Poetry Monday :: Light - Samarkand

  Diane of On the Border and Jenny of Procrastinating Donkey are taking turns hosting Poetry Monday, supplying us with a theme and crafty poems, they are open for suggestions. 
  This Mondays theme is Light! Thanks to Jenny. 
  Mimi of Messymimi's Meanderings also writes a poem for us to enjoy.

  Light. Nothing talks to me of light as Swedish or Danish songs from the long summer's days and short nights, where the sun barely sets and it is never totally dark. 
  In my Enigmatic  post about children not being enigmatic, but grown ups are, I cite a song called The Enigmatic People. In this song a boy finds a new Samarkand - which in my English translation was rendered Xanadu, because as far as I could see, Samarkand did not have any connotations in English. 
  Samarkand is a place of unfulfilled longings, of unobtainable dreams and maybe even wild goose hunts, after a song by Thorstein Bergman, sung by Lena Andersson (YouTube link - if you leave it playing the author and composer gives his version afterwards). I have translated mostly from the Danish version, which was the one I heard growing up. It does not rhyme as does the original, but you can still sing it to the tune.

Samarkand

I woke up with smells of summer all around me,
Through the window I could feel the gentle breeze
In the sunlit morning everything did greet me
And the pillow wore impressions of your cheek.

And I knew at once - for lies are never helpful -
It has happened, that of which we sometimes spoke,
And I hope that you will find all you're seeking
If you ever find your way to Samarkand.


All around me tunes of life were gently playing,
Though I never more will share them with my friend.
Though my heart called out for you, I kept my silence,
for I knew that you will never come back home.

And I cried a bit, the nights were long and lonely,
But I hope for you you'll find your promised land.
And that someone else can be what I could never,
If you ever find your way to Samarkand.


Where I walk the world around me speaks about you
All the sunshine, winds and summer are like you
Oh I miss you now, but I've got something from you
What you gave me no-one ever takes away.

If your common sense in stranger places tells you
that we parted, it is not the simple truth. 
For my thoughts, my hopes, my longings all escort you,
If you ever find your way to Samarkand.

If you ever find your way to Samarkand.

Text and music: Thorstein Bergman 1972
Translation Charlotte (MotherOwl), 2020. 

YouTube  Danish version. 
  I first wrote another poem, but it was no good, then in the sleepless hours of an early, rainfilled morning I translated Samarkand instead.  
  For next Monday's endeavours Diane has given us Our Favourite Teacher. 

Words for Wednesday -- The Tale of Embla and Bo

  These Words for Wednesday are as last week's Mark Koopmans words, but they appear at Elephant's Child's blog. We're given:

    Annihilate          and / or       Business
     Zinfandel                              Panniers
     Lozenge                                Wooden
     Pacemaker                           Thunderstruck  
     Spokes                                  Podcast
    Invoice                                  Zesty

  Thaks to both - to Mark Koopmans for producing words and to Elephant's Child for hosting amid the fires. But ... I'm so sorry, these words do not speak to me at all. They are ... too modern, too grown-up ... I don't really know. I'm sorry. 
  Anyhow. I have already written a story. Even if Wednesday is still around 5 hours away. This is a dream I have had several times now. It has been haunting me, and I had to put it into writing. I had counted on incorporating some of the words. They just do not fit. Read and see.

    Embla woke early. She could hear the young hunters whispering together and one of them suppressed a laugh. Just like they had been whispering and laughing around the fire the night before. She had to leave! She carefully braided her hair and tied it up in a net. It was not going to fly into her eyes or get stuck in branches along the way. Quickly she put on her lightest clothes, the linen bodice and the shortest skirt, and tied the light belt of horsehair; the clothes were too cold for the early spring day, but she would get warm while she ran. She hung her purse around her neck and stuffed her treasures in it. The white stone with the imprint of a leaf she had received when she became a woman. The little cap, Urd, Audunn's infant daughter had been wearing when she died in Embla's arms. And finally, the most important thing, her amulets, an amber bead and a discs of sun metal. She tied the strap around her neck and thrust the bag through her belt so that it would not hamper her while she was running.
  Embla knew the way through the marsh. She was lighter than the young hunters, she would probably get away from them. Quietly, without disturbing Ash or the other women who slept in the same tent, she slipped out. The sun was not up yet, the sky was only just reddening in the east. The nigth demons were all gone now.
Embla went to the kitchen tent. She found the bag of running-food, the odd mix of seeds, grains, herbs and fat that Barki, Bo's father was good at making. She filled her mouth, chewed and sank the spicy-greasy mass. It did not weigh the stomach, like meat and porridge, but still you could run for a long, long time before getting hungry again. She took a mouthful more, chewing thoroughly, as Barki had taught her. Then she wrapped a handful in a fresh leaf and stopped it into her purse on top of her treasures. She remembered to close the bag securely  after her.
  Embla silently sneaked down to the creek. She was shaking with cold in the crisp morning air. She could smell the smoke from the fires, the dogs sleeping just outside the settlement, and the ripe, mushy air from the marsh at the other side of the creek. The river also smelled fresh today. She waded across the creek in order to have this ordeal behind her before drinking. While her feet became hot and dry again, she rinsed her mouth with water and then drank; another of the young hunters' tricks Barki had taught her. It made the thirst subside faster and did not make the stomach cold with too much water. All her senses were awake now. She stood still and listened. The young hunters were getting up now. She could hear their soft voices. Embla listened for one of them. Oh Bo ... how she had longed for the big, silent boy, wanting  to hold  him tight. But he probably wasn't interested in her. *Such an ill-fated girl,' she heard one of them whisper to the others. The settlement had had nothing but bad luck since her arriving. Audunn's infant had died, the elk had escaped in the fall, they barely had any more food left, the Old father's eyesight had failed during the winter, and now what had happened yesterday. No she wouldn't think about it.
  Embla stiffened. More of the young hunters came out of their tent. She heard a voice over the water. "We have to take her now before she wakes up." She heard the other young hunters' affirmative sounds and morning cough. She had to leave now, before it was too late, yet she remained standing. Yes. Bo came. As usual he was the last man out of the tent. He was so slow. She loved him for it and she was annoyed by it. He never got himself pulled together. The young hunters also filled their mouths at the kitchen tent and went down to the creek to drink. Some of them went over to the women's tent. She had been waiting too long!
  Embla turned her back to the settlement and began walking along the path leading to the marsh. Faster and faster she went, the path was almost invisible in the early morning light, but Embla had walked here so many times during Urd's illness, that her feet almost knew their way by themselves. And now she could hear the hunters behind her. She started running. Behind her she heard the young hunters. They cried softly, and then began to come after her. She could hear the muted splashes of their feet as they waded through the icy waters. She could hear their quick feet on the path. She ran like she had never run before. She had to reach the marsh before them. The blood was roaring in her ears, her heart thumping, as if it were going to jump out of her chest, but the terror gave her wings, and now she was at the edge of the marsh. They had not caught up with her. She heard them shouting, not loudly, but urgently. She couldn't hear what they were saying, with the blood roaring in her ears, and she was concentrated on finding the tufts of dry grass that could could carry her weight.The young hunters couldn't catch her now and have their will with her. What did that mean by the way, Embla wondered.
  Embla jumped from one tussock to the next as swiftly as a fleeting deer. Suddenly arrows swished past over her head. She heard Bo shout, a terrible cry, Her name! He called for her!
   Embla stopped and looked up. There, in front of her, on the very island in the swamp she had counted on as her safe refuge, stood the largest female bear she had ever seen. That was the her, the young hunters had been talking about!

That realization, the bear's breath that smelled of rotten flesh, Bo's despairing cry and the unbearable pain as the bear's jaws closed around her head and its claws ripped the flesh off her ribs, melted into a twinkling darkness that engulfed her.

The young hunters' walk home from the marsh was the heaviest trip ever to have been wandered in the history of Spinewood. The 6 biggest and strongest of the young hunters went in front with the bear's giant carcass on a primitive stretcher of spruce branches and birch twigs. There 4 others carried Embla's corpse on a similar, but smaller stretcher. And in the rear Bo came stumbling along. He was of no use. He cried, groaned and pulled at his hair and clothes. Tears ran down his cheeks, wetting the front of his tunic. The tears also blinded  Bo's eyes. Already several times he had fallen, and had stayed there prostrate in the swamp, had not Sten repeatedly pulled him to his feet.
  By the time they reached the settlement, only the old people had yet awakened. Their restless bladders and stiff joints did not allow them to sleep long on a cold spring morning; they alone witnessed the return of the young hunters. At first they cried out in delight as they saw the bear. Now they had a reason to celebrate. The settlement had been liberated from a major threat and there was food for many days. But then their tired, morning-heavy eyes fell on the smaller stretcher. They saw the deject young hunters and heard Bo's wailing cries.
  "Embla" Ask cried, "is it Embla you have found? Did you kill her?"
"No, Old Mother, it's not us who killed her. It was the bear. We tried to save her, but she ran straight at the bear's den. We shouted. We ran. We tried to shoot the bear, but she was between us and the bear."
"What was she doing out there in the marsh," the Old Father asked. "Ask, it was your job to look after her."
"She went to bed early last night," Ask said belligerently. "Something or someone was bothering her. She has not been herself since Urd died from her this summer. She took the loss of that infant far too personal. She had disappeared when I woke. She must have been very quiet not to have disturbed any of us. "
"What about Bo?" the Old Father asked. As the settlement's oldest man and medical expert, he had a certain freedom of speech, and he used it now. "Had he not in mind to declare his love to her. I expected it would help."
"Yes, but you do know Bo," Sten replied, "He is always taking his time. Last night, as he had finally gotten up his courage, she had slipped from the tent just a short while earlier."

The next day, they buried Embla in the marsh next to Urd. Close to the island where they had found her not so long ago, and close to where the bear had ended her young life. Ask and Barki had washed her body, wrapped her in a worn, but perfectly respectable cloak and shawl, just as they would have done for one of their own. Bo and Barki carried the stretcher into the marsh, Ask covered her corpse with beautiful white birch branches and all the members of the tribe threw a handful of soil, a rock or an armful of leaves over the branches before they singing and lamenting walked back home through the marsh. In the evening, the entire settlement feasted on the deliciously, tender bear meat.
  Bo disappeared one night that summer, and was never seen again by human eyes.

Normaltid - tak - et digt. Opdateret

Det eneste rigtige

Når klokken er 11 i Danmark,
er den 5 i U.S.A.
10 i London, og 18 i Kina
og 13 omkring Moskva.

Hvor er vi danskere et udvalgt folk,
at vi netop er født i selve
det lille velsignede land, hvor klokken
er 11, når den er 11.

Piet Hein

In Denmark, as I suppose everywhere in EU, we discuss Daylight Saving Time or not. How, why and when to abolish it. This poem is "my" contribution to the debate. It was written by the Danish inventor, poet etc. Kumbel (Piet Hein) in the 1940ies.   An un-rhymed anglification added below

When it's 11 o'clock in Denmark 

It's 5 am in the USA. 

10 o'clock in London, 6 pm in China

and 1 o'clock around Moscow. 

We Danes are a happy, chosen people, 

To be born in the small,

blessed country were

It's 11 at 11 o'clock.

Drivglasvæv -- Weaving with Sea Glass

    Endelig er Uglemor nået til at væve lommer med fyld af drivglas.
     Det bliver faktisk præcis som hun forestillede sig, men hold da fest, hvor går det langsomt. For hvert eneste indskud skal skellet først samles op med et vævesværd, og alligevel er der ofte fejl, der gør at flere rækker må pilles op igen, og det er svært at se i de tynde tråde. Det er entrådet uldgarn i sort og avocadokernefarvet uld. Til sammenligning er det gule drivglasstykke i midten cirka 2 cm. på hver led. Uglemor kan kun væve om dagen, når solen ikke står lige på.

 - 🕸 -

Finally MotherOwl got to actually weaving pockets for sea glass.
It looks as she imagined, but my, it's slow going. Single ply black and avocado pit dyed wool, and for every weft threads have to be picked up using a pick up stick. And even with this help, errors occur frequently and have to be unravelled - almost impossible with this spider web yarn. The yellow sea glass in the middle measures approximately 2 cm across. MotherOwl is only able to weave when it's indirect daylight, and not all day long.

     Uglemors opskrifts-seddel til, hvordan man gør. En sort tråd i islæt, undtagen de to midterste indskud i lærredsvævningen mellem lommerne.

 - 🕸 -

MotherOwl's loom, with a how-to note. One black thread as weft except for the two middle plain weave rows between the pockets.

Sang på hjernen vers 1

     For snart længe siden skrev jeg om en sang, jeg havde på hjernen, Jeg skrev også om det på Havelyst og fik mange gode forslag, før jeg - med hjælp fra facebook - fandt ud af at det var »Hvor blev det af?« sunget af Lise Reinau.
     Og som så mange andre dansktopslagere fra 70’erne var det en oversættelse via svensk fra amerikansk. Oprindelig hed den »Where did they go« med Peggy Lee.  Tage Danielsson oversatte den til svensk »Var blev det av…«, som Monica Zetterlund indsang. 
Lyt her: Peggy Lee: Where did they go?
Monica Zetterlund: Var blev ni av?
 Den danske lyder mere som den oprindelige, amerikanske.
     
         På Havelyst lovede jeg letsindigt at versene skulle komme efterhånden som de blev relevante. Det er så 6 år siden. I dag postede jeg vers 1, der handler om forår sammen med billeder af mine hel- og halvfærdige haveprojekter.
     Det kan jeg passende gentage her:

Ud af skyens pose sprang den splinternye sol.
 Malerpenslen slikkede solskin på min havestol.
Pip i hver en fugl, for nu er det atter vår.
For pokker hvordan er det tiden går!
     Hvor blev det af hele året, hvem har spist det bid for bid?
     Hvordan kan man nå det hele på den halve tid?
     Hvor blev de af, alle mennesker som jeg strejfed’ på min vej?
     Hvem stjal af vore dage som vi vogter, du og jeg?

Måske går der ikke 6 år mere før jeg når til andet vers.

Her begynder haveeventyret og planternes liv.
I vores vindueskarm og omegn.

Først ryddede jeg gangene. Flere steder kunne jeg stikke fingrene gennem træet i siderne af bedet.
Det havde græsrødderne også fundet ud af. Tid til nye planker.

Fragtmanden bragte en STOR pakke. 10 seks meter lange lærkeplanker til bedene.
Han kagde dem hvor de er nu ved hjælp af en lang kran og godt øjemål.

Så hentede jeg værktøj og haveredskaber.

Det første bed har fået ny indramning.

I jordbærpyramiden fra forrige år, havde hønsene fjernet både jord og bær. I stedet groede der græs og snerler.
Jeg fjernede de to øverste etager og godt 10 liter rødder. Så blev der plantet 6 nye jordbær og sået morgenfruefrø

Ramsløgene gror. Vi kan begynde at overveje, hvilken ret vi skal lave med dem.

Rabarberne ser også lovende ud.

Området omkring kompostbunken. Det bliver fornyet hver gang, der er overenskomstforhandlinger ;)
Desværre er Ugleungerns skole undtaget for strejke og lodck-out denne gang. SUK.

Den overvintrede salat i domen. Der er flere sorter her.

Og som lovet mere plads til leg.
Et stativ flettet af røde grene fra haven venter på at duftærterne skal gro.
Den første af mange sjove krukker til haven.

Og indtil nu har jeg slidt et par havehandsker op.
And so far I wore out one pair of gardening glowes.

Verden er stor -- Our big World (13. november)

     Sommetider, når Uglemor føler sig trist og træt. Når verden ligesom er blevet for lille og snæver, hjælper det at huske på at der findes mere af verden, end Uglemor lige kan se. En måde at huske det på, er at se på klokken på min computer.
     For se nu her. Hvad er klokken, og hvilken dag er det?
     Tja, her hos Uglemor er det mandag morgen. Men i USA, hor mange af de bloggere bor, som jeg følger, er det ikke engang blevet mandag endnu. Det er søndag nat, og de ligger og sover eller er på vej i seng. Hos Sue Elvis i Australien har det derimod været mandag længe. På den anden side er det forår på vej mod sommer dér, ræven er et eksotisk dyr på de kanter og der vokser eucalyptustræer med latterfugle i.
     Så indser Uglemor (igen) at verden er stor, ufattelig stor og at der endnu er mange steder, hun ikke har været, og skønne syn hun ikke har set. Uglemor fortæller Ugleungerne om alle sine rejser og om sine spændende, fantastiske og ind i mellem skræmmende oplevelser på fjerne steder. Og så bliver selv det danske vintermørke nemmere at holde ud.

Sometimes when MotherOwl feels tired and closed in by her own four walls and by the ever growing darkness of Danish Autumn-turning-into-winter, it's good to remember that the world is big.
One way to do this is to check put the time. Because what is this ... what time is it?
Well here in the Owlery it's Monday morning. But in US of A, where many of the bloggers live, whose life and deeds MotherOwl's following, it is not yet Monday. It is Sunday night and they're sleeping already or on their way to bed.
At Sue Elvis's place in Australia it has been Monday for long already, but on the other hand their days are growing longer as the Summer approaches. And she looks upon foxes as exotic animals, whereas kookaburras sitting in gum trees are not just words in a song but a normal part of everyday life.
This makes MotherOwl remember that the world is big almost too big to understand. And this makes her long for places yet unvisited and sights unseen.
MotherOwl then tells the Owlets of her journeys to far away places, of the people, strange and wonderful things and wonders - and some not so nice things - she has seen and lived through there. And then even the long, dreary Danish autumn days are not so bad anymore.

Vanilla WoW (12. november)

      Uglemor har en hemmelig - eller måske ikke helt så hemmelig last. Hun spiller World of Warcraft og har gjort det i mange år. Den seneste nyhed er at Blizzard (det firma, der har skabt spillet) vil give mulighed for at man kan spille ligesom i starten. Uglemor glæder sig, og har derfor siddet og følt sig nostalgisk og kigget på billeder.
     Her er mine to spillepersoner fra da de var meget unge. 

MotherOwl has a secret - or maybe not that secret - vice. Computer gaming. She's been playing World of Warcraft for more than 10 years. Now Blizzard has announced that they're going to open some Vanilla servers - the game as it was in the beginning. MotherOwl is overjoyed and looked through her old screenies, reminiscing about the good old days. Here are my two main characters when they were very young.



My Human Paladin at about level 10:

My Elven Huntress at level 22 or thereabout. She is in Southshore, a town that has since been destroyed. I look forward to revisiting it.

Frø! -- Seeds!

     En af bivirkningerne ved at orden frøene pænt i kasser, er at jeg blev kar over, hvor gamle nogle af frøene lige var. Mange af dem havde stadig årstal der begyndte med 19, og flere endnu var købt i Tyskland foråret 2004. Måske har vi her årsagen (eller en af dem) til Uglemors manglende haveheld de seneste par år.
      Der skulle altså købes nye frø. Ud over radiser, spinat, grønkål, salat og alle de der almindelige frø, sneg der sig nogle underlige frø ned i rygsækken.
     Et supermarked, hvor jeg ikke plejer at komme holdt ydermere frøudsalg. Uglemor er let at friste.

- o 0 o -

A side effect of putting all the seeds in a box was that MotherOwl realized just how old some of her seeds were. Some of them hail from last century, and even more were bought during our stay in Germany (Spring of 2004). Maybe MotherOwl found the reason (or one of them) for her missing gardening luck these past years.
New seeds were written on the grocery list. Kale, radishes, salad and corn are not something to show off, but more exotic seeds fond their way into MotherOwl's backpack as well.
A supermarket, which is not one of MotherOwl's normal haunts, had their seeds downprized. MotherOwl was tempted.

Knolde af Rød solhat og "Raketblomst"
Jordbærtomater (en tomatillo-art), gule majroer, sjove squash
Artiskokker, persillerod, busktallerkensmækker med røde blomster.
Marietidsel, Gul sommerfugle-tallerkensmækker, spindehør - denne pose stod et forkert sted, og var den sidste af sin slags, man har da lov at være heldig.

     Nu mangler Uglemor ikke ret mange frø, for at have alle dem, hun drømmer om. De mest savnede er jernurt, kvan og vaid.

- o 0 o -

Rhizomes from Echinacea and "Rocket Flowers"
Strawberry-tomatoes (a savoury tomatillo), yellow swedes, a funny squash,
Artichokes, parsley root, red flowering and bushy Tropaeolum,
Mary Thistle, yellow butterfly tropaeolum, spinning flax. The latest was pure luck. MotherOwl saw the empty spot and sighed, then, searching for verbena (which was not there) she found one misplaced bag of spinning flax. Yes!

Now MotherOwl does not lack many species, notorious among those are verbena, voad  and angelica.

Haveplaner -- Garden Plans

     Mandagens svada om havearbejde - eller mangel på samme - betyder jo ikke, at Uglemor slet ikke vil dyrke haven i den kommende sommer, snarere tværtimod. Snarere end at forsøge på at ligne en drøm fra et engelsk haveblad eller en illustration til en af John Seymours bøger, kommer Uglemors have nok snarere til at ligne heksemutters have.
     Haveuglen kommer som sædvanligt til at skælde Uglemor ud mange gange her til sommer. Men i stedet for at forsøge at forsvare sig eller undskylde, vil Uglemor nu tage skændene med oprejst pande og svare: "Ja, Haveugle, sådan er Uglemors nye haveplaner nemlig bare, ja!"
     Uglemor han endelig indset at vi lider af et par problemer udi havedyrkningen. Det første er plads: Vi kommer aldrig til at blive selvforsynende på vores knap 1.000 kvadratmeter. Der skal nemlig også være plads til at slå kolbøtter, skyde med pil og bue, træne med ninjastave og kastestjerner, save og hamre, drikke kaffe midt i solen, en masse bærbuske, og hvad Uglemor, Skribenten og 4 opfindsomme Ugleunger nu ellers kan finde på. Det andet problem er energi, og vel også lyst. Uglemor ved godt, at porrerne skal luges og kålen dækkes til, men når solen skinner og fuglene synger, er det sjovere at tage i skoven eller på stranden med Ugleungerne, farve garn eller karte uld, når man nu kan være ude med det der sviner, eller også falder Uglemor bare i staver over et eller andet midt i solen. Det er vist også et spørgsmål om prioritering.
     Der kommer til at gro urter i rå mængder i Uglemors have til sommer, og så morgenfruer, nælder og mælkebøtter (Ja, Haveugle, de har også lov til at gro her!), hør, nogle kartofler, bønner til at spise og til at farve med,  noget kål - hvis altså ikke dræbersnegle og kålorme æder dem som sidste år. Inde i domen gror der også som sædvanligt chilier, tomater og agurker. Piraten siger at der skal være majs og gulerødder, så det kommer der nok også. Hvalrossen elsker bønner og ærter, så jo. Og så ukrudt, alle vegne. Hønsene (som vi forhåbentlig snart kan få igen) spiser masser af det, og noget af det vil nok igen i år vise sig at være spiseligt eller spændende indvandrere, valmuer, baldrian og kvan er for eksempel indvandret. Og der skal være bær, oceaner af bær. Nok til at vi kan spise friske bær hver dag og lave syltetøj til hele vinteren til os alle sammen. Vi elsker friske bær og syltetøj, og brombær er altså så meget dyrere end kartofler.

      Dette indlæg bliver skrevet nu, fordi Uglemors have er altid bedst her i januar-februar. Der ser den nemlig helt perfekt ud - inde i Uglemors hoved!

Tilgroet og meget utilfreds Haveugle i juni måned
Overgrown and grumpy GardenOwl in the merry month of June.

This Monday's gardening rant does not mean that MotherOwl has given up gardening. No way! But rather than trying to make her garden look like something from Country Living or an illustration for one of John Seymour's books, MotherOwl solemnly swear to make her garden look like a witch's garden.

That olde, grumpy GardenOwl is going to grumble a lot this Summer as is his wont, while MotherOwl is forgetting the leek (once again) or is carding wool instead of weeding the kale. But instead of explaining away or trying to defend herself, MotherOwl is going to raise her head and answer: "Yes, GardenOwl! That's the way MotherOwl's garden is now!"

MotherOwl has finally realized that there's no way we're going to be self sufficient on 1000 square metres and we're not going to have an old English country garden as long as MotherOwl and the Owlets are turning somersaults, sawing and hammerng, practicing staff figths, bow shooting and throwing shuriken, drinking coffee in the sunshine with the Writer and the Walrus, going to the beach when it's hot, to the woods when the woodruff is ripe, and what else come to the mind of one MotherOwl, one Writer, and four inventive Owlets.

MotherOwl is going to have herbs, marigolds, flax, nettles (yes, GardenOwl, they are growing here too!),  some potatoes, beans for eating as well as dye, kale (if the slugs and butterflies do not get all of them), chilis, cucumber and tomatoes inside the dome, and weeds, weeds everywhere. Some of the weeds turn out to be edible as usual. Poppies and squash for instance. And berries, lots of berries. We love fresh berries and jam in the Owlery and berries are way more expensive than potatoes.

This post is written now because MotherOwl's garden is at its finest now - inside the head of MotherOwl. 

Frø i kasser - Seed in Boxes

     Som trofaste læsere vil vide, er Uglemor meget glad for japansk mad og for selvforsyning. Det kan godt være ingefær og citrongræs ikke er dyrt i indkøb, ikke engang i økologisk kvalitet, men alligevel. Og der er altid alt alt for meget ingefær i de pakker. Og citrongræs kan man kun få sporadisk
     For nogle år siden dyrkede Uglemor ingefær selv, og det var faktisk en succes. Så det skal prøves igen. Nogle knolde lå og spirede i bakken. Her er den største spire, der lige når op over jorden. De skal vis bare have en rigtig stor, flad potte at gro i, når de kommer i gang.


As readers returning here will know, MotherOwl likes all things Japanese and sustainable. Maybe ginger and lemongrass are not the biggest posts in my shopping budget, but ginger is always sold in humongous amounts, and lemongrass is not always available. Both come from far away.
Some years ago MotherOwl grew her own ginger, it was a success. So when the latest batch of ginger started shrivelling and budding, they were planted. Here's the largest bud saying hello. 

     De her tre triste stængler citrongræs var på tilbud for 2,- Og oven i købet også økologiske. De har stået i vand i køkkenet i flere uger og nu. Nu er de faktisk spiret. De skal også have en stor potte, Jeg mener, at de kan stå ude om sommeren, men de kan helt sikkert ikke tåle frost. Det skulle blive en stor, smuk tue. Den skal nok have en rulledims at stå på.

   These 3 sad lemongrass stems were down-priced at our local marked. As good as free, and they were organic too. I stood them in a jar in the kitchen, changing the water and rinsing them when I remembered. And look now ... Roots!
They'll need a big pot as well, as they grow into large tufts of plants. They'll need wheels too as they cannot stay outside during winter because of frost.

     Så var jeg jo misundelig på Karnas fine frøkasser. Jeg kunne ikke lige lave noget tilsvarende, og Ugleungerne var ikke i humør til at hjælpe. Så jeg tog en papkasse og skar i stykker, så endte det sådan her´. Og det er da helt fint.

MotherOwl was envious. Karna had such great boxes for her seeds. MotherOwl could not find suited pieces of wood, the Owlets did not feel like helping. So a big box of corrugated cardboard was what I found. I'm quite satisfied with the result.

     Det bedste er, at næsten alle frøene faktisk kunne være i kasse. Kun dem, der er i glas eller bøtter må stå udenfor. Nu er der orden i frøene!

 - o 0 o -

The best thing is, that all the seed bags fit in. It's only the bottles and jars left over now.

Alle frøposerne, I de øverste to riller grøntsagsfrø i alfabetisk rækkefølge. + lidt blomster
Nederste rille indeholder salater og krydderurter, sidstnævnte også alfabetisk.
Udenfor kassen er der morgenfruefrø, sorte bønner til farvning, akelejefrø fra haven, kørvelfrø og nigella.
All the seed bags went in the box, + some corn on the cob and sugar beet seeds.
Outside are marigolds, black beans for dye, chervil and a flower from the garden and Nigella seeds baking.

Frø -- Seeds

     Hver år sent i januar eller først i februar kommer der en dag, hvor Uglemor ikke kan vente længere. Nej det er ikke sommertøjet, der skal luftes eller gardinerne der skal vaskes. Det er frøposerne der skal ryddes op. Ligesom Karna Maj lader jeg også poserne ligge i kassen, der hvor de nu falder, når jeg bruger dem for sidste gang i løbet af efteråret. Men så ...

- o 0 o -

Every year the day arrives, either in the end of January or the beginning of February, where MotherOwl is unable to keep her fingers away. No it's new clothes for spring, or the curtain needing a wash after winter's darkness. Not it's the seed bags calling. Like Karna Maj tells in her blog, the seed bags are just dropped off in Autumn when they're not needed any more. But now ...

Ja, det er en æblekasse fuld af frø. - Og ja, jeg samler selv mine egne frø.
Frøene i plastikposen er nytilkomne.
Yes this is an apple crate filled with seeds. And yes I collect my own seeds.
The seeds in the plastic bag are new from this year.

     Og hvert år tænker Uglemor ... i år behøver jeg vis ikke at købe flere frø - bortset fra lige dem og måske dem her ... de var vist lidt gamle, dem jeg havde. Og vupti er samlingen blevet endnu større. Jeg må vist lave et par kasser i stil med dem Karna Maj har sine frøposer i.

Like every year MotherOwl says to herself that no new seeds will be needed. Except maybe for some of those ... and those, they are maybe a tad old. And oops! The seed collection has grown again.  I have to make some seed crates like the ones Karna Maj has.

 - o - 0 - o -

     Her er billeder fra årets første såning. Det er dels test af spireevnen, dels lyst til krydderurter på maden, der har fået mig til at forsøge mig allerede. 

- o 0 o -

   Pictures of the first seeds sown this year. It serves  a dual purpose. Testing of the germination and giving us some fresh greens for cooking.

24. januar

 Første spirer - 27. januar - First sprouts.

Negativitet -- Negativity

     Natten til i går havde Uglemor en underlig drøm. Der fandtes superhelte. Negative superhelte. De var så negative, at når deres blik faldt på noget affald i grøftekanten eller et andet sted, hvor det ikke skulle være, lyste affaldet op i negative farver.
     Der var især en Tuborgdåse, der gjorde indtryk på Uglemor ved at få en meget karakteristisk lyslilla-metalpink nuance.

During the night between Friday and Saturday MotherOwl had a dream. A very vivid dream. Supers existed, negative supers. They were negative, very much so, and whenever their eyes fell on garbage in a ditch, the garbage went negative too.
A beer can in a caracteristic purple-meltallic-pink colour stuck in MotherOwl's brain.

Se bare her:
And look:

Kan I se superkræfterne?
Do you see the superpower?

PlantePrint -- EcoPrint

Det lader til at min blog er ligesom mit liv, fyldt med begyndelser, og næste trin med, men meget sjældent afslutninger. Både den gule temari og vandmelongarnet må hvile, for Uglemor har fået en ny idé. Ecoprinting. Først - for et års tid siden - gik det ud over noget bomuldsstof. Det gik naturligvis ikke godt, for bomuld er ikke sådan at plantefarve.


This blog is like my life. Filled with beginnings, but not so heavy on finished project. Now the yellow temari and the watermelon yarn is taking a break.. MotherOwl found a new tecnique. Eco-printing. Actually the first test runs hail from last year, but they were made with cotton cloth, and cotton and plant dyes are not that great partners. ... The result were somewhat lacking in permanency- 

Masser af blomster og lidt friskreven valnøddeskal.
Lots of petals and some walnut husks freshly grated

Flere blomsterblade og grønt - More petals and greenery.

Dampning i saftgryden  --  steaming in the juicer

Et andet forsøg med stokroser, hybenroser og farveplanter. det ser sjovt ud, men næsten alle farverne forsvandt i vask. Det skete også med de første forsøg. Kun valnød og krap gav vedvarende farver.
Another test with hollyhocks, roses and dye plant. Even thought it dried, almost all the colours washed out again. This happened with the first ones too, only walnut and madder lasted.

Nu blomstrer stokroserne så igen, og Uglemor fandt et gammelt, slidt tæppe med hul i. Det førte til en idé. Klip tæppet i bidder, uden om hullerne og se sorte striber, naturligvis. Farv resten af ternene med ecoprint-teknik, og sy dem sammen igen til et nyt, spændende tæppe.

Now the hollyhocks are once more flowering, and MotherOwl found an old woollen blanket. Somebody made holes in it. Maybe moths, maybe Owlets. But anyway ... it was cut in squares. The holes and the blacks stripes were cut off, and the remaining squares mordanted with the ubiquitous alum and eco-print-dyed

Resultaterne på uld er ganske anderledes. De blå aftryk kommer fra lyserøde stokroser, de samme som lavede de lyserøde plamager på bomulden sidste år.
The results on wool are another fish altogether. They stay on. The blue prints come from purple hollyhocks, the ones that made the red smears on cotton. .

Lige siden - de første billeder er en måned gamle - har Uglemor farvet og overfarvet uldne firkanter med alt hvad der gror i haven og på grøftekanterne i nærheden. Nu er det slut, og næste punkt er at beslutte en orden og så sy dem sammen - men hvordan? det vil tiden vise.
Og sådan nåede jeg enden af endnu et uafsluttet indlæg.


Since then many of the squares hvae been overdyed, some more than once. MotherOwl has been experimenting. and eco printing on and off for a month now. Next step is the mixing and sewing together of the squares.
And thus we reach the end of yet another blogpost without conclusion.

Drømmegarnet -- The Dream Yarn

     Søndag morgen vågnede Uglemor med opskriften på et vandmelonfarvet garn i hovedet. Det er et gammelt ønske, men den slags garn er håndlavet og skal bestilles hjem fra USA. Med porto, moms, told osv bliver det bare for dyrt.
     Men nu havde jeg drømt, hvordan det skulle farves, med hvilke planter eller kombinationer af planter og hvordan det skulle vindes op.

For many years MotherOwl has been wanting a watermelon coloured sock yarn. But the only way to get one is from an American e-shop. It's not cheap and with taxes, postage etc. the price was in the unattainable end.
Then Sunday morning MotherOwl dreamt of how she was dyeing her own  watermelon yarn and woke up with a complete recipe in her head. She just had to try.

     Efter en indledende gang kluddermor gik vi i gang. 1. punkt var farvning med cochenille. Efter en farvesession i vores plantefarvegruppe havde vi delt det overskydende farvebad, og der var stadig meget farve i. Perfekt til vandmelonfarve.

After some initial messing up the winding -- unravelling a 21 meter long skein takes time! -- the first part was dyed watermelon pink. We had had a dyeing session in our natural dyers' group, and we had split the remaining dye bath from cochineal between us.

Næste omgang var næste afsnit af garnet i det nu tyndere farvebad.

Next part was an easy one, just use the now more spent dye bath.

     Dernæst blev cochenillevandet hældt på en dunk, og Uglemor cyklede ud og plukkede vild gulerod. Det var lige på det sidste, så det blev en laaaang tur. Men resultatet blev som i drømmen.

The cochineal dye bath was poured into a jug -- there's still some red in it -- and MotherOwl went for a bike ride picking Queen Anne's lace for the next part. This resulted in a surprisingly long trip, as the season for QAL is nearing its end. But the result was just as in the dream.

     Rejnfan gror ude i haven, så det var let. I morgen mødes vi atter i farvegruppen, og så bliver de to gule farver tryllet grønne i et indigobad. Jeg glæder mig.

Tansy for the next, and last, part grows in the Owlery, so no long rides needed for that. Tomorrow the dye group will meet again, and the yellow parts will be turned into greens by the magic of an indigo vat.

Nyt hegn til bierne -- 2 -- A new Fence for the Bees

     Heldigvis var dagen i går også kølig, blæsende og fugtig. De sidste paller blev renset og sat op, de hjemmelavede hjørnebeslag virker perfekt, og kampestenene stabiliserer hegnet helt rigtigt. Det gamle hegn bliver først fjernet, når jeg er sikker på at pilene indenfor er begyndt at gro.

- o 0 o -

Luckily yesterday was windy, chill and humid. MotherOwl dusted off pallets, screwed in a zillion screws, moved some more heavy stones, cut a lot of branches from the very prickly wild rose in smallish pieces, and suddenly the fence was finished. It works perfectly, the heavy stones stabilize it in the right places, and my home made fasteners work like a dream. The old fence will be removed in due time, that is when MotherOwl has planted all the willow saplings and they have begun growing.

Der er blevet proppet nogle lidt tilfældige grene ned i pallerne for at lære bierne, at her skal man ikke flyve ud. De er bundet fast med kunststofsejlgarn, ikke kønt, men det skal også bare sidde 
til jeg får høstet noget pil.
- 0 -
Some handy branches were fastened to the pallet with nylon strings. It's not pretty, 
but it works, and gives me time to harvest some willow branches for the fence.

     Nogenlunde det samme sted fra som i går. Nu kan bierne ikke bare flyve ligeud. Den superstikkende rose blev ikke klippet helt ned, den kunne godt være der.

- o 0 o -

Seen from almost the same bees' view as yesterday. Now the bees have to fly up, over the fence and the branches. The very prickly wild rose has survived, at least some of it.

Her kigger vi den anden vej. Det ser fint og solidt ud.

And a view in the other direction. This looks good and solid,

Se alle de fine, tunge sted.
- 0 -
Look at all those wonderful, heavy stones.

     Og bare for at bevise at den ekstra stikkende vilde hybenrose faktisk er så slem, nappede jeg lige et nærbillede af den. AV!

- o 0 o -

Just to prove that the extra prickly wild rose is as bad as it's name here's a close up of one of the branches - OUCH!

Nyt hegn til bierne -- 1 -- A new Fence for the Bees

     Der var jo stadig liv i Uglemors bier - meget liv. Og de står lige ud til en vej, hvor folk og Ugleungerne, går, cykler, kører og rider forbi.
     Det gamle hegn var blevet træt, på billedet kan man se, hvordan det er ved helt at lægge sig ned over vejen.  Det beskytter faktisk ikke de forbipasserende særligt godt længere.

 - o 0 o -

  MotherOwl's bees survived the winter, they're alive, and very much so. The hives are facing a road where people, and the Owlets, pass by on foot, by bike, on horseback, or by car. The car drivers don't mind the bees as much -- yet. But with summer and open windows ahead, I'm sure they'll change their minds too -- The more unprotected passers by are not well served by this fence any more. 

Se alle de store sten, der presser det gamle hegn ud nede i bunden? De var tunge at flytte.
- 0 -
Look, all those stones crowding the old fence from the inside. They were heavy.

     Her ser vi det fra biernes synspunkt. Det er alt for nemt bare at flyve ligeud her.

- o 0 o -

Seen from a bee's point of view the road is straight ahead. .

Bistade med lidt af det gamle kvashegn og en
aggressiv hybenrose i forgrunden.
- 0 -
A bee hive in need of paint with a view to parts
of the old fence and an extra prickly wild rose.

     De sidste fem, seks dage har det været dejligt vejr - køligt og småregnende.Sådan tænker Uglemor normalt ikke, men når man skal arbejde lige foran et bistade, er vejr, der får bierne til at blive inde, fint vejr. Uglemor har flyttet sten, mange sten, og klippet blommevildskud og aggressive hybenbuske ned. Så har Uglemor og Minimax boret og skruet i gamle paller. Med hjælp fra Storebror blev de sidste sten flyttet og pallerne slæbt i stilling.
     Nu ser det sådan her ud set fra biernes synspunkt.

- o 0 o -

The last week or so the weather has been fine, cloudy, cool and occasional light showers. Not a weather MotherOwl normally is too happy about, but when there's work to be done immediately in front of the bee hives, all weather that's not freezing and keep the bees inside is splendid.
MotherOwl has been moving  heavy stones, many heavy stones, cutting down lots of wild plum trees and an extra prickly wild rose busk. Minimax helped drilling and screwing the pallets together to form a fence. BigBro helpde moving the last, and heaviest stones and lift the pallets into place, definitely a job for two.
Now the bees enjoy this view - or lack thereof. 

     Uglemor skal lige finde et par paller mere, nedlægge endnu en voldsomt aggressiv hybenbusk og skrue lidt mere. Så mangler der bare en masse pilegrene, der skal stikkes ned på bagsiden af pallerne. Når pallerne så engang falder fra hinanden, står der et levende pilehegn klar til at tage over.
     Nogle af de største sten skal også slæbes tilbage igen og lægges for foden af hegnet. Det skal både holde nærgående biler på afstand og stabilisere hegnet.

- o 0 o -

MotherOwl is going to carry home some more pallets, cut down another intensely thorny wild rose bush and screw in even more screws. Then the next step is cutting and planting some 50 willow saplings on the inside of the pallet fence, When the pallets rot, or whatever old pallets do, a living willow fence stands ready to take over.
Some of the bigger stones will be cariied back to the bottom of the fence, partly to keep away stray cars, partly to stabilize the pallets.

Drage - Dragon

     Måske er der en enkelt eller to, der har opdaget at Uglemor godt kan lige drager.Uglemor kan også godt lide Legoklodser, så denne her drage bygget af Legoklodser ... mums.
     Mosaikken bag dragen er også lavet af små legoklodser. 

MotherOwl likes dragons. MotherOwl likes Legos. Combine them? YES!
From our trip to Copenhagen. The mosaic behind the dragon is made from legos as well.

Pendlerstrik -- 2 -- Commuter Knitting

     For et halvt års tid siden siden skriv Uglemor om de gavnlige virkninger af pendlerstrik. Nu var Uglemor igen ude og rejse med tog alene og med et strikketøj. Og det er helt uroligt, hvor meget der bliver strikket, medens verden glider forbi udenfor vinduet. 
     Denne gang var det ern reparation, der stod for tur. Uglemors yndlingssweater af alpaccagarn var blevet slidt et underligt sted - eller også var der en Ugleunge, der havde bidt i den; ingen navne, tak.

- o 0 o -

Some time ago, MotherOwl pondered the beneficial effects of  commuter knitting.  No she once again had occasion to knit while commuting, but this time it was a mending or repair job.
MotherOwl's favourite sweater, made from alpaca, was worn in a strange place, or maybe an Owlet took a bite out of it. No names will be mentioned.

      Der var også gået hul på ærmet, Uglemor har en dårlig vane med at sidde og hvile på venstre albue. Det kunne godt stoppes, men elegant var det ikke. Især ikke på billedet, hvor stoppegarnet pludseligt bliver meget lysere.

- o 0 o -

In addition MotherOwl's bad habit of resting on her left elbow while thinking could be seen. There was a hole. It could be darned, but the result was far from elegant, much less so in this photo, where the darning appears even lighter than it is.

     Uglemor kom forbi den lokale garnbutik. Nede i bunden af tilbudskassen lå der et enligt nøgle alpaccagarn. Det hoppede op i armene på Uglemor, og ville med hjem til den stakkels swater.

 - o 0 o -

While shopping, MotherOwl walked by the local yarn shop. In the box of unmatching odds and ends was one hank of alpaca. It jumped into the arms of MotherOwl with all intentions of staying and helping out with the sweater.

 
Så strikkede Uglemor en lap

 - o 0 o -

First MotherOwl knit a patch for the darned hole. 

     Og så kommer Uglemor endelig til pendlerstrikket. Hun klippede nemlig brutalt manchetterne plus lidt mere af trøjen, og strikkede nogle nye. Det foregik på vej ud og hjem med toget, og de blev næsten færdige.

- o 0 o -

And now finally for the commuter knitting. MotherOwl brutally cut off the cuffs and a bit more, and knit some new ones on her way there and back again. They were almost done.

     Hjemme igen strikkede Uglemor 2 pinde mere og lukkede så af, så nu mangler der bare at blive hæftet ender og syet lap på. Så er Uglemors sweater så god som ny, ja faktisk bedre, for ærmerne har altid været for lange,. Det er de ikke længere.

- o 0 o -

Home again MotherOwl knit 2 more rows and cast off. Now darning in of ends and attaching of patch  will happen, and MotherOwl's sweater is as good as new - actually even better, cause the sleeves were too long before this mending.

     Uglemor håber at starte en to nye diller: Dels én hvor man reparerer sit tøj i stedet for at smide det ud, og dels én, hvor man strikker undervejs i stedet for at sidde med næsen i sin iDims. På hele turen hjem var der kun to mennesker, der talte sammen; en bedstefar og hans barnebarn, der lagde kringlede planer for, hvordan de skulle skræmme bedstemor til halloween. Jeg håber planerne lykkedes.

- o 0 o -

MotherOwl wants to be trendy and initiate 2 new trends: The first, repairing instead of throwing away, the second knitting (or crocheting) while commuting instead of sitting with your nose glued to an iScreen. Only two people were talking to one another on the train home, a granddad bringing home a grandchild, they were making plans for scaring granny for Halloween. It sounded ingenious, including a toy bear and other thing. I hope they succeeded.