Stories

The Death and the Hawthorn

Posted on by Hanna

This story about the hawthorn trees is probably one of the most interesting discoveries I’ve stumbled upon while blogging. I have passed the hawthorn trees at the gate at Taarbæk several times, but without knowing the secret they hide.

This is my encounter with the secret several years ago:

I do not consider myself superstitious, but a week ago I was susceptible to the bizarre entertainment.

It all began with a stroll in the Deer Park on a field where Hawthorn represents itself in a large number. It was an amazing sight. Starry flowers gathered in endless white dome-shaped clouds buoyed by the ancient gnarled and wrinkled trunks.

The Eremitage Hawthorn

I Goggled the Hawthorn, when I got home. I found that the Hawthorn on that particularly field is unique. It has crossed spontaneously with the single-seeded Hawthorn one and a half kilometers away at the gate down to Taarbæk. The trees stand close here. and they grow on a mass grave. Yes, you got it right.

People died during the cholera epidemic in Copenhagen in 1853, 4750 humans to be precise. Those who weren’t infected yet drove the victims on carts from Copenhagen to Taarbæk. They built a chapel and buried the poor people in a mass grave inside the Deer Park. To prevent the spread of infection from the graves the single-seeded Hawthorn, with its needle-sharp long thorns kept people and animals away from the graves.
It aroused my curiosity and imagination. It was fascinating, and at the same time it also gave pause for thought. It is only a short time ago an Ebola epidemic was raging in Africa. Epidemics are always to be taken seriously.

The other day I visited the burial site. I went there late in the afternoon. It had just rained, it was cloudy and there was a gloomy atmosphere over the place. Maybe I needed a rest, or maybe it was my encounter with the woman that influenced me.
Suddenly she was in front of me. Where did she come from? She was white-haired and pale. The eyes were dark and strangely tinned at the same time. She looked right through me and I stepped aside or she would have walked into me on the narrow path.
A few hours earlier, I had read several stories about farmers forbidding the cutting of hawthorn. Cutting down a hawthorn means disaster for animals and people, and the old superstition is alive and well.
I wondered if photography was a no go given the many legends and myths surrounding the trees.
I took the chance and found a few motifs, after which I happily left the burial site.
I was unusually tired when I got home and I attributed it to the long day I had.

At night I woke up with severe pain in my stomach. Yet I managed to fall asleep again.
Next morning I had fever and abdominal cramps something that is quite unfamiliar to me. I was very tired and slept all the time. When the illness was at it’s worst I thought of the cholera victims and the woman I had met. I had to pull myself together, luckily I had a very plausible explanation for my illness.

At long last, my health improved and I have been out there again. The sun was shining through the trees, and tourists walked down from the cozy Taarbæk. There were no trace of the woman I met the last time.

The pictures ended with that warm evening light they deserve.
Despite my story I will always think of the field with the Eremitage-Hawthorn as the romantic harbinger of spring ❤️

Eremitage Hawthorn

Hvidtjørnen og Døden

Denne historie om hvidtjørnetræerne er nok en af de mest interessante opdagelser, jeg er stødt på, mens jeg har blogget. Flere gange har jeg passeret tjørnetræerne ved porten ved Taarbæk, men uden at kende hemmeligheden de gemmer på.

Her er fortællingen om min oplevelse for flere år siden:

Jeg anser ikke mig selv for overtroisk, men for en uge siden var jeg alligevel modtagelig for den bizarre underholdning.

Det hele begyndte med en vandring på Hvidtjørnesletten i Jægersborg Dyrehave i maj måned. Det var et fantastisk syn, der mødte mig. Stjerneklare blomster samlede sig i endeløse hvide kuppelformede skyer holdt oppe af de ældgamle krogede og furede træstrammer.

Jeg googlede hvidtjørnen, da jeg kom hjem. Det viste sig, at hvidtjørnen på Sletten er unik. Den har krydset spontant med en engriflet tjørn, der står halvanden kilometer væk ved porten ned til Taarbæk. Træerne står tæt her. og de er plantet på en massegrav. Ja, I læste rigtigt.

Der døde 4750 mennesker under koleraepedimien i København i 1853. En stor del af dem blev kørt på kærrer fra København op til Taarbæk. Her byggede man et kapel og begravede de mange mennesker i en massegrav inde i Jægersborg Dyrehave. For at undgå spredning af smitte fra gravene plantede man den engriflede tjørn, der med sine sylespidse lange torne holdt folk og dyr væk fra gravene.

Det vækkede min nysgerrighed og fantasi. Det var fascinerende, og på samme tid gav det også stof til eftertanke. Det er kun kort tid siden en Ebola epidemi rasede i Afrika. Epidemier skal tages alvorligt.

Forleden besøgte jeg gravpladsen. Jeg tog derud en sen eftermiddag. Det havde lige regnet, det var overskyet, og der herskede en dyster atmosfære over stedet.

Måske var jeg træt, eller også var det mit møde med kvinden, der påvirkede mig.

Hun stod pludselig foran mig. Hvor kom hun fra? Hun var helt hvidhåret og meget bleg. Øjnene var mørke og sært fortinnede på samme tid. Hun så ret igennem mig, og jeg veg til side, ellers var hun gået ind i mig på den smalle sti.

Nogle timer forinden havde jeg læst adskillige historier om bondemænd, som til stadighed forbyder at fælde hvidtjørnen. Det betyder ulykke over dyr og mennesker, og den gamle overtro lever i bedste velgående.

Jeg spekulerede over, hvor vidt fotografering indgik i de mange sagn og myter, der eksisterer omkring træerne.

Eremitage- Hvidtjørn

Jeg tog chancen og fandt flere motiver, hvorefter jeg med glæde forlod gravpladsen. Jeg var ualmindelig træt, da jeg kom hjem, og jeg tilskrev det den lange dag, jeg havde haft.

Om natten vågnede jeg med stærke smerter i maven. Det lykkedes mig dog at falde i søvn igen.

Næste morgen havde jeg feber og mavekramper noget, der er ganske uvant for mig. Jeg var meget træt og sov hele tiden. Da det var værst et par dage senere, tænkte jeg på koleraofrene og kvinden, jeg havde mødt. Jeg måtte tage mig selv i nakken, for heldigvis havde jeg en meget plausibel forklaring på min sygdom.

Nu har jeg fået det så godt, at jeg har været derude igen. Solen skinnede varmt mellem træerne, og turister kom gående nede fra det hyggelige Taarbæk.

Kvinden, jeg mødte den forrige gang, var der intet spor af.

Billederne er gjort om med det varme aftenlys, de fortjener. Jeg vil altid tænke på Eremitagetjørnen, som den romantiske forårsbebuder den er, fornyelsen efter vinterens endeligt.

Hvidtjørnen blev også brugt, da pesten hærgede Danmark af flere omgange. Sidste gang i 1711.

”Kirkegårdenes indviede jord kunne ikke rumme de døde, og man slæbte dem derfor ud på marken i store dynger for at begrave dem dér, og oven på en sådan grav plantede man en hvidtjørn for at advare efterslægten fra at røre ved dette sted. Endnu efter 500 års forløb står trindt omkring på vore marker nogle mærkværdige gamle hvidtorn under navn af »pesttorn«; de fredes af bønderne, thi de står på vore forfædres grave. Hele det vestlige Fyn er rigt på sådanne enkeltstående gamle hvidtorn.” Danske Studier 1970.

Eremitage-Hvidtjørn

_______________________________________________________

God tur i den dejlige sommer!

The Hawthorn

Never Skip a Meal

Posted on by Hanna

I found myself out on a long walk, a sudden impulse. It may well have something to do with spring.
There was a problem though, I was out of energy.
I checked my backpack. And my excitement was overwhelming when I found a light brown banana, a piece of rye bread from the day before and a forgotten energy bar for dessert.
It was like visiting a Michelin restaurant, metaphorically speaking.
You just have to be hungry enough!
Don’t worry about my health, I usually empty my backpack after I’ve been on a walk 😊

Never forget your packed lunch!
Happy Walk Everyone ❤️

Cold be Hand and Heart and Bone

Posted on by Hanna

“Cold be hand and heart and bone
and cold be sleep under stone
never more to wake on stony bed
never, till the Sun fails and the Moon is dead
In the black wind the stars shall die
and still be gold here let them lie
till the Dark Lord lifts his hand
over dead sea and withered land.” *
J.R.R. Tolkien

Note

* The Lord of the Rings ~ 1, s. 202

A Feeling of Snow

Posted on by Hanna

The weather is cold as we enter a dark and almost eerie forest. Hesitantly, the snow begins to fall. Floating, fluttering snowflakes fall on trees, and moss. As if the snow doesn’t know the meaning of it.
Hours later, when I look over my shoulder on our way out of the forest I know the purpose. The forest has turned into a bright living adventure.
A homage to nature.

Danish painter Anders Andersen-Lundby, En vinterskov 1882

Danish painter Anders Andersen-Lundby, Winter Evening 1886.

Hanna Greenwood, An Enchanted Winter Day 2021

“There is nothing in the world so quiet as snow,
when it softly falls through the air,
muffles your steps,
lulls, lulls gently
the voices which speak too loudly.”1

Danish painter Peder Mørk Mønsted, Wood in Snow

Note

1 The danish author Helge Rode wrote the poem in 1886, There is nothing in the world as quiet as snow

Avoid Spider Shelob and The Deep of The Bog

Posted on by Hanna

He gallantly stepped aside to let me pass on a narrow forest path. He told me later with a big grin that he was trying to avoid the spider webs.

If I walked in front of him, the road would be paved – so to speak.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t tall enough 🤣

Your bog buddy has to be taller than you. ‘Beth from About Life and Hiking in Cumbria’ gives excellent advices how to avoid the biggest pitfalls, literally. Beth Pipe’s humor is contagious.

“You will require a “bog buddy”. A “bog buddy” is some poor sap who is conned into walking ahead of you, thus identifying the routes not to take. NOTE: for a “bog buddy” to be truly effective they need to be taller than the deepest sections of the bog.” 1. Survival tips for the bog bound

‘Lakeland Walking Tales’ introduces four books about walking. 2. Four Great Books About Lakeland Or Walking
Among them is Beth Pipe’s book: ‘Gin, Cake & Rucksacks’. About a fun tour of the Lakeland distillery with Karen Guttridge, a Facebook friend.

Have fun walking. Watch out for yourself and each other. Watch out for Shelob and do not enter bogs in ‘Stealth Mode’.

Have a Wonderful Happy New Year all of You ✨🎇🎈🎉

When the Forest Gets a Little too Dark …

Posted on by Hanna

På dansk under billedet

Once, we lived in the countryside, only a dirt road separated us from the forest.
When we bought our christmas tree, we drove it home tied to a bicycle. Let me add that it very difficult to make a turn with a tree tied up on the bike.
It was a delight to walk through the forest with the newly purchased tree. We stuck ourselves on spruce needles, but the tree smelt lovely. That was a good experience.

There was a bird tower in the middle of the forest. It was always exciting to climb up the tower and look over the marsh area on a winter day. The view was beautiful in the low sun and we could hear the busy chirping from the small birds in the trees that fringed the bog.

Down by the forest lived a former opera singer. He sang as he walked his evening walk together with his dog. It was very impressive to hear arias between the trees. I come to think of the elves in Tolkien’s universe.

We had a tradition to exercise intensively before our walks in the mountains of Norway.
It’s much more fun to walk the mountains, when the shape is good.

One evening in late August, I went down into the forest. It was getting dark. I always had to persuade myself when twilight was approaching.

Do you know how much noise blackbirds make when they are searching for food? It sounds like a huge army haunting through the forest.
You probably know the term “My heart flew up into the throat”? Only something much stronger than a glass of water would get it back in place after a meeting with blackbirds in the twilight.

I had changed my route and made it shorter because it was dark. I could barely make out the path and the sky was to be seen in a narrow belt over my head. My heart was almost at its customary place when the blood literally froze in my veins.

In the forest, where the trees were standing close, a loud scream reached my ears. It was so eerie a scream that my hair rose, my breathing stopped while the heart was pumping adrenaline into the body.

I looked into the fir trees, but it was impossible to see anything in the darkness. Then came the scream again, but this time a bit further away. I was in shock. Now came the cries from multiple locations simultaneously. That got my speed further up, until a large shadow flew across the road right in front of me.
Then I realize that maybe it was owls screaming their head off.
Anyway, not ten wild horses could get me to investigate the screams further. My whole body was busy getting rid of the adrenaline, and I didn’t protest.

The next day we went into the forest at the same time. We brought a flashlight with us. The entire episode repeated itself, but now I was more courageous.
We found a big night owl sitting against a trunk of a pine tree. The screams from the owlets were as creepy as the day before but now I knew what it was.

I wish you a great walk in the forest 🙂

NÅR SKOVEN BLIVER LIDT FOR MØRK …

Vi boede engang på landet, kun en markvej skilte os fra skoven. Hver aften gik jeg turen ned til skoven.
Når vi købte juletræ, kørte vi det hjem bundet fast til en cykel. Lad mig tilføje, at det var meget svært at dreje, hvis I skulle blive inspireret.
Der var noget særligt ved at gå gennem skoven med det nyindkøbte træ. Det var halvmørkt, og vi stak os på grannålene, men træet duftede. Det var en god oplevelse.

Midt inde i skoven lå et fugletårn. Det var altid spændende at kravle op i tårnet, og kigge ud over moseområdet en vinterdag. Udsigten var flot i den lave sol, og i grantræerne der omkransede mosen kunne vi høre fuglekonger og mejsefugle.

Nede ved skoven boede en tidligere operasanger. Han sang, når han gik sin aftentur med hunden. Det var meget stemningsfuldt at høre arier mellem træerne. Jeg kom til at tænke på elverne i Tolkiens univers.

Vi havde en tradition for at træne mere intensivt før vores vandring i fjeldet i Norge.
Det er langt sjovere at gå i fjeldet, når formen er god.

En aften sidst i august måned gik jeg ned i skoven. Det var ved at blive mørkt. Jeg skulle altid overtale mig selv, hvis det var blevet tusmørke.

Ved I hvor meget solsorte larmer, når de søger efter føde? Det lyder som en hel hær, der kommer stormende gennem skoven.
Kender I udtrykket ”Hjertet fløj op i halsen”? Kun noget stærkere end et glas vand ville få det på plads igen efter et møde med solsorte i tusmørket.

Jeg havde lagt min tur om og gjort den kortere, fordi det var ved at blive mørkt. Jeg kunne akkurat skimte stien og se himlen i et smalt bælte over mig. Mit hjerte var næsten på sin vante plads, da blodet bokstavelig talt frøs i mine årer.
Inde i skoven, hvor træerne stod tæt, var der nogen, der skreg. Det var så uhyggeligt et skrig at det fik nakkehårene til at rejse sig, mit åndedræt standsede, mens hjertet pumpede adrenalin ud i kroppen.
Jeg kiggede ind i grantykningen, men det var umuligt at se noget. Så kom skriget igen, men denne gang et stykke længere fremme. Jeg var rædselsslagen. Nu kom skrigene fra flere steder på samme tid. Det fik mig til at sætte farten yderligere op, indtil en stor skygge fløj tværs over vejen lige foran mig. Det fik mig til at indse at det måske var ugler der skreg.

Der var dog ikke ti vilde heste der kunne få mig til at undersøge det. Hele kroppen var optaget af at få brugt sin adrenalin, og jeg protesterede ikke. Jeg havde travlt med at komme ud af skoven.

Dagen efter gik vi ned i skoven på samme tid. Vi havde medbragt en lommelygte. Hele episoden gentog sig, men nu var jeg mere modig. Vi fandt en stor natugle inde i grantykningen. Skrigene var akkurat lige så uhyggelige som aftenen før, men nu vidste jeg, hvem der skreg.

God tur i skoven! 😀

Avoid the River at Midsummer Eve!

Posted on by Hanna

The river winds its way through the forest. It is Midsummer Eve. It’s not really dark, which make the trees stand in gloomy gray silhouettes.

No wind, no birdsong, only an eternal sound from the river.

This part of the forest has always seemed alarming and eerie.
In some places the trees are felled, some even broken.

Panic rises, he shouldn’t have mocked the water sprite, and now he has to cross the last bridge before he’s safe.

Suddenly the river is silent too! Only dark and smooth on the surface and without a sound –

This is how Selma Lagerlöf, the famous Swedish author, tells the story about the fiddler who meets Näcken in the forest.

I remembered the unhappy fiddler when I passed a house in the Swedish countryside on a quiet midsummer evening. From an open window, beautiful tones flowed from a violin and forced me to listen.

Midsummer Eve in particular is hazardous since it’s there, Näcken plays his violin, trying to lure people down into the rushing river…

Happy Midsummer 😃

American painter, Thomas B. Griffin.

Floden snor sig mellem træerne. Det er midsommeraften. Det er ikke rigtig mørkt. Det får træerne til at stå i dystre grå silhuetter.

Ingen vind, ingen fuglesang, kun den evige lyd af strømmende vand.

Denne del af skoven har altid virket alarmerende og uhyggelig.
Nogle steder er træerne væltede, og nogle er endda knust.

Panikken stiger, han skulle ikke have hånet Nøkken, og nu skal han krydse den sidste bro, før han er i sikkerhed.

Nu er floden også stille! Kun mørkt strømmende vand uden lyd –

Sådan fortæller Selma Lagerlöf om den populære spillemand, som møder Näcken i skoven en midsommeraften.

Jeg kom i tanke om historien, da jeg gik forbi et hus i Halland en midsommeraften. Fra et åbent vindue strømmede vidunderlige toner fra en violin, og tvang mig til at lytte.

Især midsommeraften er farlig, når Näcken spiller sin violin og forsøger at lokke menneskene ned i den strømmende flod.

God midsommer – Trevlig Midsommar Sverige 😀

Note

Midsummer evening Friday 25.6.2021

Spillemanden af Selma Lagerlöf

The Painting Thomas: B. Griffin (American, died 1918). Moonlight on the Delaware River, ca. 1896-1915. Oil on canvas, 29 15/16 x 40 1/16 in. (76 x 101.8 cm). Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Mrs. Alfred T. Dillhoff in memory of Rosamund E. Lafferty, 54.104 (Photo: Brooklyn Museum, 54.104.jpg)

Duck Tracks in Thaw

Posted on by Hanna

This spring came suddenly from day to day. Even the snowdrifts gave up the fight eventually. They lay boasting of the last snow, telling a story of an unexpectedly harsh winter. But maybe we haven’t seen the end of winter yet.

~ Thaw by Edward Thomas
Over the land freckled with snow half-thawed
The speculating rooks at their nests cawed
And saw from elm-tops, delicate as flowers of grass,
What we below could not see, Winter pass.

A Walk into the Twilight

Posted on by Hanna
Winter Landscape, Evening Atmosphere. Finnish painter and textile artist: Fanny Churberg (1845 – 1892)

When the day draws to a close and twilight fills with shadows, I see a new dimension emerges.
A universe where dreams and reality meet.

“Late lies the wintry sun a-bed,
A frosty, fiery sleepy-head;
Blinks but an hour or two; and then,
A blood-red orange, sets again.”
~ Winter-Time
by Robert Louis Stevenson

“You are always able to connect with the stars, no matter where you are. ” ~ Sjón

Ice skating in the sunset. Danish painter: Anders Andersen-Lundby (1841 – 1923)
Returning Home from the Hunt at Sunset. Austrian painter and composer: Désiré Thomassin-Renard (1858 – 1933)
A winter sunset,  Swiss-German painter:  Carl Schlesinger (1825–1893)

Train, Walk and Explore

Posted on by Hanna

Here, in the wild rugged mountain landscape, was Mannen.
A high-altitude unstable mountain section, which threatened the Norwegian residents in the valley with extinction. For decades, families were evacuated. The mountain section threatened to crash into the valley. Today, the greatest danger is over after several major landslides over the past six years.

Down in the valley, between weathered mountain peaks, the train runs from Dombås to Åndalsness by the sea. Raumabanen, is the name of the railway.

Here, Harry Potter rode by train with his friends heading for Hogwarts in the film, Harry Potter and The Half-Blood Prince.

In March 2008, a film crew secretly arrived in Norway to shoot the sixth Harry Potter film, “Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince”.
The recordings were made to avoid snow shortage, after the film team had waited for two months for snow in Scotland.
The fact that the scenic area is surrounded by mountains and valleys also played a role in the choice of location.
For several days, a film team of 20 people surrounded by great secrecy, worked at Bjorli in Lesja municipality in Oppland to make a recording for the latest Harry Potter film.

Ingrid Nergården Jortveit wrote an article in the Norwegian newspaper Gudbrandsdølen Dagningen. I have translated fragments from that article.

Geiranger Fjord by hannaswalk.com

We went by a train journey into the dramatic outstanding Norway. Trolltinderne, the Troll Peaks make you humble, and with a good reason: Mannen!

We bought an interrail ticket to Norway. It gave us access to travel in this stunning country as pioneers, or that was the feeling it gave me. Going by train, busses and small ferries. Planning a route of our own.

Watching dramatic mountains torned by the wonderful sparkling blue fjords. It seemed to be an impossible feat, the thousand meters high mountains rising majestically right out of the sea. I watched them with awe. Tiny ships seemed to vanish in the shadows from mountains and waterfalls a true adventure.

Valley of Romsdalen by Johan Frederik Eckersberg (Norwegian) 1857
Norwegian Waterfall With Sawmill by Themistokles von Eckenbrecher
Troldtinderne i Romsdalen; foden af Romsdalshorn til højre, 1894. Hans Gude 1825 – 1903.