September hikes 1

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.

Primeval forest.

The old barn still in use. Landscape cultivated for coming generations.

WARNING

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.

Jenny Joseph

RUBY ASTRUP AUTUMN

We've just returned from The autumn journey.
Primary goal: Handing over a newly, dadly repaired Fiat to daughter Serina. 3 days of traveling in wind, rain and slippery roads. Past the most magnificent scenery of Norway.
Visiting the poor farm of the painter Nicolai Astrup.

He lived with his family high in the steep mountain side.
To paint he had to crave a living out of stones and cliffhangs. He learned the possibilities of various herbs.
Also he planted "Devil seed" for the mere decoration.To live he had to paint.Neither he nor his family were highly estimated.

Nor was his art treasured by his contemporaries.A peak in the window of his home shows the painting Midsummer.
No need to tell we were caught by the landscape, the old buildings and the destiny of the painter.
Wonder if Astrup ever fancied people coming from the ends of the earth to admire his art and his courage.

The Dream
When the white eagle of the North
is flying overhead
The browns, reds and golds of autumn
lie in the gutter, dead.
Remember then, that summer birds
with wings of fire flaying
Came to witness springs new hope,
born of leaves decaying.
Just as new life will come from death,
love will come at leisure.
Love of love,
love of life
and giving without measure
Gives in return
a wondrous yearn
of a promise almost seen.
Live hand-in-hand
and together we'll stand
on the threshold of a dream.
Graham Edge
Originated by MaryT, check hers for today.