Så er jeg her igen.
Efter en lang tur der begyndte med en meget tidlig morgenmad med min morgenduelige Mor er jeg igen på den anden side af Atlanten, tilbage i Ithaca.
Det er så småt begyndt at være tradition at min Far kører mig til lufthavnen og sender mig afsted når jeg er på vej spændende steder hen, og igår var ingen undtagelse. Her er han I Tirstrup 6:20 med morgenmaden.
Selvom jeg som regel foretrækker et gangsæde når jeg flyver var jeg på den første strækning fra Århus til Bruxelles så heldig at få et sæde der samtidig var vinduesplads.
Efter at være landet I Chicago og skulle igennem Immigrations oppdagede jeg til min glæde at jeg nu er tilbage i landet hvor folk smiler når du smiler til dem, hvor det meste bureaukrati går betydeligt nemmere hvis bare du har et venligt ord og et smil til vedkommende der ekspederer dig.
Nydeligt illustreret af den franske dame I køen ved siden af min. Hun brokkede sig slemt over at skulle vente og rendte frem og tilbage. De var ikke videre rare og bestemt ikke milde i tonen over for hende. Hvorimod ham der ekspederede mig var flink og latino, havde jeg-er-fashionabelt-ubarberet 3-dages skægstubbe og spurgte mig om jeg altid smiler så meget.
Her er jeg så nu, dasende i hængekøjen i Kamals have med et glittet blad og et tæppe mens han er på universitetet.
Condensed Summer
It came to my attention that not all of you know these. You’re missing something!
Here
I’ve been here not even a month, and already we’ve gone from summer to autumn.
A summer evening. My Mother enjoys the TV-show ‘CSI’ and I admire the changing colors of the evening sky. 
As it ends and the TV is turned off, the lantern made from half an oversized zucchini from the garden is still on.
A weekend evening in the garden – Christoffer and I toast marshmellows over a small bonfire and practise night photography without tripod. Steady hands are essential 😉
My Mother had the flu and were dozing behind us on the terrace, covered in blankets and with at pot of tea at her side.
The next afternoon my brother Daniel had just gotten home from vacation in Turkey and dropped by for a visit with his dog Chili.
My brother Christoffers best friend lives just up the street (if you can call a gravel road street). His father just started hunting and last week he dropped by with 5 wood pigeons. Here he is with Lasse in our garden, plucking them.
And here one is on my plate that evening. Delicious 🙂
Yesterday morning when I got outside I discovered we’d had the first visit from Mr. Frost. The ducks didn’t seem to care, they were eating the killer snails in our garden (I hope) as usual.
Notice the dark spot on the trampoline where my bare feet thawed the frost away. 🙂
Proof that the world revolves around me
Last night I felt mind-numbingly alone. Moving myself and the mattres so the ray of light from the exactly full moon touched my face I tossed and turned as the night strolled by, magnificently lit and at leisure.
No companion-arms to share warmth with.
No fellow-mind to shield me.
No other-soul to cherish and know.
All of it my own doing.
When I went outside this morning the world was crying, cool and windy, the air clear with the smell of winter to come.
Yesterday morning the world was frozen as am I.
QED
Astrupvig
Rigtig mælk, ikke mere end en time eller to har den været i tanken på Bjørnsholm. Ikke skummet, ikke kærnet, bare mælk helt frisk og uden behandling.
Måske kommer den herfra?
(Nej, det gør den nu næppe, nok snarere fra de andre ude på marken.)
Var jeg kommet ikke så meget senere var tanken blevet tømt af mælkebilen og jeg kunne i stedet have købt den her, på mejeriet i Thise.
Her får man lov til at smage store skiver af osten inden man bestemmer sig 🙂
Her kan I se ostene ligge ude bagved – og Onkel Jørgen i forgrunden. Han prøvede ellers at slippe ud af billedet, men jeg var ham for hurtig 😉
Efter således at have smovset i Bjørnsholm-mælk og god ost tog vi torsdag morgen ud at se til Onkel Jørgens ruser.
Elller rettere sagt: Onkel Jørgen røgtede ruser
og jeg sad på bådens næse med håret bundet op for vinden og stillede dumme spørgsmål om rusefiskeri.
Vi fangede nu ikke meget – kun 3 små ål. Og der var ellers både sydlig vind og mørkmåne. Måske havde ålene glemt at kigge i almanakken…?
Her ligger den mindste og prøver at komme ud gennem hullerne i mælkekassen, endnu uvidende om at den er på vej i nettet, op i cykeltraileren og hjem til spækkebræt og kniv. Når det drejer sig om fremtidig mad er jeg forbløffende skånselsløs, hvadenten ofret er fugl, fisk eller firbenet.
Bagefter lå jeg og dasede i græsset på stranden og kiggede på skyer mens Onkel Jørgen gjorde båden ren.
Spøjst som et simpelt farveskift får et motiv til at se gammeldags ud 😉
Næste morgen tidligt var der en nydelig solopgang ud over fjorden. Da jeg sover overmåde elendigt for tiden havde jeg rig lejlighed til at beundre den. Intet er så skidt at det ikke er godt for noget 🙂
Som altid blev det alt for hurtigt tid til at drage tilbage til byen. Med hjemmeavlede hindbær, frisk gårdmælk, en god ost fra Thise og maven fuld af Tante Gurlis fortræffelige kogekunst sagde jeg farvel og kørte sydpå.
… Til vinter håber jeg at komme tilbage og lære at lave ruser. Når natten igen er helt mørk og varer næsten hele dagen med, når rimfrosten knaser under mine tæer på græsset og kakkelovnen varmer mig lun og døsig.
Den eneste årstid der er lige så god som den der er, er den næste 🙂
Home-land
It’s the first days of fall but the land does not know it yet. The green and golden hues of summer-strong trees and ripe crops fill the landscape, gently held in place by a warm blue sky, as I drive out of the city, west later to turn north.
A few white clouds play along the horizon and the sun starts sinking to the left in front of me as I move west, out onto the flat land where the glaciers never touched.
Now, if not before, I know instinctively that I am home. This is my land, green topped by blue, no mountains preventing my eyes from roaming far and wide, casing in my field of vision.
All between me and infinity is the ever so gently rounded landscape of endless fields, separated by thick lines of fir trees protecting the crops from the lashings of the unhindered West wind. As the sun sinks lower and turns red, lending its colors to the clouds waiting there, my horizon is reformed by the black outline of trees in the distance, carrying promises of dark woods and the smell of dew fallen. A northern night, always too cool, but still flirtatiously short here on the edge of autumn, sends out tendrils of twilight, dazzling me with promise before slowly dancing closer.
I turn north and the land starts moving. First a few gentle hills, then an abundance of them. The edge of the long-gone glacier clear: Behind me untouched flatness, ahead a well-kneaded landscape of ups and downs, round hills and sharper ones in many sizes. Here and there the occasional granite boulder left as strange and forgotten toys in this bedrock-less land of chalk underground. The people of earlier times used them to build dolmen for their revered dead, today many stand at the entrance to farm roads carrying the name of the farm.
Reaching Skive, passing through it and turning right, never exactly knowing the way, but recognizing it anew each time, I return to the landscape of childhood summers. The secondary road becomes a tertiary, narrowing as I find the right village and turn right towards the fjord (Limfjorden – bisecting Jutland) finally becoming a gravel road on the last kilometer.
Finally I turn on to the grass driveway and park next to the familiar wooden house – though not all familiar, they added a room while I was gone – and am met by well-known faces smiling in welcome.
Silver Wedding
So, a few of you have remarked that as I was before blogging to tell my friends and family about my life abroad, I should now blog and tell my friends abroad about my life and family here in Denmark. I probably won’t remember to do it very often, especially as some people here get annoyed when I write in English, but here’s a first try.
This Monday my aunt Anni and uncle Peter, my Mother’s older brother, had their silver wedding. Especially for a divorce-child like me, there is something amazing about people staying happily married for 25 years, so here’s a few pictures from the day.
Unfortunately I forgot my camera in the morning, so you’ll have to imagine that part. In Denmark for 25th and 50th wedding anniversaries family, friends and collegues will gather outside the couple’s house in the morning and sing a few tradtional songs accompanied by wind instuments. Supposedly this wakes the couple up and they come out and invite the whole party in for breakfast. (Though in truth they’ll be awake already as breakfast for that many people does not make itself in an instant.)
The guests go away again after not so long, as most of them have work, and there’ll then usually be a dinner party in the evening.
Here we have my uncle, being subjected to having his bow tie loosened by my Mother before dinner. (“Isn’t that thing strangling you?” Pounce.)
And here he is giving the welcome speach, a bit tear choked. In my Mother’s side of the family we are all prone to lots of tears at speach-moments. 
Here, during dinner, is my cousin Nina, Anni and Peter’s daughter. While I was gone not only did she loose the 12 kilos she gained when she stopped smoking a few years ago, get into a very attractive shape working out, she also looked very happy with her boyfriend Mathias. I tried to take their picture a couple of times, but he kept hiding behind her 🙂
Here, during a break between courses, my Mother caught me sneaking a picture of her.
After dinner at weddings and wedding anniversaries, the couple dances the “Wedding Waltz”, a waltz to a special tune. All the guests close in around them clapping in time to the music until eventually they have no space in which to dance and instead kiss.
Later other people dance as well – here it’s my Mother and her husband, Lasse swinging the wooden leg (you probably can’t say that in English. Too bad).
Finally, after drinks, lots of food, speaches, songs (it’s tradition in Denmark to compose songs for and about the person(s) having the occasion, describing their achievements and amusing mishaps. As the Damhøjs are all raised on irony, some of ours have a decent bite ;-)), dancing, wine and coffee it got late, and the “Go away food” was served. (A smaller snack meal just before the party ends, often soup.)
This evening we got hot dogs, here you can see a tired Lasse (who had work Tuesday morning, poor soul) indicating he had two already.
Not long after I took pity on him (and on my own sore feet, dancing in stilettos takes its toll) gathered the people I’d promised to chauffeur and took them home to bed.
Middelalderlighed i Horsens
Først: Lang bilkø. Vi – Maria, Frauke og jeg – er bestemt ikke de eneste der vil til Horsens i dag.
Dernæst lugt af brænderøg og lyd af mange stemmer. Rytmiske lyde fra smedjen.
Boder og telte med alskens varer – redskaber, garn, stof, sko, tøj, musikinstrumenter…. Alt sammen naturligvis i middelalderudgave.
Duft af stegt kød, varm suppe, varmet brød og mjød. Knurrende mave. Ikke papbakker og papirtallerkner men kålblade og flade træstykker.
Slutteligen muligheden for et bad.
Det fristede nu for en gangs skyld ikke – i stedet lå jeg og min simple blå kjole i græsset i Marias lune kappe, blev aet over håret og lyttede til Tore synge og spille på middelalderligt strengeinstrument (laut?). Tilfældige forbipasserende kiggede nysgerrigt (men han spiller også frydefuldt).
Jeg har savnet mærkeligheden, anormaliteten (omend at syne og være iført middelalderligt tøj nu ikke var så anormalt denne weekend i Horsens) og den fysiske nærhed.
Hjemme
Genkendelig luft så snart jeg trådte ind i terminal 3 i Kastrup lufthavn.
Solskin der er næsten-ikke-varmt-nok i stedet for mere-end-rigeligt hedt.
Velkendte ansigter set med nye øjne. Smil der møder mit.
Duften af min mors hus, smagen af spegepølse, fornemmelsen af græs under mine bare fødder, lyden af brisen i træerne. Sommer i Danmark.
Pukkelmåne i det falske daggry på den dugvåde trampolin.
… Jeg glæder mig til at holde op med at vågne klokken 4 hver morgen.
360 grader
Snart er jeg på vej den sidste bid af cirklen jorden rundt. Om en time sidder jeg i bussen på vej mod Narita, om 4 ved jeg om min alt for tunge kuffert fik lov at komme med ombord på flyet.
Min mave er fuld af sommerfugle og min morgenmadsskål med solmoden fersken, müsli og mælk står halvspist ved siden af computeren.
Næste skridt venter. Hvilken retning mon jeg ender med at vælge?