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A peculiar execution

Sunday, October 23rd, 2011

What thoughts are being born amidst the trees?

Golden layers fall from the trunk like a ball gown. Their pattern brings tears to the eyes of any artist or designer who has observed, been inspired and tried to replicate. Some come close, like insects dancing toward the light. Yet, the sweet tragedy of all great art, and indeed the quality that draws us to it, is the longing to portray a vision or a feeling that we’ve internalized and, at best, always just coming close.

Autumn in the North, with its overbearing beauty and dramatic happenings, is full of this sweet tragedy for me. During sunny, crisp mornings in the park with Lucy the dog the desire to describe what I see flows forth in words that I just cannot keep up with. They pass through my thoughts and seem to fly right back out into the golden waterfalls of leaves, and wash away into the gutters next to the sunlit paths. At the same time, being able to retain just a small portion of this inspiration, which I believe I do, makes all of the difference to me. Just a tiny droplet of it can shape my day, my thoughts, my attitude, and the way that I relate to other people. This is no small matter.

Autumn’s sweet tragedy began to turn sour when I noticed in the Sunday paper that there is a planned execution in Stockholm on Monday morning. At some time tomorrow, which is likely being kept a secret for fear of the Robin Hoods of nature conservation hijacking the event, an oak that is several hundred years old, and that preceded all of the modern structures that stand around it, will be felled. Symbolically, the base of the oak is now entombed under the cement of the pavement in front of the Swedish public television station’s building.

Apparently it’s got a fungal disease and is a risk to passersby. We have to be realistic – it’s just a tree, some say. Yet, if one thinks about how many artists, thinkers and others this tree has inspired to new heights – how many thoughts this tree has impacted over time - one begins to appreciate the magnitude of what is about to happen. This sort of tree has not only been our witness, it has been a creator of history and culture over many hundreds of years.

It seems ironic that in this International Year of Forests in which Sweden is celebrating trees as both a part of our outer and inner worlds, the old oak which has seen us through so much has to go. If this was an elderly person, we’d do everything to learn whatever we could from it before he or she passed away. If it was a famous artist, a movie star or other celebrity, we’d be honoring it at galas. A tree is not a person, but there is a good reason why trees occupy a special place in the cultural life of this part of the world. They’ve shaped the way that we think. Observing a very old tree is more than just nostalgia or nature appreciation, it’s living history.

As I pass down the linden alley, I smile upon the youngsters. I’m older than many of these trees. It’s cheerful to be able to enjoy their soft and slender youth. Yet, in the gnarled forms and deep grooves of an old tree is the inspirational and intellectual heritage of a people. Perhaps, for these very special trees we’ve felt forced to fell, a ceremony of remembrance should be organized. Undoubtedly, this would be the sign of a society with greater self-insight than the one that we live in today.

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Learn more about Julie Lindahl’s prize-winning new book, “Rose in the Sand,” a memoir of a decade lived on a Swedish island. Other books by Julie Lindahl available are: Letters from the Island (listen also to Julie’s podcasts from this site) and On My Swedish Island: Discovering the Secrets of Scandinavian Well-being.

Julie Lindahl is chairperson at Stories for Society, a non-profit organization dedicated to learning and communication through storytelling.

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Tags: culture, execution, heritage, trees
Posted in Autumn, Conservation, Flora, Outdoor Activity, Park, Season, Walking, nature | 4 comments »

Shifting rhythms

Saturday, August 27th, 2011

Shifting rhythms

It was a Friday evening in late summer, and a father led his young daughter to the edge of the water, where their wooden row boat waited. He had just returned from a harrowing week at work, yet when he slipped his life vest on, picked up the oars, and took his daughter’s soft hand into his own, he felt able to leave the cacophony of the week behind.

He perched her on the stern of the row boat and heaved the oars into the still swimmable water of late August. The little girl’s whispy blonde locks fluttered in the draught, created by the movement of the boat through the water. She chirped her thoughts to her father, explaining to him from her child’s perspective all that she beheld. Under his hat, her father smiled irrepressibly, occasionally acknowledging her magical description of the world around.

The boat glid into a wide bay, and suddenly one could hear an almost deafening noise from the skies. Despite the warmth still in the air and the water, the Canada geese knew that it was time to go. Late summer was deceptive - it could fool you into believing that this would last forever. Yet, the Canada geese were the wiser and had taken to the skies in droves.

The gigantic flock now landed all around the row boat. The young girl shrieked with delight as the geese blanketed the surface of the water with their presence. The father pulled in the oars to allow the birds to land all around them. As the geese clucked to one another things that no one could understand, father and daughter laughed, listened, and tried to imagine the mutterings of the migrating flock.

The dock was a slippery green under my feet, another indication of the coming autumn. I had slipped on my bathrobe and trudged through the path towards our local “beach” with Lucy the dog, who stopped to sniff at the first apples that had fallen to the ground. This was my shift from the onslaught of work I had left behind in the working week. It was still summer and so I didn’t bother about whether anyone thought that walking through the street in a bathrobe was appropriate. Most people in our neighborhood understood.

Now at the end of the dock, I beheld a father and his young daughter in a boat in a sea of geese. The evening sun shone a soft, even warmth upon them that seemed unreal with the thought of autumn just around the corner. Lucy and I did our lap, back and forth to the sail boat moored at a nearby shore. The troubles of the week were gone, washed away in the even cool of the lake.

As we approached home, I picked an apple from one of the neighbor’s trees and bit in. You had to offer assistance in consuming some of the apples in the neighborhood at this time of year: people couldn’t use them all up in cider and preserves. Down the road, I saw the father and the daughter walking home, hand in hand, with their lifejackets on, lively in conversation. It had been an evening of wonder, but mostly a needed shifting of rhythm and the chance to remember the dignity in living.

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Learn more about Julie Lindahl’s prize-winning new book, “Rose in the Sand,” a memoir of a decade lived on a Swedish island.

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Tags: Autumn, Boating, late summer, recreation, Swimming
Posted in Apples, Autumn, Balance, Boating, Food and Health, New Thinking, Outdoor Activity, Season, Summer, Swimming, children | 11 comments »

Keeping open windows

Wednesday, August 17th, 2011

As most in the northern hemisphere don the sunhats and flip-flops, here in Sweden summer is just about over. As I look down the length of the dock, past the hanging birch to the cool water, my heart aches. Here there has been time for reflection, time to sort the important from the unimportant, space to breath. In town, the telephones ring and the car engines rumble as they wait at red lights. Here on this island, the brashness of man’s contraptions is far away, and the colors of summer slowly and gracefully give way to the yellows and browns of the autumn.

During the past days, I’ve been asking myself how to preserve this flow in life, away from my beloved island. How do I keep that feeling of joy at seeing a bird perched on the gate, or experiencing the power that comes from watching the waves as they wander in droves into other parts of this great lake? Since leaving full-time life here, it is a question I have asked myself each year in mid-August, as it becomes evident that this seamless mode of life is about to give way to the tight girdle of autumn schedules.

Yesterday, as a rebellion against all of the things that had to be done in order to begin closing down this place for the cold season ahead, I took a canoe tour with my husband and daughter on the glassy lake. The stillness was a salve on the open wound of having to leave. Sometimes my husband would urge me to row faster or harder, but I resisted, often lifting my oar just to glide and watch the hull peacefully breaking through the even surface.

The water reeds had built up a thick boundary between the water and the forest. One could see the yellowness creeping up their previously all-green stems. It was that golden time when beholding the water reeds, not as individuals but all together, left the impression of a golden ring surrounding each island.

The forest had already begun to smell musty. Raspberry time was over and now one could smell the mushrooms beginning to make their way up after cool evenings and morning dew. This smell disguised the fact that mushrooms actually cleaned the forest floor. It was one of those anomalies that I could never quite resolve. We pulled the canoe up at a dock where, unfortunately, a dead fish floated at the surface. It was a sad sight to see, but we left it there, knowing that some hungry creature in nature would soon take care of it.

Lucy the dog, who had been with us in the canoe, now charged through the trees with tail held high, as though on a great mission. The forest floor was still warm and dry from the summer. It didn’t yet have that feel of cold moisture as one’s shoe sunk into the moss. We picked whatever chantarelles we could find for dinner and climbed back into the canoe. The fish was gone – indeed there was a flow in life here.

Gliding

On the way back, I frequently lifted my oar out of the water and lifted my face to the sky. How beautiful it was to glide under the blue sky. Here there was no beginning and no end, and one lost track of boundaries.

We pulled the canoe up onto our beach and debated as to whether we should lift it to be stored on land. My instincts said, “No, I’ll be out here again before the weather turns.” Eventually, we left the canoe accessible to the beach so that I could retain a little open window for returning to the peace of the water when the autumn weather allowed. Retaining and sometimes climbing through those little open windows is my pledge this autumn, as the mushrooms fill the forest and the colors slowly but gradually turn to white.

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Learn more about Julie Lindahl’s prize-winning new book, “Rose in the Sand,” a memoir of a decade lived on a Swedish island.

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Tags: Autumn, Boating, Island
Posted in Autumn, Balance, Boating, Island, Landscape, New Thinking, Outdoor Activity, Season | 12 comments »

Island of love, hope and humanity

Thursday, July 28th, 2011

A place that everyone can believe in

They boarded the bus to visit the camp site on the idyllic island near their temporary quarters. Mother, father, and four children had fled from Iraq and were staying in the country-side. Here, they waited to learn whether they would be allowed to stay in this country, where they needn’t fear for their lives each day. In order to break the agony of waiting for that day of judgement, the parents had decided to take their children fishing at a nearby waterfront camp site, where one could stand on the long docks and cast a line out towards the horizon. It was a beautiful evening: one that offered the hope of forgetting, even if just for a few short hours, so that the young ones could catch a glimpse of how childhood could be. All of them longed for their homeland, but it was too dangerous a place to be in. They told themselves that there were beautiful experiences to be had in this new land, to which they had reluctantly fled.

As they boarded, the bus driver – a local woman with family roots in the area – greeted them. The youngsters responded in the local language and held out their tickets. The parents remained silent behind their children, embarrassed that they had not yet picked up this language that was in every way foreign to their own. The bus driver looked into each of the children’s faces and smiled at them. She had children of her own and knew that these young ones had been through experiences that she could not imagine. She acknowledged the parents, thinking how bizarre it was to believe that her country’s problems were created by them.

The family disembarked from the bus and walked down the long path that cut through the middle of the camp site. To their left and right, they saw people enjoying the still summer evening outside their trailers and tents. The mood was open and friendly. No one stared at the outsiders, or, for that matter, thought of them as outsiders. This was a place for anyone who loved nature and the sound of the crickets as night fell.

Children playing football near one of the trailers kicked their ball in the direction of the Iraqi children. At first, the newcomers were afraid to kick back, not because they couldn’t play football (a national sport in their country), but because they had been told by their parents to keep a low profile. Ignoring their advice, the most forward of the children took a gigantic kick and sent the ball flying back. The children at the camp site cheered.

There were many boats moored at the long docks. The family walked quietly past them to the end of one of the docks and cast their lines toward the horizon. This evening it was in various hues of fuschia, orange, and yellow, no different than the sunset in Iraq. The boaters, many of whom were drinking coffee after dinner or having a night cap, watched the night entertainment with interest. Would they or wouldn’t they catch a fish? After an hour or so, one of the boaters emerged from her boat and offered the parents some coffee and biscuits, which they gladly accepted. The children’s eyes were wide with delight, as the boater offered them some cordial, and, most importantly, biscuits.

A fish bit onto one of the hooks, and the boaters collectively held their breaths. After an extensive struggle, the fish got away. The silence was broken by the father of the children, who began to laugh. It was the kind of laughter loaded with the relief that there were good people here, and that life still had its beautiful moments. The boaters thought it infectious and began to laugh along. The parents looked back at the boats as their children continued to fish. For the first time, they felt a commonness with these people, who could laugh with them, sit in suspense with them, and share in the universal love of children.

I was one of the boaters this evening, and I know that this is how it can be on a Nordic island. Here, love, hope and humanity are so great, that there is no room for anything else.

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Written in memory of the victims of the Oslo and Utøya tragedies.

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Tags: hope, humanity, islands, love, Norway, Sweden
Posted in Boating, Camping, Inclusion, Integration, Island, Landscape, New Thinking, Nordic Countries other than Sweden, Norway, Openness, Outdoor Activity, Positive Thinking, Season, Summer, children | 1 comment »

Swedish Island Holiday: The art of being carefree

Sunday, July 17th, 2011

It ain't easy being carefree

It’s the sort of summer when you stop paying attention to the weather forecasts. They never seem to get it right. As I flung open the kitchen door this morning to push out Lucy the dog, who needs to be presented with a fait accompli in order to get up in the mornings, the sun shone brightly on the rainbow of roses that my husband and I had planted on the sandy hill. It’s interesting that when the sun shines despite the weather forecast, you don’t ask yourself where the clouds are. They’re just somewhere else, and here on my Swedish island during this short respite of light that we call summer, that is just fine.

There are always a hundred things to do here, but the wonderful thing about mornings in this place away from the gaze of schedules, is that you can ignore all of them and do something else. I started by counting the number of rose varieties that my husband and I had planted during all of the years that we had worked on this impossible project. By the time I counted thirty-five, Lucy the dog sat staring, drooling for breakfast amid the roses on the largest bed. She’d have to wait another minute, since my thoughts had wandered to the thistle, which too were flowering. I began to notice that there were hundreds of tiny flowers on each thistle head, something which had not gone amiss on the bumble bees, which rushed frenetically from one sweet flower to the next, like children in a candy store. The lavender were blooming too and I checked to see whether there were any in my pockets. Noticing that there were none, I picked a few and stuffed them down. No one’s pockets should be without lavender sprigs during the summer.

At the dock, I picked up the book I’d left there on the day before. There is something carefree about being able to leave your book on a chair at the dock and know you’ll find it there dry and untouched on the following day. I opened the book to where I had left off and read a couple of pages. I looked up across the water toward the horizon. Here there was time to think about what one had read, read it again, and see it from yet another perspective. If only there was a way to take this feeling of space and time with me into the working year. Life had meaning when we gave ourselves the time to discover it.

Lucy the dog refused to accept that her breakfast was one of those musts that could be ignored on this carefree morning. Her dark brown eyes with the sultry, blond lashes stared at me as I turned the pages in my bubble of liberation from duty. Then a fish stirred in the water and her attention was diverted. Lucy could never resist the fish that nipped at the surface. They seemed to her one of life’s great mysteries, which she was determined to unravel by watching them for hours on end during these lazy days.

With Lucy now occupied, I laid down on the dock, warmed by the morning sun, and stared at the sky. Lying there, staring at pure sky without limits, time or onlookers, was to me the greatest of life’s luxuries. The skies had no plans written in them, no matter how much the tabloids liked to insist that they did with their 14-day prognoses. There were endless possibilities there at all times. It was only we who chose to see sun or rain.

The strings of a guitar sounded out the open window. My son had awoken and was doing whatever struck him first. I was glad that he knew how to be carefree. It was one of those things that might protect him in life.

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Rose in the Sand available at major online bookstores now

Julie Lindahl’s new book, “Rose in the Sand,” is now available at major online bookstores in Sweden and elsewhere, including at www.amazon.com.

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Tags: carefree, Island, roses, sand, Summer, Sweden
Posted in Outdoor Activity, Season, Summer, gardening | 6 comments »

Spring rebellion

Saturday, March 26th, 2011

Little Rebel

A V-formation flew overhead. Lucy the dog and I watched it with necks craned back. The Canada geese had returned. My heart expanded with love of the season, wanting to break out and embrace every bud and creature that dared to speak despite the brisk temperatures. Each spring is like a rebellion in nature. That which lives will have its say, and like a ruthless dictator, the winter, which seemed impossible to depose just a few short weeks ago, begins to look increasingly toothless.

Over in the cropped linden trees the smaller birds are singing in an increasingly complex chorus. With each day that passes there are more voices. It’s beginning to sound like Mahler. Today a new diva in the branches catches Lucy’s attention. She sits with pricked ears and cocked head, and listens to this sound she has heard before but never tires of. Lucy is a retriever, in other words, a bird dog. Everything relating to birds fascinates her and now she has passed on her fascination to me. The thing about the birds in the trees is that it is often hard to spot where all of the sounds are coming from with the naked eye. I suspect that Lucy can smell the birds from her spot down on the ground. Without binoculars, I settle for the idea that trees sing. Not a bad thought.

Then down on the grass a crow caws condescendingly, provoking Lucy. There is something about crows that sends her blood pressure up. I hold her back and behold the raven creature. It looks at me with a regal air, as though I am nothing but a tiny spot. It is perhaps this attitude that gets Lucy all riled up. She’s a Swedish dog: she likes groups, lagom, consensus and togetherness; not a crow’s haughty tune.

We’ve gone to observe the small islands of tiny spring flowers breaking out on the sun-struck hills. Nature’s rebellion is dramatic. It has been going on under the snow for quite some time without anyone seeing it. Now as the snow retreats it is there for everyone to notice. There are purples, yellows, whites and all manner of shapes. The difference of form that life takes in this new free time is exciting and almost unbelievable after the montone rule of winter.

We’ve arrived back home and I urge Lucy to come in for breakfast. She cocks her head once again in such a way that says, “why?” Not even breakfast can tempt her out of the sun and the revolution of nature happening outside. She is a dog of the people and shuns creature comforts to be out there with them, witnessing the fall of winter.

Out the back window I can see that she has instead run to greet Mrs. Bengtsson, an avid gardener well into her eighties. We have opened up our two gardens so that all of us can enjoy a bigger garden. Mrs. Bengtsson is one of those diehard spring rebels and finds a great deal in common with Lucy the light lover. She has already cut back all of her bushes in readiness for the greenery. My heart is there with her but I am still here at my keyboard putting my faith in the written word to inspire you to become a rebel too (if you are not one already, that is).

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Happy News! My new book, “Rose in the Sand,” which is a memoir of Swedish island life and the writing of which has generously been sponsored by a literary prize from www.gather.com will be out this April. Join me at Facebook and/or Twitter for notification about the release date and more information about how to order it at my web site. Learn more about my writing and other projects at www.julielindahl.com. I a manage a non-profit for bringing story-telling to schools as a new tool for learning and communicating. If you are a principal, teacher or other person interested in knowing more about this, please visit www.storiesforsociety.com and get in touch!

Remember to check my e-magazine, www.nordicwellbeing.com, the one and only for wellbeing with Nordic inspiration!

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Tags: birds, dogs, rebellion, spring
Posted in Landscape, Outdoor Activity, Park, Season, Spring, Walking | 9 comments »

For the love of a plebeian spade

Sunday, May 9th, 2010

Most of us walk around with dreams. Some of them are worth having and others need more thinking through. As the weed bursts forth despite the cool spring, I dream of having one of the gardeners across the road at the palace work my little patch with all of their amazing machinery that turns gardening into a comfortable activity conducted from a golf cart. As I dream of this luxury, my reality is that I have managed to clear the infamous bishop’s goutweed from the beds behind my house using a spade that was produced in the dark days that preceded ergonomic science. I look to the ceramic Buddha’s head placed serenely in another corner of the garden and note that unless I get onto that patch within the next couple of days, the lord Buddha will be buried in a virile jungle of weed with notoriously deep and tangled roots.

Across the road, gardeners dressed in uniform whisk about the paths of the palace in white carts. A blower clears the pathways and a rake dragged on the back of one of the carts makes orderly patterns in the gravel. The tulips prepare to bloom in equidistant rows and the very sight of a weed fighting its way up in the soil in between results in its prompt extinguishment. The long rows of linden trees receive a shower of nutrients through a tube directed at the roots. The King’s recent order to distribute free compostible doggy-doo bags in the park has been promptly seen to by a machine that effortlessly hammers poles into the ground from which the new free offerings hang. No where is there a spade, old or new, to be seen. Spades are the instruments of the plebeians across the street.

As I walk through the park, green with jealousy as well as one of the King’s compostible doggy-doo bags wrapped in readiness over my hand, I notice that the birch leaves are the size of mouse ears. It is written in the lore of Swedish peasant farmers that when the birch have reached this revered state, the potatoes must be planted. Planting these most Nordic of all bulbs is one of those things that everyone should get a crack at. Having the chance to dig a spade into the earth is to experience the very essence of spring.

One of the royals breaks the ground with a shiny new spade and hundreds of people clap. It’s time to “plant” another tree. I ask myself what life would be like if each time that I picked up a spade I had to do it without getting my hands or shoes dirty, and with a team of bodyguards ready to throw themselves on top of me. With my gardens tended by teams of specialists in golf carts, I’d never get the chance to know the joy of planting a potato and, yes, even uprooting the prolific goutweed. The answer is that I’d be dying for that moment of plebeian joy across the street.

I’m not a Republican so far but things are moving in that direction. It isn’t that I don’t like the royals, it’s just that wellbeing isn’t to be found in a perfectly manicured garden but in a life of experience dug with an ancient spade. No one should be denied that pleasure.

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Attention all tulip lovers! The park is full of them and in Stockholm you can now enjoy a special photographic exhibition of tulips. Visit www.nordicwellbeing.com and check Happening Now 2010 on the home page.

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Tags: Drottningholm, gardens, potatoes, royals, spade, tulips, weed
Posted in Landscape, Outdoor Activity, Park, Season, Spring, gardening | 6 comments »

The conversion of a speed tyrant

Friday, April 23rd, 2010

Have you come to your senses yet?

As I’ve been walking around under a cloud of volcanic ash wondering, like many, when aircraft are going to restore that reliable sense of speed we have got used to in our lives, my dog Lucy has been concerned with developments on the ground. As the earth softens and emits the many smells of the life within it, Lucy is in sensory heaven. It has been a long, dull winter without the aromas of the earth and only endless amounts of white snow that, to her chagrin, leaves her fur sparkling clean. For a dog, not walking around with something ill-smelling in its fur is the height of unattractiveness.

So far I have managed to stick to my new regimen of a long early morning walk in Drottningholm Park. It is a wonderful new habit but I fear that Lucy and I have objectives that are at odds. While I am seeking to break into a sweat, burn energy and tone muscles by keeping up a goose-step pace strictly between 6.30 and 7.30 am (when I have to be home to ensure that the children get breakfast before I start work) Lucy is in a timeless search for the smell of all smells. Like a connoisseur, she slows down at each tree to appreciate the many great smells that a tree bears: the smell of birds, squirrels, deer chewing at the lichen on the bark and of course canine buddies who have previously baptized the tree. Like a speed tyrant, I drag her forward and reprimand her for inattention to our schedule.

On one of the back paths we run into Crown Princess Victoria looking athletic in black followed by two noisy lifeguards. “Hej”, she comments gently to Lucy who naturally captures the spotlight with her timeless sense of joy. Then it occurs to me that not even a rushed crown princess who most likely has no desire to greet more beings during her precious early morning hours can resist being drawn in by that affectionate space that a dog creates. Even if dogs physically live in our harried world, spiritually they preserve that original authenticity of joy in the moment that just then seems to have no limits.

Lucy is all done with her pal the Crown Princess and has now found a snail to focus her attentions upon. The snail is crossing the road at a pace which is painful to observe. There isn’t a great deal of traffic here but all it takes is the occasional vehicle to send the snail to purgatory. My urge is to lift up the poor little critter and move it to safety on the other side of the road, but something tells me that we should let nature take its course. Lucy and I watch the snail with ears pricked until finally its trail has left a shiny line across the road. We look up and find that a vehicle has been waiting for us to be done with snail hour.

Although she can be annoying I cherish my dog. How else would I learn to appreciate the delicate progress of a snail?

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For anyone contemplating purchasing a furry friend check Svenska Kennelklubben. If you are interested in a Lucy check Golden Retrieverklubben.

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Tags: Crown Princess Victoria, dogs, Drottningholm, golden retriever, parks, royals, speed, time, Walking
Posted in Animals and Health, Fauna, Landscape, New Thinking, Park, Season, Slow, Spring, Walking, nature | 2 comments »

The pansies are on the doorstep

Tuesday, April 13th, 2010

Change is inevitable so pick your moment

I had just returned from the mountains where April was like silk glistening on every facade. In the mountains there was peace: no rush to prepare for the life to come when the snow had melted. Here there were no gardens to tend. The blueberries and the cloudberries would simply burst forth in the shade of the pine and the spruce, and there would be nothing else to do but pick them and enjoy. There is always a reluctance to leave the measured rhythm of the mountains for the speed of the south. If you are wondering where this treasured paradise of mine is check www.fjatervalen.se.

Back in reality, I made one of those resolutions that only the spring grants you the wherewithal to make. I would get up an hour earlier to take a longer and more energetic walk with Lucy the dog in the mornings. I would reach the park before the signs of rushed humans became evident in the gravel, and before the morning traffic reached its cacophonous peak. Somehow I would beat the speed.

At the waterfront all signs of the thick sheet of ice that had looked unmeltable only a couple of weeks ago were gone. As I walked down the linden alleys my thoughts were drowned out by the screeching of birds for which 6-7 am was obviously mating hour. The branches of the trees were still bare but the birds had got a head start on the race of the season. In the gardens of the well-kept homes leading down to the China Pavilion, the bishop’s goutweed had already managed to creep up before the garden sheds had been unlocked for the warm season. “Remember to get your tomato seeds planted by the end of March,” I had been advised by the lady with the greenhouse next door. Were mine planted? Were they hell! Time was running through my fingers.

Up at the China Pavilion, the pansies stood ready to be unveiled at the doorstep. Were we already back at the annual pansy exhibition? I sat down on the top step and took a sneak preview of the exhibit under one of the white covers that would be lifted later this morning. “Peaceful moment” read the sign in front of one of the many different varieties. Of course, peaceful moment, I thought, isn’t it so true? Change is in the nature of things so just pick your moment.

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Tags: China Pavilion, Fjätervålen, mountains, pansies, spring
Posted in New Thinking, Outdoor Activity, Season, Slow, Spring, The Now, gardening | No comments »

Let the Multitude Bloom

Saturday, March 20th, 2010

Could this happen in Sweden?

Recently I’ve been thinking of how much mental space we could create if we collectively agreed to get rid of stereotypes. All of those small compartments we walk around with in our heads would suddenly be cleared away and we’d feel so much lighter. Just think of all of that space for real new perceptions and no reinforcement of tired old views by tired old media and advertizing (naturally I am not referring to this forward-looking publication). One of the thoughtful readers of this blog recently reminded me of a quotation from Walt Whitman that read “in me there are multitudes”. Aren’t all people and places like this? Over the years, I’ve discovered that Sweden is no exception. Yes, it is dark but it is also very light and several shades in between. Yes, people are quiet but they are also deafeningly loud and then there are the varying tones from the gentle nyckelharpa to the thundering Poodles. Hair is blonde but it is also dark, red, and every shade of mouse on the color spectrum.

This brings me to the business of gardens. Who thinks of gardens when they think of Sweden? Vast tracts of coniferous forest and flat tundra perhaps, but not the luscious, romantic gardens that we associate with that green and pleasant land, England. The fact that my interest in gardens first germinated in this land of hearty winter shrubs is in fact no coincidence. The Wall Street Journal noted in a survey undertaken sometime during the past decade that Sweden is home to the largest number of recreational gardeners in the world as a percentage of its population. When Martha Stewart sought ideas for her media imperium from European gardens she came to Sweden and visited Zeta’s, among other Swedish gardens. This long country of thirsty and domineering birch is an unexpected gem of inspiration when it comes to gardens.

Even among those who are skeptical in this country, gardens are on their minds. A headline article in one of last week’s main daily newspapers read in translation, “For a mediocre gardener the best time is now.” The journalist, a veteran hobby gardener, was referring to the many times he had watched the dreams presented in the gardening catalogues of March devoured by garden pests, dry weather and other mischievous villains that gardeners perpeutally duel with. My point is, what other industrialized countries do you know of where an average gardener’s frustrations make headline news?

Perhaps it is because we do it against all odds in Sweden. Perhaps it is because of the Linnean tradition of fascination for the detail of all that makes its way out of the once hardened ground. Could it be a legacy of Sweden’s close peasant past or is it a symbol for progress and a society in which people have the time and economic means to fuss over the roses? I have often wondered why, and at the same time find it extremely freeing to be a part of Sweden’s little-known gardening fetish which defies all mental compartments about this country.

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For those of you who want to join Sweden’s gardening fetish:

8-11 April, Nordiska Trädgårdar, Älvsjö Mässa

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Tags: gardening, Nordiska Trädgårdar, stereotypes, Zetas
Posted in New Thinking, Openness, Outdoor Activity, Season, Spring, Uncategorized, gardening | 5 comments »