Going to the woods …

 The garden of my childhood was a forest. My father was a forester, and he and my mother went to live in a small forester's house shortly before I was born. I'm told that my pram was parked underneath the branches of an old oak when I napped as a baby, and later on the whole forest became my playground. Riding my bike or little shetland pony, or walking with dogs and cats I travelled the paths and tracks without fear. I remember one evening, while I walked in almost total darkness, the realization that I could be afraid of the dark in our house, but never were afraid of the dark in the woods.

 Those trees of my childhood shaped my imagination and kindled my unbounded love for nature. I believe that a forest has a soul, that all the beings we call trees interlaces and becomes small parts of one great and unique soul. That we can connect with this special Soul of Trees and be enriched, healed, and through it, can connect with ourselves on a deeper and wiser level.

 I still love my childhood's forest, I've buried my children's placentas there and planted a tree above them. It's where my own spiritual umbilical cord is grounded, and where I can feel truly at Home.

 Quote; John Muir 

- painted with natural dyes-

The Language of January

The quiet language of January

ancient signs and ancient scripts

on wood and soil and ice

furs and feathers

fungus and feathered friends

rejoicing in singing flight

retreating in crystal covered caves

patiently waiting

slowly

inhaling

 

 

 

Small World

I was pottering around in my garden one beautiful morning, picked up an apple laying in the glittering dewdrop adorned grass, and passing an small basket hanging in the Corkscrew Hazel I let the apple drop into the basket ... And then something happened, which made me stand still for a looong time. The apple dumping woke up some little guys living in the tree (i.e. sleeping in the shell in the 1st photo) and they were some very curious little critters.

{If you click on the pictures they enlarge, please try the 2nd and 3rd picture and see for yourself how charismatic and charming he .. or should I say she ... is}.

Tiny Treasures

We had a big surprise the other day - or rather, five small surprises. This very small - but also very determinant - hen, returned from a long absence and proudly presented these lovely tiny treasures. We had thought her eaten by the fox, a fact that didn't lessen our surprise. But oh, I understand her being so proud. Aren't they adorable? - See the little yellow rump on the guy to the right?

 

Another tiny treasure found by little S. He thinks »it's enormously cute«. It is, isn't it? When we took the pics, we could almost hear its tiny voice: "Here's looking at you, kid". It's a Phalera bucephala ... or is it turning into one? ... anyway, it'll become a lovely moth someday soon. In danish it's called Måneplet - which means Moon spot. It has golden spots on the wings that looks like tiny moons. We put it in the beech hedge after studying it, since it likes to eat beech and birch leaves.

And this is a little vase for tiny flower treasures. Made from a thimble that used to belong to my grandmother. It doesn't fit my finger, so I'm happy to have found a new purpose for it. I made a fitted bag and 'chain' for the thimble in crochet with embroidery yarn. In order to keep the flowers moist, I wrap a tuft of wool around the stems and splash it with a bit of water before inserting them in the thimble. It works fine as a transportable flower arrangement, except when folk dancing.

New Chicks in Town

 Well, not so much town - but new chicks, and busy too. Really hard to get a sharp shot of their heads, they're SO fast moving! - But look at this pretty lady, she has got a beard!

 My eldest daughter claims chickens are as smart as - or even smarter - than dogs. Um, I'm not really sure I believe that to be true. But then again ...

This  little chick is actually pretty smart. Whenever she sees a spade she comes running, because spade means worms. Once she egerly jumped up and sat on the spade while I was digging, wanting to be the first to spot the worms.

But the best part must be the eggs. Because eggs means cake, right! But they are also a joy to look at, with their perfect shape and lovely subtle colours. My children can always tell which chick laid which egg. Truly! They all have just a slightly different size, shape and colour, and some have freckles too. It's good to know exactly who laid the boiled egg in your lunch box, you know.

And for the lovers of birch bark a couple of close ups of the birch bark basket. My maternal aunt made it, it's sewn with very fine roots from a spruce tree.

I like it so much I think I could eat it. But I won't!

March

 Cold in the beginning ...

 Glowing in the end ...

 Full of small wonders in the middle ...

And big glowing super wonder full moon ...

And once in a while, the special cold northern spring low sun beam - and shadows!

 And craniums proudly brought home by my little guy from an nearby fox earth