daily delight - february 14

swan footprints in the snow on the frozen lake. we haven't been able to walk out on the lake or skate in 6-7 years, but finally, it's been well below zero for at least 10 days and we were able to play down at the lake all weekend. the swans are a little sad there's no open water and these footprints were made with plaintive whining the whole way. it's apparently hard to take off from solid ice and not water. 

many animals are clearly appreciating the shortcut the ice represents and there were loads of animal tracks in the pristine white snow. i loved seeing them and leaving tracks of my own. this picture was so lovely, i accidentally posted it on my instagram stories twice. that was due to a connection glitch where it told me it hadn't uploaded, but it clearly had, but it was also so pretty, it was worth two shares.

we worked on clearing a spot of too much growth while we had the ice to stand on and decided to make a day of it - grilling sausages, drinking coffee and warming up some cider while we had a bonfire. it was the kind of weekend that filled me up with energy and happiness and fresh air to be able to face another week of working from home and endless teams meetings. it really was delightful. 

daily delight - february 13

the sun was shining brightly, and it was -12°C, but there was no wind and so it was actually beautiful outside. while husband and karo headed down to the lake with a drill to check the ice. it was 10-12cm, so safe to be out on it. i stayed at the house and made some yummy homemade sausage rolls that we could eat as a snack. we planned to ice skate, but the surface of the lake is pretty bumpy and covered in snow, so instead, we just hung out and took a really lovely walk. and we drank coffee and ate the sausage rolls and the last of yesterday's birthday brownies. and we soaked up vitamin D and it was generally a really beautiful, delightful, practically perfect day.

a magical secret chair

yesterday, i took a walk down around the lake after work. i needed to get outside and get some fresh air, so i donned my rubber boots and headed down there. i walked closer to the lake than usual, thinking that the mama swan was on a nest somewhere along the edge. i wanted to find her and see the nest. the papa swan was out on the lake and didn't flee as usual when he saw me. he actually seemed a bit aggressive, so maybe the nest was on our side of the lake and i was looking in the wrong spot. but, in looking, i happened upon an amazing handmade lounge chair. it was made of sticks and held together by fishing line. it looked like it had been there for a few years, so it wasn't newly constructed. i didn't try sitting in it, i just photographed it. but i might want to go out there and try it out. i wasn't sure it was strong enough to hold me anymore, but i will try it this weekend. i rather want to sit there and look out on the lake. it was quite idyllic and in such a peaceful spot. it felt a bit like happening upon a secret magic haven. if it's nice this weekend, i want to go down and feel the magic.

swan lake

already last night, i could hear the cacophony down on the lake. tho' birds are normally quiet at night, when it's time for the migrating swans to make their yearly winter stop on our lake, they do not come quietly. i don't know if they don't fly together, so they have much to discuss when they see one another or if it's the swan equivalent of "are we there yet" from the younger, grey ones to the adults. the whole bevy of them lifted noisily off in groups as i approached with my camera and so i didn't manage to get a shot that i really liked.

100 happy days :: day 100

there is something about the low, swampy wooded area at the end of our lake. the trees grow low and rather twisty, turny. even if it's raining or windy, it's always still and quiet there, a sense of waiting hanging in the air, but not a menacing one, more a kind of deep patience. and in the air, there is a vibration of primeval magic that you can feel, but which feels just out of reach, beyond your grasp, but still hanging there, almost tangible. it's in the green. it's in the quiet. it's how it's always still. one of those places where you just feel the magic. and you believe in it, even if you can't quite capture it. and my 100th happy day is a happiness that i have one of those places right here at home and i can go down there anytime and fill up my soul with magic.

* * *

and that's it, that was my 100 happy days project. it got me through a bit of a tough time and i think it really helped. it can be beneficial to take a moment to think about the little things that make you happy every day. doing it makes it a habit. one that i hope that i will continue even if i don't continue it as a post or a tweet. i think one of the things that i found is that often my moment of happiness was a moment of feeling grateful - for sunshine, for a beautiful view, for the time to take the back way, for cats, for a flower in bloom, for noticing in general.

but, in all honesty, it also felt a bit heavy at times. because not every day is filled with happiness. some days are hard and you just want them to be over. and i find myself generally feeling too earnest and righteous and not light-hearted and funny anymore. so maybe i need to find a new project that will help me find my way back to a lighter, more buoyant view of the world.

the swans have it

a week ago on sunday, we had a friend and her two children visiting. we declared the day to be a totally analog day. the only digital photos i was allowed to take that day were of the filling of the jars of honey. other than that, it had to be film or not at all. and wouldn't you know it, my friend and i walked down to the lake and i saw the swan couple that lives there parading their five beautiful children around the still and beautiful lake which was bathed in the golden light of evening. and me without a camera. so i was forced to take a photo of it in my mind. "click" as my nephew would say. but it made me determined to go back down there with the camera.

of course it's pretty much been raining since then, but i decided not to be defeated by the rain and so i went down to the lake, camera in hand (well, camera mostly under my raincoat, actually). and although it wasn't as picture perfect as it was on the day that's preserved only in memory, it wasn't half bad. but those swan parents are seriously protective. as soon as they saw me, they lined up the crew and headed for the other end. and so i stalked through the wet grass and headed them off, sending them back up to our end of the lake.

i'll want to be able to herd them into the ark we're building you see....

reflections on the lake

last evening - reflections on the lake

why is that having a view is so important to us as humans?  there was a time, not all that long ago, when it wasn't. here in denmark, the older houses along the harsh west coast have small windows and you can see that people weren't concerned about seeing the sea. they were more concerned about keeping out the wind and the sand. in the laura ingalls wilder books, there's only one passage about how pa got a real glass window for one of the houses on the prairie and it was a tiny one. there was a time when people living along canals and rivers did their best not to see all that dirty water and waste flowing by and those living closest to it were the poorest. today, the most expensive properties brag about their view and their proximity to water. when did our view on having a view change? is it the fault of creative real estate agents? or do we as humans crave the horizon as our horizons have expanded?

we've noticed since moving out to the countryside that our neighbors who have lived here for 40 years have what to us is a curious lack of a seating area outside. if the weather is good enough (and sometimes even if it isn't), we eat outdoors. our neighbor is likely to be mowing his extensive lawn during those early evening hours when we're trying to enjoy a meal outside. but we want him to sell us his barn and a bit of land at the back of it eventually, so we don't complain. we've realized it's just a different view on what activities happen outdoors. to our neighbors, long-time farmers, outdoors is where you work and in the house is where you relax. we work indoors all day and so we want to go outdoors to relax.

we move our table all around the lawn, taking advantage of spots of sunshine (or shade) and wind directions (if we're grilling). and tho' the view of our lake isn't from the table in the garden, it's important to us that it's there. we are drawn to it and seek it out, most often in the evening, during the golden hour when the sun is sinking in the sky. an amble down to the end of the pasture to spend a few moments gazing at the lake in the quiet of the evening makes us feel restful and relaxed. the view is important to our mental well-being. 

i think as our work has taken us farther from nature, we naturally are drawn to it in other ways, so we have larger windows on our homes and we move many domestic activities - like eating - outdoors when weather permits. i surely hope it's not just the manipulation of conniving real estate agents.

haunted lake

a few days before christmas, sabin and i were walking around down on the lake. she didn't know it yet at that point, but we were all getting skates for christmas, so i wanted to check out the quality of the ice. out in the middle we came across some fresh tracks in the snow - they resembled a small horse hoof with a funny sort of A-shaped shoe on it (imagine that the top of the A was rounded). there was even a bit of unfamiliar-looking poo in the snow - it wasn't horse poo and it wasn't deer poo, but something sort of in between.  several centimeters of snow covered the entire surface of the lake and these tracks were very visible. what was strange was that they were only there in the middle and didn't seem to have led from one shore to the other, tho' in that snow, they should have.

sabin and i got to talking about ghosts and we kind of spooked ourselves a little bit in that delicious way that you can spook yourself when it's starting to get dark and you're a bit far from the house. we hurried towards in the house, laughing and trying not to really be scared.

another day, while skating, i pointed to a dark figure at the other end of the lake and asked husband if he could see someone down there. he said it did rather look like a person. eventually, we skated down to the other end and convinced ourselves it had just been a shadow we'd seen amongst the frozen, snow-covered reeds by the edge of the lake.

yet another day, it was again getting dark and sabin and i headed back to the house, our skates slung over our shoulders. sabin asked me if i had coughed, but i hadn't. she said she'd distinctly heard a cough behind her, like an animal had coughed. but we looked around and there was nothing there.

in every case, it has been the most deliciously spooky feeling...the kind that makes you feel your senses are heightened and you are just more alert, tho' you are also aware you could run just that little bit faster than usual. if you had to.

today, sabin and three of her friends went down to the lake to skate. it's a bit grey and dark out today and snow is falling occasionally. about an hour after they headed out, the four girls came bursting in the back door, red-cheeked and out of breath. they'd been down on the lake and one of them distinctly heard a growl behind her, like an angry dog. but when they turned, there was nothing there.

another of the girls saw several dark figures running across the lake in the distance. they were indistinct, but in a hurry. and the girls were sure it wasn't just some deer, which are quite plentiful in the area. they got scared and headed back for the house. at the back of the shelter belt, there's an old refrigerator container and in the waning wintery afternoon light the girls were convinced they saw silvery eyes glowing at them from near the container. and by that time, they were pretty scared.

i invited them into the warm kitchen to get out of their snowpants and scarves and hats and i made them a big batch of popcorn and hot cocoa that seemed to dispel the fear of ghosts. they were soon laughing and talking and playing top model and all fears were forgotten.

but a haunted lake is quite a thrilling prospect, isn't it?

in the glen

down at the bottom of our pasture is a lake (i may have mentioned it before, mostly on flickr). husband and i were exploring a couple of weeks ago and we found a beautiful little glen. it was a sunny, beautiful day, with sunshine peeking through the trees, but i found the glen so deliciously hushed and mysterious.

there was a feeling there of waiting. like the place was holding its breath expectantly, as if something was about to happen.

yet at the same time, it felt like it could wait eternally. like if that something didn't happen exactly then, at that moment, that was ok too. it could wait.

the air felt heavy with a kind of magic. i half expected a faun to step out from behind a tree and invite me home to tea, ala the lion, the witch and the wardrobe. and i more than half hoped that would happen.

it's a special place, like a portal to a secret world. or at the very least, a place where some sort of natural magic is more concentrated than in other places. hidden, waiting, patient and deep and calm. oh so very calm. and oh so impossible to convey in pictures.

ahhh, those summer nigh-hights....

i can't get enough of the scandinavian summer light. you've just got to soak it in while you can. it's going to be a glorious weekend. weatherwise and visitor-wise, since a very special friend is coming by for a playdate. and i can't wait! (maybe i can get her to teach me to crochet a granny square.) all of the photos above were taken after 9 p.m. isn't that amazing?

all is quiet on the western front

mathilde is well enough again to go out in the pasture and eat some fresh grass.
she had quite the snot nose on the weekend - a natural consequence of all the new horses she's been around of late.

after a bit of time spent hugging the horse, we had an after-dinner walk around our lake (have i mentioned we have a lake?) in the golden early evening light. the sun finally emerged around 6 or so after being rather shy for most of the day (and the preceding two weeks).

that blurry white spot in the middle is a mean swan.

this time we went over to the other side of our lake. you can see the boat across the way.

it was really pretty, tho' rather overgrown, on the other side.

father and daughter are just fine again after last evening's meltdown. we all have a meltdown once in awhile and there have been a lot of changes around here of late, so i suppose it's all to be expected. but i appreciate very much your supportive comments in regard to my parenting doubts.

i was thinking about that today. our parents never had any doubts. moms of the previous generation just shipped us off to a babysitter, popped a couple of valium and went to play bridge and drink daquiris with their friends. maybe that was quite a healthy way of handling it. we put a lot of pressure on ourselves to be perfect these days. and let's face it, nobody's perfect. we just have to do the best we can. and possibly speak to the doctor about that valium prescription...