Please, don't post photos of rowan berries

"Please don't post any photos of rowan berries on your instagram account," my sister tells me before I leave the countryside, "Not yet. It's way too early for that." 

"I won't," I promise. The latest pictures on the camera roll are of dahlias in mom's garden. And of the sea. I always have pictures of the sea on my camera roll when I am at the countryside. 

It feels unnaturally early for the rowan berries to be orange. They remind of fall and school. My nephew will start second grade this fall. My sis has some freedom to work from the summer home or commute to the office, but once the school starts...My sister does not want to think of school at all, of the return to a small flat, to the city. 

I get her. It's hard to let go of the freedom and slow of the countryside, the spacious garden and vegetable patch, the daily swimming and the fresh tomatoes, the quiet and the dahlias. 

I had thought of the arrival of the fall one day when I looked out of my living room window and the rowan berries in the greyness of the day triggered some melancholy. It inspired a poemish piece. 

August paints the rowan berries,

making the proud orange stand out, 

almost screaming, “The fall is here, 

pack your flip-flops, find your jackets,

go back to school, work hard.

For each berry on my branch 

adds an item to your to-do list.”

Please, sunshine, don’t let us be ruled,

don’t surrender to this nonsense. 

Let’s still sing summer!

Swimming, swirling, free and joyous, 

walking barefoot on the grass, 

swinging in a floral-patterned dress,

the inner child laughing. 

“You fool! You silly butterfly!” the crows croak,

“Stop pretending, grow up, 

accept, let go. You must. 

Tick-tock, the time passes, the days darken.

There is no escape. 

The winds will blow away 

your umbrella in the rainstorm.”

“Don’t cry,” the heart hugs me,

“We’ll carry the summer light with us,

drinking rhubarb lemonade in November.”

I won't post a picture of rowan berries. May the dahlia celebrate the continuing of August. 

Letting go and being thankful

That's it? I wondered as my teenager joyfully greeted her friends and walked away from the car with only a little hand wave towards me. The other four parents at the gate of a camp looked as bewildered. The kids had already forgotten our existence. We had been merely drivers to get them to their destination this morning. My last task for this summer was done. I could close the gate for the summer and return home to greet the school year. On my way home I stopped at a beach. Even if my daughter didn't need a good-bye from me, I needed to take the time to say good-bye to the summer. I didn't want to. 

Inside me was a little child who was ready to cling to the summer, bawling, "I don't want to goooooo." Breathing in the sea air, I let this inner child cry.  

"It's ok," the gentle waves soothed me and the sun stroke my head, "Let's sit here with whatever you feel. Let's sit here. You are going to be fine." 

As I sat there saying good-bye to the sea and the summer and the slowness of life, little by little I let go of the need to hold on to and instead of seeing what I was loosing I felt a wave of thankfulness washing over me. 

I am thankful for the nature. I love the sea - vast and majestic, beautiful and varied, always reminding how magnificent nature is, just being present, inviting mindfulness with all the senses. When things get challenging I'll always can conjure memories of the sea, images of a place of peace and joy. I'll also carry with me the colours of the flowers and the butterflies and the sweetness of berries. 

I am thankful for the slow. The clocks seem to tick furiously during the school year and only when the summer arrives they release a bubble of time that isn't rushing. My appreciation for the slow is growing. My body needs the slow of sleep and my mind needs the slow of thought and action, and the summer has provided plenty of it. I still haven't figured out how to carry the slow into the school year but I have learned how to create small pockets of time for myself. 

I am thankful for the play time with my nephew. Being four is not easy. You explore and experiment and discover and create and at the same time adults are constantly teaching what to do, how to be, how to express feelings, what's right and wrong, and they want to you to follow schedules and finish or start things on their time. As an aunt I am kind of free of the responsibility of constant teaching and have the chance to let the child lead the way. Playing is fun and freeing and creative. A great reminder for the times when duties and schedules seem to take over my life. And another great reminder is that all the child wants is to be noticed and accepted and valued as they are. Don't we all? 

I am thankful for the company of my family. As the children keep growing and the parents keep ageing every moment that we can be together is a gift. None of it has to be grand. A pancake morning, a walk in a bog, swimming in the sea, eating dinner together, swapping books, playing games, sharing stories or sitting in the silence can be enough. A cheesecake, a cup of tea and an answer to a crossword puzzle can sometimes hold more love than words. 

The sea and the trees and the rocks on the shore listened to me. I was ready to move on. I took some final snaps to add to the summer memory album, waved my hand in goodbye, sat in my car and drove off to the town. 

That's it. 

more photos from my last moments on the beach

summer: photos only

useless worry

Sitting in the van, swimsuit under a long dress, looking at the pine forest on the side of the ever winding road I worried that hundred eyes of strangers might see my pale no-beach-shape body. Last time we drove to that partially hidden beach we found several cars parked at the entrance of the forest path and realised that the secret wasn't a secret anymore. I kept this worry silent in my head.

"It might be that the stinky mesh of blue-green algae that has overtaken our beach has reached this beach also," I voiced my second worry. The hot days, perfect for swimming, had sped the spread of icky and unhealthy algae from a thin layer to almost paste thick substance erasing any hope to plunge into the coolness of the water. The water in our destination had been clean the day before but experience had shown that change in the water condition could happen quickly.

"Or it could be even worse, that the sea is clear but the winds have changed and turned the water icy-cold," I voice my next worry. More than once this summer we had approached the water anticipating pleasure yet meeting disappointment when the freezing cold cramped the legs after first steps in the sea. Such cruelness on simmering hot days.

"What are you trying to do?" one of my daughters asked,"Scaring us to turn back even before reaching the beach?"
"No, she is preparing you for the worst, so you wouldn't be disappointed," my sis gave her view.
Perhaps my sis was right. I hadn't considered my intention for sharing the worries. The worries had arrived without warning and the mouth had spoken without much thought.
"If what I said is true, we can just sit there and admire the beauty," I tried to finish with a positive note.

It felt like the road was longer than previous times, like by some spell more turns had been added to the road. Finally we arrived and didn't see a single car and the first look over the little cliff showed clear water. The worries gave a way to hope. We still had a path to walk through the forest before reaching the safe slope down to the sea. Picking some blueberries from the bushes on the forest floor didn't slow the walk and eventually we reached the beach.

As far as I saw the lengthy narrow strip of sand was empty. Not a single soul besides my joyful family. The tall pines standing up the slope cast shadows touching the shoreline. The wide bay glistened all the way to the horizon. The beauty of the view swell my heart.

My daughters shed their dresses and took first tentative steps into the water.
"It's warm enough for you to come," my oldest turned around and smiled to me.
This was a sign for my hubby and I to strip to swim-wear and walk into the water.

All the worries evaporated and deep happiness filled me.

*****************

More about Sea and I

The photo is form a different place and time.
Similar to the place I wrote about and many beaches on North Estonian coastline.

Sea and I

When I was a child and spent my summers at my grandma’s place, on some days my sister, cousins and I went to a sandy beach after breakfast and stayed there for hours. We spent most of the time in the water, so by the evening I was convinced I saw skin starting to grow between my fingers and toes as I was turning into a mermaid, my body was sprinkled with a thin layer of salt or so sun burnt that granny rubbed sour cream on it, and in the evening in bed with eyes closed, I felt as if the sea was still carrying me. 

Years later, when the next generation was young, we were smarter parents, aware of the dangers of the sun for the skin, so the full day beach joy was not an option any more. Still there were many days when my sis, cousins and I gathered the kids and toys and like a carnival procession walked through the village to the beach, where the kids spent most of the time in the water, racing around or building sand castles, when we forced them to come out because their lips seemed blue from cold, and as soon as they had warmed up, they were back in the water, and the adults often with them. 

Now that more decades have passed, I am in the countryside without children. I don’t go to the beach during the day time. I’d rather stay in the shade from the sun during the day instead of grilling myself on a crowded beach and go swimming in the rocky beach close to our house where no one else is around. The sea is my source of strength. 

I have changed, my swimming and sun bathing habits with me, but my love for the sea has stayed the same. I can’t imagine my life without the smell and sound of it, the changing shades and movement depending on the weather, and the feeling of agelessness and weightlessness as the salty water carries me. I like to go and sit on the rocks or walk down the sandy beach in the evening. Now the sandy beach has benches. After an action-full day with my 4-year-old nephew, chasing dragons and going on other adventures, I went to the beach and sat down on a bench looking at the white peaks of waves rolling to the shore and the setting sun glistening on the surface. My sea and I. Peace. 

going on a dragon hunt

If you ever feel that your life is boring, you should spend some time with a 4-year-old boy.

Even one day can hold so much as my little nephew showed to me. The important thing is to be open-minded, patient and listen carefully to let the day unfold. 

We started with sea travels to find treasures. I thought I had been clever burying the treasures deep and besides marking the special spot with a cross creating false spots with extra crosses. The little pirate, clever and persistent, armed with a large blue spade, was not easily fooled, he dug and dug the wholes until he found the treasures. We went to many islands where the same thing happened, I hid the treasures and he dug everything up – the Danish King’s crown the Roman Soldier’s shield, a golden cup, a jewellery box, an Ancient Greek vase, a chest of silver coins, delicate China plates, diamond rings and tiaras. 

When he had so many treasures we became the king and queen and went on a dragon hunt. We ran and hid and made traps for the dragons and after a successful hunt we fried the dragon meat and ate it with marshmallows and omelette. The hardest dragon to catch was a white snow dragon living in the mountains. We climbed to the highest spot and looked for the gleaming yellow eyes, the only thing visible when the dragon had its eyes open. Instead of blood, the sweet honey run in dragon’s veins. When I got worried that with all the hunting the dragons might become extinct, the King came up with a plan to feed the dragons with different purple blossoms we found in the meadow and become friends with the dragons instead. We had success! The snow dragon allowed us to get honey from a scratch he had got when he stubbed its toe against an icicle. 

With our tummies full we ventured to the artistic world, drawing dragons and their fiery breaths that filled most of the pages. We drew a green dragon with four wings, and a blue dragon with spiky tail, and a little dragon who had chicken pox. 

Returning to our kingdom we were ready for a rest, sat into our nest swing throne and watched how all the dragons paraded in the sky – a pink pearly girl dragon, a massive grey dragon with a tail so long we couldn’t see the end, a dragon who was able to breathe shapes like butterflies and cats, a rainbow dragon, and the chicken pox dragon, but we sent him home because we didn’t want others to get infected. Our favourite dragon was a pizza dragon who made crushed candy pizzas.

We had eaten well and now we thought of all the poor who had no food. We decided to cook soup for the sads, and oh how delicious the soup became with clover blossom meatballs, twig carrots, pinecone potatoes, juniper pepper, dill, lichen parsley and large leave laurel. For a dessert, we created a five-layered unicorn cake. 

What a day! And we repeated it the next day. He was ready for a dragon hunt even before breakfast. 

Delicious soup!

The first swim

The air swelling with heat made me feel as if I would melt like tar on a road and the strawberries tasted like boiled. The sweltering hot day slowed time and movement. The sea's smooth surface mirrored the lightly dancing clouds. I tipped my toe into the water and for the first time in several days it didn't instantly freeze. I walked further, water reaching my ankle, my shins, my knees, my thighs. I stood still, gathering courage. One, two, three - I plunged in. The water was kindly cool and I didn't rush to jump out. I turned on my back and floated - ageless, weightless, at peace.

An illustrative photo from a different place and time. Equally peaceful and beautiful.

flowers and sea: photos only

Things I did before noon together with my three-year-old nephew

Ate  roasted rocks and pebble pies in a Rock Restaurant on a seashore
Galloped  across the lawn and beyond, through meadow flowers and past the junipers
Explored the backyard wilderness, surviving on cherries and wild strawberries,
Climbed over mossy boulders and escaped an attack of angry ants
Took a break in a sandbox cafe, munched on cupcakes and sand dough cookies
Saved the world with magnificent lightsaber skills
Nap (I wished, I hoped, I needed), no time for that
Raced to the swings and launched a space travel

Freedom

Wake up in the morning
hop in a car and go
no permission needed
"must" and "should" forgotten
to-do list discarded
zero bookings and reservations
fluid departure and arrival times
undetermined destinations
no plans, schedules, agendas
the day unfolds
us two
together


This is what my hubby and I did last week. Four days of freedom, exploration and fun - in the city, in the nature, in little towns and villages. On one day, when we drove around, the sky played a magnificent show of lightening to admire in far distance and washed the roads with rain. When we stopped, the clouds held the rain and we were able to wonder around. We started with a walk in a rose garden; stood on a platform of a watch tower admiring the seemingly endless forests; found ourselves being the only customers in a woodwork shop in a small village; hiked on a nature trail in an ancient forest between the sea and a coastal cliff; climbing down several flights of stairs and then up again next to a water fall reminded us of muscles we had forgotten; and the day finished with a stroll in old and well tended park. And though it may sound unbelievable, our last stop was to watch a bright double rainbow over a vast wheat field.
The other unplanned days were equally fulfilling.

This is what I probably needed. Just the two of us, spending time together, away from people, no rush, no expectations.  The beginning of the holidays was rougher than usual for me. I was so tired during the first week that I wished to crawl in a shell like a snail and to be left alone. I didn't want to leave home. I didn't want to see anybody. I didn't want to do anything. I couldn't run an experiment on how many days it would have taken to fully recover if I had a chance to hide from the world. Perhaps it was good that I had reasons to leave home and meet people, but the return to being myself  took longer than I anticipated. It was when I was standing on the edge of a limestone cliff watching over the beautiful evening sea, no make-up,  toes a bit wet, thigh muscles sore, hubby next to me, when I felt rested, felt normal, felt happy.

Baltic Sea, North Estonia, below Ontika limestone cliff

Places we visited:
Noblessner port
Fotografiska exhibition
La Muu ice-cream shop
Põltsamaa rose garden
Avinurme woodwork shed
Iisaku watch tower
Ontika cliff
Valastu water fall
Toila park
Saka manor
Rõngu bakery shop
Ööbikuorg
Taevaskoja hiking trail
Tallinn zoo
Lyon cafe

summer: photos only

The little things that make me happy

Waking up late on a quiet morning
Slowly starting the day
Seaside air filling the lungs
Fresh mint tea steaming in a green ceramic cup
Picking a handful of wild blueberries from the garden
Reading some pages from "The Signature of All Things"
Spotting a ladybug climbing on a sunflower

 

Celebrate: the countryside

A month has passed since my last celebration. A month. Knowing how valuable celebrations are, I can't figure out why I have skipped them. The end of the school year, my middle daughter graduating university, a day with dear friends, my nephew's second birthday, the midsummer night celebrations, the reading time, cognitive coaching workshop in Italy - many things to celebrate. I could have, should have written, but I didn't. Oh, well.
This week has been the first full week in the countryside - my summer paradise. I have had some dreams of school, some thoughts of school, some plans for the next school year. I don't think it is possible to turn the school brain entirely off, and I guess one doesn't have to. I do believe it is very valuable for a teacher soul, or maybe it is my soul only, to at least try to find time to do nothing, to slow the time as much as possible, to enjoy the moments of quiet, to sit on an empty beach, to let the wind ruffle the hair, to watch out of the kitchen window, to drink some tea, to stand still in the middle of the garden, to simply be. It is equally good for me to spend time with my little nephew - to run, jump, dance and sing with him, to let him use me as a jungle gym; to marvel at bugs and fish and rocks, to feed the neighbour's chickens and sheep, to pick strawberries and blueberries, to bake together. And when he goes to take his daily nap, the best thing to do is to also take a nap.
This week has been such a contrast with last week's intensive learning and tourist filled city walks in the sunny and hot Italy. Both good.

What's good in your life?

A view from the kitchen window

My favourite beach on a cloudy day. No people.

more cloudy day beach photos

Last days of slow

Let me have one more celebration for the slow, for the peace, for the freedom. I know it looks as if I have been all alone this summer and done nothing but watch the grass grow. You forgive me for not sharing the festive, fancy and fabulous or the crowded and crazy days. My deliberate choice to highlight the slow is my way to fill myself to the brim with the calm before the school year begins. Writing this helps me to store these scenes and sensations and state of mind and heart in order to retrieve them when most needed. 

Celebrating the last days of slow:

There is no plan. Wake up and do or don't do anything. You can get a lot done if you want to, but you don't have to. There is no "must" especially if you let go of expectations, set by who knows who. Nothing happens if you don't weed the flowerbed today. The laundry can wait. You can wear the same yoga pants many days in a row. You don't have to go to a beach and swim on a sunny day.You can go if you want to. No problem if you forgot to comb your hair. Life is good without a mirror. The skin feels smoother and hair shinier in the mind's eye. Do what you like. Take your time. Go for a walk before breakfast. Pick a small handful of peppermint plants for a tea and a leaf of salad for a sandwich or few strawberries for your morning porridge. Read for hours. Count the cloud animals. Follow a ladybug. Listen to the silence. 

You can. You may. Enjoy.

The slow, the peace, the freedom are precious gifts. 

A bit of evening sun:

Watching the grass grow

I like to watch the grass grow,
see the poppy petals fall,
feel the wind braid my hair,
hear the waves reach the shore.
I like the taste of strawberry red,
the smell of morning dew,
find the sand between my toes,
breathe in each day new.
I like the slow.
I like to watch the grass grow.

the moment for oneself

Swallows loudly plan their day on the wires, a white wagtail surveys the surrounding from one of the moss covered rocks in the garden, and two redstarts take turns flying from the sauna roof to the fence to the trees, Other birds - the song thrushs, the blue tits, the warblers and chiffchaffs make their presence known with chirping and tweeting from the lilacs and pines and birches and maples. The crows and the seagulls are quiet for now, and I am thankful for that. On the background the sea slowly rolls over the rocks on the shore. I stand in our garden - a quilt of soft mowed grass, many well tended flowerbeds, several vegetable patches; areas of ferns, wild grass and wild flowers; ancient rocks and boulders here and there; and the tall trees and bushes forming a green wall around us. I am in a middle of a village but it feels as if I am in the wild. I am with three generations of ten lovely family members but it feels as if I am the only person in the whole wide world. I know this moment will last only for a short time before a dog will bark somewhere, or a car will start, or worse, a lawn mower, and soon people will be out and about with their chatter and calling. But for this one solitude moment I am ageless and free and peaceful, no wants, no worries, one with the nature, my roots in the ground and branches stretching to the sky, the sun caressing me softly.