On this holy day in Denmark we are all taking it easy.
A good friend to the farm (Wilhelm) arrived last night for a visit and to my delight, this resulted in my being treated to another fire and my dreams of an overnight in the forest's camping structure becoming a reality. Endless conversation and many a beer later and we accidentally found ourselves seeing the return of the sun's glow on the horizon. Wilhelm and I decided a 4am journey through the woods was in order and we managed to see the sun creep up over the wheat fields. I can't remember the last time I've managed to actually see the sun rise or been able to simply sit in the grass and watch it happen.
Thus far today there have been many outdoor coffees, a bike ride with Wilhelm and the latest volunteer from Canada, and maybe soon a nap. Yet another fire and continued merriment are planned tonight for my final night in Denmark.
Warm and fuzzy doesn't even begin to describe these last hours for me...
So I have decided to stay one more day.
Tomorrow is (another!) holiday in Denmark which means we're considering today a full work day. Tomorrow will offer me more time to sort my possessions, clean the caravan, eat another delicious meal, take another walk, another bike ride with Agi, maybe one last fire if the weather cooperates.
And then it is officially off to Sweden. For real this time.
In the meantime, my hands will stay as dirty as they look even if I tried to washed them as of late. Just how I like it.
This fellow here is seeing his final days. He's one of a few cows here reaching their grass-fed prime and soon it will be Tony Time.
As I understand it, when their numbers are up - typically a year for the calves bred for slaughter (it's closer to ten for the cows used to breed) - they get taken to Tony ...the butcher. Tony does the dirty work for a few reasons, including regulations if one has a restaurant, the facilities necessary for slaughtering massive animals, and so forth. When his job is finished, the farmers can retrieve and package their meat and it will for the most part be frozen and then eaten throughout the year. It's a similar process for the pigs.
The farmers here also have relationships with a few other people, for example a guy who makes mind blowing beef salami. I have tasted many parts and formations of these beasts, many pointed out on a Danish meat chart, most of which I suspect I have never had before. This meat is off the charts, people. So much so that in spite of my fully embracing my inner carnivore two times or more a day, I could almost see walking out of here a vegetarian once more as I find it hard to believe meat this good will ever come my way again.
It's almost midnight here and there is still a hint of sunlight on the horizon. The sun's brief setting has been steadily getting later and later since I arrived in Denmark and I am told we are nearing its peak.
I feared it might really bother me and my general circadian rhythm to have the sun shine for so long and so late. I have been surprised to find the opposite is true and can actually report more energy and motivation overall. With a sun that rises somewhere near 4am I always feel as though I'm allowed to sleep in, even if I'm awake and already eating breakfast at 7am. The days' endlessness allows me to feel no sense of urgency in the evenings. It might be 10pm but there's still time for all sorts of activity. Of course, this all comes from the luxurious point of view of one who doesn't need to feel pressure to work out in the pastures or similar until all hours, but even still, there's something sort of incredible about everything in nature aligning at this moment for optimum growing and productivity. I can also share that I am able to fall asleep easily in spite of the glow that never seems to totally fade. Maybe because I have actually kept busy up until the darkest moments of the day.
Soon enough it will be the solstice and the days will slowly begin to become shorter again. For the moment, I am more fixated on the rumor I have been told about a huge bonfire and the burning of a paper witch that typically happens in conjunction with the solstice celebration. Please keep your fingers crossed for me that these Swedish farmers are festive?!
Things are winding down here for me. I am scheduled to head towards Sweden on Monday to see what's around the next corner on this journey. The learning process continues daily but it's likely no new major projects will passed to me or undertaken.
I put another coat of red paint on some window frames this morning and they're ready to be hung, just in time for the next round of guests. On Wednesday a new volunteer arrived; a gentle spirited Belgian the same age as me. He's extremely skilled at all sorts of useful things and very used to working on farms. We are delighted he's here and they will be in good hands here after I am gone. He and I made signs together in the shape of arrows for parking direction purposes. Another small fingerprint I'll leave here after I have gone. It's possible they'll think of me when the banisters I sanded and stained need a touch up, but maybe not. Maybe I'll be thought of for awhile as the American girl who ended up being a little more useful or at least more interested and energetic than anticipated. Or maybe we'll keep in touch and I will be back here one day.
I do know I'll think back on this place as having changed my life, at least at this phase of it. No matter what happens, it was this place that gave me peace and solitude, calmed me down after what I'd now describe to be a horrible year, showed me the beauty of the simplest things, shared with me as much knowledge as I was willing to absorb, and welcomed me into their small community and family to the extent I truly felt a small part of things, even for just a short time.
Leaving is bittersweet but the unknown is also exciting. I still have a few more days to say goodbye to my forest, my emerging seedlings, the cows, pigs, goats, chickens, horses, bugs, spiders, nettles, weeds, friends, frogs, etc....
I'm not sure I have ever appreciated a cold can of beer and a campfire as much as those that were provided to me both Saturday and Sunday nights.
This past week has been brutal. Extremely satisfying but brutal. Endless weeding and all variety of farm chore that we all rushed to get done during the sunny days while they lasted. Top it all off with a "grill party" the farmers hosted for 43 people and... words cannot easily describe the physical exhaustion.
The lovely and amazing girl who works here (Agi) and I have recently been enjoying humble rewards in the evenings together following long days in the fields and long nights in the kitchen cleaning and prepping. She and I had the brilliant plan to bike to the beach yesterday, our day off. It ended up being an all together excellent plan and the farm and all its dishes and weeds felt like a distant memory. I will note that the physical requirements of that 50km+ endeavor on a somewhat questionable bike may have been underestimated by yours truly but... only positive memories (if not sore thighs and a slight forehead sunburn) remain. We topped the journey back off with ice cold apple ciders (?) in the parking lot of a supermarket and never felt better. Upon our return, we successfully sought out deliciously cold leftovers and were treated to yet another fire and cold beers by the farmers. Truly one of the best days I've had in recent memory.
I was certain I would be doing us all a huge disservice if, upon finally tracking down this elusive fløderboller, I didn't take it upon myself to do some extensive taste testing. Basically, I am in love. I will miss the cows and the woods and the people of Denmark, but I may miss thy fløderboller most of all!
As its name implies in Danish, the fløderboller is a marshmallow cream ball. The cream sits atop either a thin disc of marzipan or some sort of wafer, and the whole thing is dipped in chocolate, most commonly of the dark variety. I mean, hello?! Yes, please, and thank you.
Every shop has their own signature style, and as I had the misfortune of learning in Aabenraa, the fløder' is not flawless. I couldn't even finish my very first one. But I am so pleased to have persevered. And I might continue persevering until I leave this country.
Clockwise from top left: the first taste of sweet fløderboller heaven in H.C. Andersen's childhood garden, fløder-failure in Aabenraa, the holy grail of fløder-dom: Summerbird Grand Cru!, the extremely dreamy coconut sprinkled alternative.
In other news, let me introduce you to Overeaters Semi-Anonymous. These hungry ladies got taken in recently to chill with the ornery bulls as the pasture they were grazing on has become eaten down to the point of there being nothing left. Fortunately, this weather has aided tremendously in the restoration of their field and they'll soon be free to roam again; maybe as early as tomorrow. In the meantime, grasses and greens have been gathered for them and delivered via wheel barrow at scheduled times by one of the workers. Moments after eating, they all simultaneously lay down for a nap. I kind of know the feeling.
The last two days have offered some momentary returns to city life.
I caught a ride to nearby Aabenraa and finally had a fløderboller (more on this later). I was similarly driven and dropped off in Odense where I had a lovely (and coincidentally private) tour of Hans Christian Andersen's birth place. I also saw many a beautiful church and had a beer or two (and a half) while I waited out some rain. From Odense I spontaneously took a train to Svendborg where I was swept away in an all too brief love affair with one of the most charming towns I've ever seen. This romance included a very nice chat with a man who owns a very odd and amazing antique store (I'm the first New Yorker in two years time he said!), a very tasty organic lunch, more fløderboller action (!!!), more insanely old churches, a beautiful cemetery, a wooden ship filled harbor, etc. etc. etc.
It all sort of seemed like I'd gone on a field trip. I kept thinking about how completely anonymous and invisible I felt. For some reason there existed no anxiety at being in a foreign country or unfamiliar town. I admittedly managed to carve out some moments of quiet and solitude in spite of the comparative hustle of these places, but in many ways it still felt like a relief to be back at the farm. It made me wonder what it will eventually feel like to leave the womb that has become this place for me? I have less than two weeks left to go and then it will be on to the next destination. I will have to start all over again, meet new people, learn unspoken rules and routines, try to prove to everyone (including myself) that I am not an incapable moron. I am currently trying to embrace this learning curve of enjoying things in their moment and being open to what's to come. One day at a time.
Yesterday afternoon I felt so inspired by the sun's return and the resulting rise in temperature that I decide to take a quick dip in the lake.
The water wasn't exactly warm, but it was wonderful nonetheless. The horses were even kind enough to keep me company throughout.
The lake itself is apparently a recent addition to the farm resulting from some continuing waterway restoration projects (hello well allocated tax dollars!) that utilized the pre-existing dirt, sand, and gravel rather than trucking it in from somewhere far away. The farmers now refer to it as their beach.
Later I will tell everyone about the mind boggling amount of tadpoles (remember tadpoles?!) I witnessed out there. Elsebeth will make a half joke that perhaps the stork will now return after a twenty five year hiatus since she will soon have a sufficient number of frogs to eat. Not two hours later, we will open the doors to see four huge storks circling overhead.
Just now, during my walk, I saw the same four storks chilling in a wheat field, awaiting the imminent smorgasbord.
Welcome back to your unlikely habitat you strange and glorious creatures! I suppose you have the Danish government and taxpayers to thank.
(P.S. Happy Memorial Day?!)
Today the skies unexpectedly opened up late in the afternoon and the sun shone for hours and hours. Many wonderful things resulted, not least of all the return of my evening stroll through the forest. A lot goes on here at the farm but let me just tell you, this post dinner ritual has become the true highlight of my days here.
The journey begins near the horse pastures and then past the lake, next by another farmer's sheep, and then to a dirt pathway that branches off towards numerous options for where to go next. The very best path thus far is the one that takes me to the "other forest". There seem to be an endless number of trails through the trees upon arrival; some marked and beaten down, others less so.
I have made many otherwise inconsequential discoveries out there: a hedge hog moseying by, a gigantic black slug, an alternate pathway leading to a fish farm or pheasant cage (it's all very mysterious), one lone poppy growing in the wild...
It feels as though I am truly and completely alone out there in a way I'm not used to (or taking for granted) after ten plus years of living in the city. It's just me and the breeze (and the snails, and the frogs, and the birds, and the bugs...)
...Nary a care in the world.
