Droopy's Blog at GardenStew.com

The May 17th celebrations - Constitution Day

Droopy — Tue, 13 May 2008 13:07:24 -0400

Author: Droopy
Posted: Tue May 13, 2008 5:07 pm (GMT 0)

On this day in 1814 the Norwegian Constitution was signed at Eidsvoll, and the celebration of the Constitution Day started a couple of years after this. Our poet Henrik Wergeland is awarded the honour of having organized the first children's parade around 1820. Since we were under Swedish rule at the time, the celebrations weren't very big or organized, because the King just didn't like it at all and tried to curb them.

In 1864, the first big children's parade took place in then Christiania (now Oslo), and May 17th has been saluted, paraded and celebrated all over the country and even abroad ever after, barring the years between 1940 and 1945. Liberation Day is May 8th, and we mark the day by flying flags, but it's not a national holiday. That's reserved for May 17th.

I'd like to tell you about how we celebrate around here. We decorate the houses with birch twig bouquets and flags, and many have planted up a pot or two in red, white and blue. The day starts at 07.00 when we're shook out of bed by the early morning salutes up in the surrounding mountains. Then the brass bands divide themselves up into smaller units and «play the day in» on different locations in their community. We didn't have any music here last year, so maybe we'll have some this year.

The TV-coverage of the big parade in Oslo starts early too, and we usually leave the TV on to listen to the music, hear the children cheering and to check out what the Royals are wearing this year. There are also reports from other places in Norway, to show what their day is like, both weatherwise and celebration-wise. Since Norway is very long, the temps might be summer-like to the south and the snow plow might lead the parade furthest north.

We get the national costumes ready days before. The special blouses are given a wash and iron, and the costumes are aired out and brushed. The silver accessories might also need a bit of attention. When the time for our school parade is nearing, we put on our finery and stroll over to line up. All primary schools organize their own parade in the afternoon. Some of the schools also participate in the big morning parade in town before heading home to their own parade.

Back to the line-up. First and foremost, the big flags carried by men and women from the community who's been helping to arrange the parade. Then the kindergartens from the area flying their own banners, then the school brass band, and then the primary school children neatly divided up into classes, and every adult and child not otherwise occupied carry their own little flag. The children also carry different noisy toys, no May 17th without a small trumpet! And finally, the rest of the community join in and make up the tail end of the parade. Then we all walk from the primary school to the high school, singing, cheering and shouting all the way. It's not very far, but it's nearing an hour to get there because of all the people in that parade.

Foreign guests comment about how our celebrations differ from other nations' celebrations. We've got no military parade, no show of arms, very little political talk, and everything's focused around the children and having fun. The Royal Guard is allowed to participate in Oslo, but they only show their drill and marching skills. After the parade the children are generally spoilt rotten. There are games for them, they get to eat as many hot dogs, ice creams and pieces of cake as they want, and drink all the sodas they want too. Normal weather for May 17th here is cold wind, partly dry but lovely even if it's pouring.

The hedge monster

Droopy — Sat, 10 May 2008 18:31:37 -0400

Author: Droopy
Posted: Sat May 10, 2008 10:31 pm (GMT 0)

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.

Border overviews

Droopy — Fri, 02 May 2008 10:56:39 -0400

Author: Droopy
Posted: Fri May 02, 2008 2:56 pm (GMT 0)

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.

Spring flowering Primula and a bit more besides

Droopy — Thu, 24 Apr 2008 15:48:43 -0400

Author: Droopy
Posted: Thu Apr 24, 2008 7:48 pm (GMT 0)

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.

A new experience, but such fun!

Droopy — Sat, 05 Apr 2008 14:42:00 -0400

Author: Droopy
Posted: Sat Apr 05, 2008 6:42 pm (GMT 0)

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

Easter in Norway

Droopy — Thu, 20 Mar 2008 04:57:50 -0400

Author: Droopy
Posted: Thu Mar 20, 2008 8:57 am (GMT 0)

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.

Where do all the old words go?

Droopy — Thu, 13 Mar 2008 17:08:10 -0400

Author: Droopy
Posted: Thu Mar 13, 2008 9:08 pm (GMT 0)

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.

Why the snowdrops have green tips

Droopy — Mon, 25 Feb 2008 15:18:38 -0500

Author: Droopy
Posted: Mon Feb 25, 2008 8:18 pm (GMT 0)

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.

A slight soreness in the heart region

Droopy — Tue, 19 Feb 2008 17:39:36 -0500

Author: Droopy
Posted: Tue Feb 19, 2008 10:39 pm (GMT 0)

"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.

Where the days are spent

Droopy — Fri, 15 Feb 2008 14:17:46 -0500

Author: Droopy
Posted: Fri Feb 15, 2008 7:17 pm (GMT 0)

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.

Childhood memories

Droopy — Sun, 10 Feb 2008 13:53:18 -0500

Author: Droopy
Posted: Sun Feb 10, 2008 6:53 pm (GMT 0)

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.

Why are new things so frightening?

Droopy — Thu, 31 Jan 2008 15:06:02 -0500

Author: Droopy
Posted: Thu Jan 31, 2008 8:06 pm (GMT 0)

When my last mobile phone started throwing tantrums, I rejoiced. Finally I could order that fancy, little thing with a big screen and heat sensitive buttons! But when the thing arrived it looked scary. New, shiny, totally different from my old one and very fancy. Not my style at all, really. So it sat on the shelf for a couple of months (5!) before I started using it. Not from choice, but from need. The old one finally went bananas and blew something.

The new toy took some getting used to, but I thought that as the weeks passed, we'd be fast friends and function well together. After three months I started the count-down for when I could replace it with something tougher, a dust resistant, splash resistant mobile that could survive falling out of my pocket and onto the concrete. And proper buttons with lights, please! Since I'm outside at all hours and the daylight fails fairly early during winter, a lighted display is a must. As for the heat sensitive panel – well, blah! It works beautifully in cozy cafés, but try punching one with a gloved finger. Totally useless, at least to me.

I started searching for a new companion, and discovered that my former favorite manufacturer had stopped producing mobile phones. Oh, the agony I felt! I would have to change make and didn't know which to choose. So I decided to ask my eldest, and she asked some friends on a forum, and came back to me with a few links (23 I think). So I spent a few days sorting through the links. Some were quickly deleted (too expensive, wrong operator, what - rhinestones?), and others saved pending time to really check them.

After careful concideration I discovered that the most likely candidate went for free if I continued my relationship with my operator, so that seemed like a very good deal to me. When the binding time expired, I quickly renewed and opted for my sturdy, water-and-dust-resistant choice. When it arrived, the unopened package sat in the hall for a few days (about a month) before I opened it up to investigate. Yep, it looked good and simple to use, but it was very different from my present one, and a bit scary to start using right away, so I carefully put it back into the box and put the box on the coffee table, just to get used to the idea of switching phones.

I have dusted the box for two months, and finally gotten round to charging the battery. I've carried my new mobile about a bit, but it's so... well, bulky, and a bit heavy too. So I'm still using the fancy thing which I'm not happy with, and trying to muster the courage to let it go. I really don't like it at all, you see. But will I like the new one better? Will somebody please give me a kick and tell me to stop being so stupid?

Making the best of it

Droopy — Sat, 26 Jan 2008 11:52:34 -0500

Author: Droopy
Posted: Sat Jan 26, 2008 4:52 pm (GMT 0)

We've had some rather bad weather for a couple of days. The full storm came with hurricane gusts warnings and high water levels to top it off. In addition to that, we were told to expect thunder and lightning as well as lots of rain or sleet. That amounts to lots of weather, even for us here on the north-west coast.

I must admit I was a bit worried. I never bothered about strong winds until the New Year's Day Hurricane in -91. The town center looked like a war zone, with broken windows and building parts everywhere. Some cars had been thrown together in a heap, and a fishing vessel had been put in the middle of the main road into town. I think seeing that ship there finally made me understand what power a hurricane had. So I've been frightened of high winds ever since.

Anyway, with the extreme weather warning I found it best to be prepared. So I checked our stock of cocoa, candles and chocolate, to make sure we had the essentials. Then I went and got me two crime novels, both of Monty Roberts' books, a book about table decorating, a bit of yarn and a set with all we need to needle-felt eight sheep. We filled the wood bin downstairs and put torches ready in each of the girls' rooms, our bedroom and the bathroom. We also gathered the blankets on the couch for easy access.

Well, the storm and flood tide came and went, and nothing much came of it except a couple of very wet basements and some torn-down gutter pipes. Thankfully we were too busy to tidy away the torches and stuff, because we needed them today. We were not warned about it, but had a nice thunder and lightning show complete with power cuts. Three short ones, to be exact. Very unusual.

I'm thinking it might be too early to put everything back where it should be. I'll just pile the blankets around me, and enjoy some cocoa, chocolate and an exciting novel this evening. Well, we don't want to waste it, now, do we?

A visit to the aquarium

Droopy — Sun, 13 Jan 2008 12:30:14 -0500

Author: Droopy
Posted: Sun Jan 13, 2008 5:30 pm (GMT 0)

We're so lucky we have a big aquarium close by, it only takes about 30 minutes to drive. We are year-card holders, so we visit when we want without additional payment. I do not normally bring the camera, but today I did, for some reason. The batteries didn't last long, but at least I got to photograph the penguins, which arrived just before Christmas:

Here are from some of the tanks:

They've got a huge tank where divers feed the fish. All the children are clustered near the glass to watch, and it's so fun seeing all the different fish eating from the divers's hand.

Also, they have a department for babies, and it's fun to watch shark eggs and newly hatched sharks. The contact pool is very popular too, but the crabs were so full of food that they just didn't want to play today. The girls ended up petting the starfish instead.

As for me, I always leave with a craving for fish soup, crab, lobster, anything sea food related. Shame on me! *lol*

Mum's the word

Droopy — Fri, 11 Jan 2008 16:14:54 -0500

Author: Droopy
Posted: Fri Jan 11, 2008 9:14 pm (GMT 0)

It's my mother's fault! All the chasing about after special plants, buying more than I had planned, ordering plants by the dozens from the spring catalogues, and counting my money afterwards, with a slight tinge of desperation: Where do I put it all?

When mother moved from the wind-swept island to her present home, she thought she had entered paradise. She planted roses - five and five together, in soft gradations from white through to deep red, lovingly composed to their advantage. After a few years she gave in and admitted rose defeat. She discovered the rhododendron, then the primroses, meconopsis, lilies, heathers, hostas, paeonis and lots more. She's made a veritable oasis of her clay-soiled, flat property and I have trouble pronouncing the names of some of her stuff. She, on the other hand, knows where every plant is, their common name, latin name, natural habitat and special requirements. I call her my Gardening Encyclopedia, and must, unwillingly of course, admit that I would be far less successful without her.

She's also got an eye for composition that I didn't inherit, but I'm trying to learn. I'd like to share her garden with you, and hope you'll enjoy it as much as I do:

Wide view to the west:

The big border:

Her clematis grows to the top of a tall birch:

Azaleas, iris and rhododendron:

The azalea and smilacina racemosa smell heavenly:

What I call the Swedish border:

A sweet miniature arrangement for late spring joy:

The only cat tolerated in her garden these days:

Rhododendron yakushimanum and bumble bee:

One of her rare, little gems, Campylogonum var charopoeum,

I mentioned paeonies:

There is more. Much more! But I hope you get an impression on what her garden is like. I've got something to live up to, haven't I?

More Primula

Droopy — Thu, 10 Jan 2008 04:25:43 -0500

Author: Droopy
Posted: Thu Jan 10, 2008 9:25 am (GMT 0)

I went out and bought primroses for inside yesterday. They have a wonderful fragrance and cheery colours, and they remind me of spring. I've posted some of my spring flowering Primula before, but I've also got some that flower later in spring, in summer and early autumn.

The Primula must be made for our climate. They love the wet, fairly cold weather and the humus-rich soil. They sulk if given the wrong conditions. On a hot afternoon, they are a sorry sight, leaves lying flat on the ground and flower heads drooping. I divide them every three-four years and keep them where I can see and smell them.

This is one of the early ones. It started as an indoor plant:

This is a tiny thing called "Johanne". I've nearly lost it several times, but have so far managed to save one rosette or two:

These Primula japonica grow in my mother's garden, and bloom in June:

Also June-flowering, rather tall ones:

Primula sieboldii has hairy leaves and a good variety of colour. White, whitish pink, pink, pale blue and lavender:

The Primula vialii looks a bit strange with the red buds and lavender flowers. It starts flowering in June and keeps at it for a month or so. It likes me, and has self-seeded:

This is a white Primula alpicola which flowers in June/July:

The Primula florinda is the latest and longest bloomer of them all. It starts in June/July, and keeps at it through August and some years to September. It's fairly tall, about 50 cm, and loves moisture. I've got yellow, orange and red.

The confessions of a rescue mission guerilla

Droopy — Thu, 03 Jan 2008 15:28:46 -0500

Author: Droopy
Posted: Thu Jan 03, 2008 8:28 pm (GMT 0)

I am a thief. You might scold me if you like, but let me explain myself first, and point out that I've never stolen anything before or since.

Once upon a time there was a lovely, park-like garden with plenty of very special trees, bushes, bulbs and plants. When the people who owned it grew old, they willed the whole thing to the community, care of our politicians.

The clause was that the house, out buildings and park were properly maintained and open to the public. Hah!

The area has always been popular for barbeques, walks and play, but as to maintenance... well...

Some years ago I enjoyed an afternoon walk around the property, and spotted some very nice marthagon lilies, astrantiums, aquilegias and wolf's bane growing where the flower beds once were. I went back a couple of weeks later to find that everything had been mowed along with the grass.

The following evening I brought my car, a shovel, my sister-in-law and the dog down. My sister-in-law walked about with the dog, and I set to work trying to save at least something of what had been lost. I managed to find a small astrantium root, a small blue-and-white wolf's bane and a couple of marthagon lily bulbs. Unfortunately, some of the bulbs fell apart when I lifted them, but I carefully collected all the little shells and took them home with me.

My sister-in-law got the whole bulbs and some astrantium. I planted the wolf's bane and astrantium where they hopefully might grow and prosper, and put all the little lily shells in good dirt and waited.

After four or five years, the lilies were big enough to give blooms. The astrantium has been split several times, and is now quite wide-spread. The wolf's bane stands about two meters off the ground (six foot six) and is impressive!

Here are my nicked treasures, photographed last summer:

I've been visiting the site of my crime several times since, and the flowers are still cut with the grass. Am I condemned?

The activity of the season

Droopy — Sat, 29 Dec 2007 05:28:17 -0500

Author: Droopy
Posted: Sat Dec 29, 2007 10:28 am (GMT 0)

Christmas time is a busy time, no matter how careful one tries to be. I do not like stress, or running about to get things ready at the last minute. We're trying to get all the presents done before December, and spend the weeks before Christmas wrapping, writing cards, tidying, decorating, baking and avoiding shops as much as we can.

With nine people on Christmas Eve and the same for Christmas Day, there is bound to be a flurry of activity the days before. The joy of family gathering and eating too much makes it worth it though. Everything went well, the presents were great, but we're left with far too much food. Again.

The days after Christmas but before New Year are called romjul, friends and family use the days off to visit, the cookies are nearly gone (well done!) and my head feels like it's stuffed with cotton. I've ran out of things to talk about, my brain is in a hibernation mode and I just feel like hiding in my bed for a couple of days to recharge.

Well, who cares! It's Christmas once a year, and I'm going to enjoy it fully no matter what! So there.

So here I am, with sand in my eyes, trying to locate the hoover and the mop, looking forward to today's visits, munching a cookie and desperately reading up on the news to be able to make intelligent conversation. I know I'm not the only one, and that is a very comforting thought.

Why they were told

Droopy — Thu, 13 Dec 2007 16:37:29 -0500

Author: Droopy
Posted: Thu Dec 13, 2007 9:37 pm (GMT 0)

Contrary to H. C. Andersen's fairy tales, the Norwegian folk tales had another purpose than amusing children. They were told to explain the inexplicable, to warn the older youngsters, and to teach the nearly-grown-ups how to behave as grown-ups.

In the days before exact science people still asked themselves why healthy children suddenly died in their beds. They could see that a child had Down's but didn't know what to call it. Young aldults suddenly started behaving very weird, and nobody saw a reason for it. Since huldra used to switch children with humans, the mysterious deaths were probably explained. A changeling, of course. If a young woman suddenly became a schizophrenic, she had been bewitched by nøkken. Young men with mental problems had met the lovely huldra. If herders disappeared without a trace, the trolls had taken them into the mountains.

This probably meant comfort to their families. There was a reason for the happenings.

To experience all the excitements and dangers in the folk tales, the main character had to leave home and go far and further than far. There were no evil dangers lurking around peoples' homes. It was the one place that would remain safe and unchanged all through the improbable adventures, and everybody would be there to welcome the returning hero after the last troll's head hit the dust.

It's easy to find the wisdom and morale in many of the old stories. Don't scorn a stranger because he doesn't look quite like you. Be polite, curious and honest in your doings and you will be rewarded. Stay true to your friends and your family, and your future will be good. Lend a stranger in need a helping hand, and help will find you when you need it. Use your wits, don't just sit there.

I used to love the folk stories when I was little, and now I'm reading them for my children. But I find I'm not as brave as my mother. I skip the stories where people are beheaded and then salved with a special salve to make the head and body grow back onto each other... I stick with the ones where the trolls always get their punishment in the end.

Fairy tale characters

Droopy — Wed, 28 Nov 2007 11:09:10 -0500

Author: Droopy
Posted: Wed Nov 28, 2007 4:09 pm (GMT 0)

When Raoul and Christine meet again after many years in «The Phantom of the Opera» they recall reading to each other dark tales of the north. The Norwegian stories have figures like trolls, huldra, nøkken and other, more mysterious shapes.

None of these are nice. None have a light spirit. All they want, is to make life miserable for man.

The trolls are big, fairly stupid, often have many heads, and one eye between them, and have a stash of gold and valuables somewhere. They are known to capture lovely maids and lock them up inside strong castles, in mountains or underground.

Huldra is a beautiful female, known to bewitch young men hunting or herding. She's a vision to look at and has a lovely voice, but her behind is hollowed in, and she's got a tail. Many youths lost their wits after encountering her, and many plainly disappeared, to stay with her underground, miserably, for ever. Huldra and her kind also used to sneak in to people's houses and swap their babies with one of their own.

Nøkken lives in water. He likes to lure people to him and drown them, or bewitch them and steal their souls. He is known to play beautiful music on a fiddle, often by a waterfall, and specializes in stealing young maids. The sea version is both darker and more dangerous.

Another important character is Tuftekallen, connected of the first person to clear the farm and build a home there. If he is treated right, he might help the people living on the farm, but if they forget to pay homage to him, woe and behold! The cattle will fall ill, the seed will go bad and other small or large unfortunate accidents will happen. There are many legends about him, but he's not normally part of the Norwegian fairy tales.

My ancestors believed in these characters. They always wore a knife, to throw over any underground dweller's head in case they met one. Silver crucifixes were hung on cradles and worn always, to ward off huldra or nøkken. The trolls, well, there were many stories that told how to fool them, but the main goal would be to find out where they lived to steal their treasure.

If you're very good, I might tell you a proper troll fairy tale tomorrow.