We already write the fourth of October, and I have not found time to post the hiker-ladies' wonderful excursions in September. We basically were a gang of four, but as we have grown older, more have left professional working and become associated members. Ladies of star quality, all tried in life, but not loosing in morals, compassion or belief.
Turid is photographer on the pics where moi is also "starring."Elbjørg,Tilly, Gjertrud, Liv and Elise posing in Elbjørg's flower park.
Turid shining to the left. Elbjørg has gone inside to prepare us one of three meals we had in her Paradiso .
Elbjørg's family has had a farm on a the island of Bomlo since 1300.They have their own church bench in the Mostra church, built about year 1000 by king Olav Tryggvason.Growing up on a small "sea"farm was no status half a century ago. Nothing but hard work and stormy journeys to the mainland. Now, people would pay millions to get hold of an acre by the sea. Elbjørg's family praise togetherness and cultivating old heritage above money. I respect that.
They are the greatest wood-owners in the area, and the six of us went to explore her realm.
Turid found Cantrell mushrooms, the local queen delicatesse.Elbjørg making a fire for a simple BBQ midst in the wood. Her son has set up a lavvo right behind her. Her her grandchildren can overnight and watch the deer and other animals from the forest real close.Tilly and Gjertrud on plum slang. Juicy taste and 100 % ecological. The blackberries were likewise just waiting for us to come. Hardly anybody will take the work to pic berries themselves. Better buy some freighted all the way from New Zeeland.The Fly-mushrooms are a beautiful sight, but deadly toxic, every Norwegian child knows that.
The summer was a bit different this year. I had not had any swim in the sea. Liv offered me company. The water held 12 Celsius degrees. Not so bad once I regained the feeling in my num feet.
Liv in full pace over the sound. The ugly duckling striving behind.
View from Elbjørg's apple orchard.
We all claimed to be full to the brim. Somehow the applecake vanished into thin air (or even fuller stomachs) inside the hut.Nuts from hazel and oak, now reaping in my kitchen.
We are having most fun in between to walking.
The old barn still in use. Landscape cultivated for coming generations.
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go,
and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals,
and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other peoples gardens
And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.