Fiction.

Rachael: I wrote a little today.

Sarah: About our day?

R: Mmm...fairytales.

S: Real ones? 

R: My life is fairytale. 

Oh, careful! Watch out for the fox.

Meløy

Yet another frozen adventure, on the island of Meløy.


As usual, we had gail force winds and ice rain on our backpacking trip.

Hiked through soggy wetlands and reindeer pastureland.

I did, however, enjoy watching dew drops leap from my shoes and hang against the mossy backdrop.

Photo: Lydia Linnea Palsdottir

Our entire party was so burnt out we could barely put one foot in front of the other.

In a wind so strong that even the puddles were white capped.

Lars resembled Gandalf/Moses, leading us (grumbling) through the wilderness.

Like the children of Israel.

Instead of setting up camp in the frozen waste, we re-routed to a cozy little cabin.

A lakeside refuge that afforded the view of silvered storm clouds and a soft heather horizon.

 The next morning surprised us with clear skies and a sparkling shoreline.

After breakfast, we wandered down to the beach, over lichen carpeted "trails"

 Trails here, consist of muddy "paths" between moss covered boulders.

The lumps in the terrain make me feel as if there is an army of sneaky gnomes 

awaiting to ambush poor, unassuming backpackers .

I didn't know Northern Norway could be this colorful.

After lunch, Gandalf took us up to Meløytind, which overlooks the islands and our house.

Wandered back for storytelling and beef stroganoff.

While hiking all day, I harbored the hope of a delicious sunset for dessert.

Henning found it.

The richest of colors.

I secretly think the only way to describe sunsets is with food vocabulary.
Sumptuous.

In the morning,

Jon, Henning, Lydia, and I took the short road back.

Sweden reached into an anthill and gave me a taste of it's contents.

(not the first time I've eaten bugs off of Jon's hand)

They were sweet, like orange juice.

Thanks to the sun, the green decided to show.

You could hear those leaves bursting like popcorn.

Jon treated us to ice-cream and we went for a romp in the graveyard.

Then the tired, happy creatures fell down in the soft, warm moss to sleep, on the edge of the fjord.

I live in a fairytale.

Onward

One week left in Norway. 

Another two of being 22.

It's been a wildly adventuresome year.

Parade

Your life is like a parade that no-one else seems to be participating in.

-Sars

Boreal.

The green is coming.

A gorgeous song about the Arctic.

There’s a pleasant port where a boy fixed his course
On a lesser-trodden landscape north
And on his journey boreal met one corporeal
One returning journey forth

“What draws you to the barren there,” he said
“That land is nothing but dampen dread,
and sour berries, and rotten cherries,
and icy rime and that snowy, snowy pine.

That bleak, bare lawn is woebegone
But carry, carry, carry on”

“Oh no,” he said “You must have misunderstood,
it’s not the land’s comestible goods,
not the berry that I seek
but the way it hangs on the arrow wood

And I am not after that snowy shawl
But the way the faint flakes float and fall
And to me that alabaster milky rime
Is as sweet as sugar and just as fine

And I don’t care one bit that the pines are gone
But I do care what they look like at dawn,
I’m not concerned that their life is drawn
But what happens to the land without their brawn.”

And so his journey goes, though his story’s old
But a tale is not trite if it’s still being told

The Outer Islands: Lovund

We spent a week in the far outer islands.

Wind swept, treeless, North Atlantic, rocky shores.

Lovund:

The Gulbransens lived on Lovund before coming to Nordtun DTS.

They took great delight in showing off their lovely island, to us.

The weather continued to be freakish and gloomy.

Thus, we were confined to the warmth of the church, for most of the week.

Our industrious menfolk worked hard residing the church building. 

Tegan and I filled them with coffee on a regular basis.

Photo: Lýdía Linnéa Pálsdóttir 

Lars obliged us North Americans by teaching us how to make Norwegian waffles.

The First of May Bazaar:

School gym hall. Raffle. Legions of cakes with gallons of coffee to wash them down.

Someone gave us a fruit basket at the end of the evening.

Tegan and I had a good laugh over trying to fit the melons in my backpack.

My poor backpack is always a good source for a laugh.

No matter how much time I devote to careful packing, 

it always ends up lumpy and askew.

Tegan decided that it must be inhabited by two fat, baby-like, hobbits

named Fatty Doerkins and Fatty Boldger.

"I wonder if I can fit this tent inside? I just hate having it look so lumpy!"

"Rachael! Don't hurt Fatty Doerkins and Fatty Boldger, just because society chooses to shun them! 

They HAVE to live in your backpack!"

The rest of the time we:

Made silly songs

Hiked to barbecue shelters and had cozy picnics.

Took sunset walks.

Met fluffy dogs and shaggy sheep.

Discovered golden hour over the water and heather fields to lay in.

Wild goose eggs in their downy nests.

Lovund you were magic.

The Outer Islands: Træna

We spent a week in the far outer islands.

Wind swept, treeless, North Atlantic, rocky shores.

Træna:

Træna is the island next door to Sanna.

Getting there, however, involved a crossing the raging open ocean.

Everyone's favorite.

We tromped all over before finding our campsite.

As usual, the weather was icy and disagreeable.

On the plus side,

Many hours were spent in the darling Petter Dass Chapel enjoying it's lovely acoustics.

It was full of wild depictions of Vikings and Papa God and monstrous sea creatures.

We hung out with the local youth all Friday night. 

Tegan and I manned the kitchen, cranked out a few dozen pizzas and called it a night.

Snatched a small bit of sleep and headed for our next island.

To be continued on Lovund.