the perfect detail or the lovely accessories, and I am pleased for them.

So why can't they be pleased for me when they can see I'm happy? Is it because they think I'm not? Or is it because they can't understand that I choose to spend my money on the children, the horses and the garden instead of getting myself a lot of stuff that I neither want nor need? I feel that the peacock mentality rules around here, but I don't want to be part of it. When I buy, I want to buy solid, timeless and lasting. With all the money everybody else is spending, the economy won't suffer because I won't participate.

Thank you very much for letting me vent some steam. I feel better already.

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Where the days are spent

Category: Pets and other animals | Posted: Fri Feb 15, 2008 7:17 pm

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This week we've had winter holidays, and my horse minders have gone off in search of snow to play in. So the girls and I have packed some food and drink and spent the days here:



It does look drab and cheerless without the inhabitants, doesn't it? Well, they were enjoying themselves outside, of course:



My two furry friends were pleased to see us, but they would have been more pleased if we had carried their hay nets.

This is Truls, he's mine:



And this is Gabriella. She belongs to the girls, and is just the kind of pony I wanted when I was a little girl:



I could have shown photos of the surroundings too, but truth be told the greyish hues depressed me, so that will have to wait. The riding hall had two big machines in it, so I'm giving that a miss for now too.

At least now you know where I'm at when I'm out and about enjoying everything Mother Nature feels like throwing my way. I thought I spotted some gills behind Truls's ears the other day - might be a sign of something.

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Childhood memories

Category: Ramblings | Posted: Sun Feb 10, 2008 6:53 pm

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I remember when I was a child, in the early 70's, when all winters had lots of snow, and all summers were endless and warm. There were few cars about and the streets were our playground, as well as the forest, beach and everybody's gardens.

During the summer we practically lived on the beach. We brought food and drink down, our parents sat around talking and a few of them even went swimming and playing in the water with us. We were taught to swim in that little bay, and when we'd finally learned to keep our heads above water, we wanted to learn how to dive. There were lots of funny sea animals to catch if we were quick enough, and one of the grown-ups always knew a name for it, and maybe a story about it too.

In winter we went tobogganing down the steepest road. There were only two cars in the neighbourhood that had to use that road, so we were fairly safe playing there. Everybody else drove the longer way around. My best friend's father was the coolest because he always shoveled the snow from the drive into a huge, big pile in a corner. There we would excavate a big snow cave to play in for as long as the snow lasted. As far as I can remember, it lasted for months, but probably didn't.

One winter we visited my grandparents further inland. There was so much snow on the ground we could make tunnels without anybody shoveling the snow into heaps first. Luxury! It was also so cold for a couple of days that the engine oil began to freeze, which probably was a serious thing. I can't remember how my father solved that, but we didn't get to stay for an extra couple of days. I still feel a twinge of regret for that lovely tunnel work we had to leave behind.

Spring was used in the forests surrounding our homes. We climbed trees, picked flowers, played cowboy and indians and everything else one can play with big woody areas available and not a chain saw in sight. We waded the boggy areas and got scolded for dirty feet and wet wellies, but the lessons never stuck. We knew where to find lily-of-the-valley, and with a small bouquet of that everything would be forgiven.

In autumn we went berry picking, mostly to eat there and then, but we occasionally managed to bring enough back for making jam too. We especially liked berry picking in the rain, for some strange reason. Both the berries and us children were soaked at the end of the day, but it seemed nobody bothered much after the unavoidable scolding and repeated whining about us getting ill. We undressed and sat in the tub for hours on end while reading Donald Duck, thawing out and using all the hot water.

Life was probably not as uncomplicated as I remember, and the weather was probably a lot more changeable, but this is how I remember it, and this is what I'm trying to give my own girls. I can't do much about lack of snow or too cold summers, but I can still drag them with me outside to pick lily-of-the-valley in the rain come spring.

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