An Uncluttered Life

Over twenty years have come and gone since I moved to Oslo. I moved here with about eight large boxes filled with my most treasured possessions--some of them useful and some of them of sentimental value. At the end of my husband’s postdoctoral stay at UCSF in California in 1993, I arranged for the shipment of the remainder of my possessions to Oslo---a total of forty-five large boxes, a dining room set and other smaller pieces of furniture and other assorted items that had been in storage in a warehouse in New Jersey. We rented a truck, filled it with all my possessions and drove them to the harbor warehouse, where the shipping company built two large crates for the boxes and the furniture. The crates left New Jersey harbor by boat in early January 1994 and arrived in Oslo in the middle of March. It was a pleasure to unpack all my boxes and to find things I had actually forgotten I had. It is strange that we can learn to live with very little--that when asked to do so, we can actually manage to whittle down our possessions to a few boxes of things that we need to have in order for life to ‘feel’ normal and comfortable. For me, those things are often books given to me by family and friends, music, and my kitchen things.

I was reminded of this earlier time in my life recently because I have spent the past six months cleaning out our attic and cellar storage areas that have pretty much been untouched for the past twenty years. We have added to their contents, but not subtracted. The contents included about ten unopened boxes from the original shipment in 1994. I have often talked about doing this but it never happened until March of this year (and during the summer months when our attic was invaded by moths that ate their way into items that I would never have thought they cared about eating). I began with the attic storage areas and managed to throw away a lot of things that I/we never use and have not missed at all. I came to the (uncomfortable) realization that I was a pack rat in my earlier years. I could not believe the amount of paper I had saved from the time I was a teenager--from small scraps and notes to school handouts to letters from universities to Christmas cards of all kinds. Most of it was easy to toss. When will I ever re-read geography handouts from the seventh grade? What was my intention in saving all my application letters (copies) to different universities, or my GRE scores, or textbooks that are obsolete? I guess at the time I saved them it just seemed natural to do so. I have now thrown away a lot of old items that in retrospect were clutter in my life; I have saved a number of books, cards and letters from people who are dear to me.

I feel lighter and freer and it feels wonderful. I am not weighed down anymore by a lot of material possessions or by tons of paper. I realize that I have done something that many people wait until they are retired to do, but I’m glad I’ve done it now. One of my husband’s friends commented that it was good to do it now, before one is physically unable to do it. He is right. I could have waited another twenty years before I tackled it, but my newfound sense of urgency told me to do it now. So I did. And as far as how I plan to live from here on in, I do not want to accumulate any more paper. I don’t want piles of magazines and newspapers around me that I have to sort through, read through, or take a stand on. I don’t feel good at all when I see the paper piles growing around me. I am glad for the digital age in the sense that I don’t have to print out every single article of interest, especially my scientific articles--I can read them online and know that they are there for future reference. I will always find them again on Google and PubMed. If I can save some trees, then I will have done my part to prevent too much deforestation. But mostly, I want a simpler and more uncluttered life and I know I have taken the necessary steps to get me there. 

A poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Spring and Fall: To a Young Child Margaret, are you grieving Over Goldengrove unleaving? Leaves, like the things of man, you With your fresh thoughts care for, can you? Ah! as the heart grows older It will come to such sights colder By and by, nor spare a sigh Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie; And yet you will weep and know why. Now no matter, child, the name: Sorrow's springs are the same. Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed What heart heard of, ghost guessed: It is the blight man was born for, It is Margaret you mourn for.

Saying Goodbye to Summer

Yesterday was probably the last real day of summer here in Oslo. As much as I enjoy autumn, I prefer summer, with the hot sun and the warmth and the greenery around me. I prefer the lazy days and the slower pace of life--nothing one has to do and nowhere one really has to go--like our summer vacation this year. I say this because once we start working again after vacation the pace accelerates from zero to sixty in the space of a few seconds. At least that’s how it feels. I’ve been back to work for about a month now and I already feel like I need another vacation.

Autumn is always a reminder that time is passing--and a reminder of the inevitability of that passage. I see that in nature as well. The yellow jackets are confused, flying into and out of our kitchen, seeking warmth, seeking food, trying to live out the remainder of their short lives on this earth. Dazed and confused. Ditto for the flies and moths that find their way in to our living room--I find their still dried-up bodies at some point when I am vacuuming. The pigeons and the sparrows have taken up residence outside our kitchen window again before we leave for work in the morning, hoping for a handout of some bread crumbs. They already look like they’re shivering, at least the pigeons, the way they ruffle their feathers and hold their wings close to their bodies. The temperature this morning was about 48 degrees Fahrenheit. Goodbye summer. Yesterday the afternoon temperatures were up around 68 degrees Fahrenheit and we took an enjoyable, if short, boat trip on the fjord. When we came in to the dock, there was a lone white swan that swam up to our boat. We have seen it before and wondered why he/she is alone, since swans are usually together in pairs. But it was very hungry, and it ate at least five of the flatbreads we had in the boat before it swam away. I always wonder how such birds survive the winter. The wild geese are gone already. The mallard ducks stay put and tough it out during the winter months. The pigeons do that as well. But I’m sure a lot of them don’t survive. The change of seasons always reminds me of Gerard Manley Hopkins’ poem--“Spring and Fall: To a Young Child”. It is a beautiful melancholy poem about life and the inevitability of death, and one that has haunted me since I was a child and read it for the first time.

So the temperature plummeted overnight. I found my turtleneck sweater, leggings, and leather boots this morning. But I’m not mentally ready for the change of seasons. And I’m never really ready for winter. Several restaurants have already posted ads in the city newspapers about their Christmas party menus and how important it is to make sure you book early so you get a table. I’m still thinking about my trip to New York in August and how enjoyable that was. It always rounds out the summer for me and I need it each year. I need it to prepare me for the long winter ahead. Like the pigeons and the mallard ducks, I tough it out each year--the cold, the darkness, the grayness, the long long winter. I guess there is a purpose to each season, but if I had my druthers I’d rather be out on the boat, lazing in the sunshine, or walking up along the Akerselva river, enjoying the long warm days of summer.  

Dark Shadows and Collinwood mansion

Long ago, before the current fascination with vampires--before True Blood, Twilight, and The Vampire Diaries, there was Dark Shadows, the afternoon TV horror soap opera that ran from 1966 until 1971, Monday to Friday. If I remember correctly it was a half hour soap opera that started at 4 pm, at least in New York. The series was created and produced by Dan Curtis, who also made the two Dark Shadows movies that came afterwards. A remake of the series appeared in 1991 starring Ben Cross as Barnabas, but nothing ever beat the original Dark Shadows. It was truly a creepy series, and one that we and our friends followed devotedly. I remember playing basketball after school when I was in the seventh grade and running home from practice after it was over in order not to miss it. When my father became ill in 1969 and was home on sick leave for a while, even he got interested in watching the series with us in the afternoon.

The opening music itself would draw you in (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XUuQK4CR5fM). It was spooky in its own right, accompanying the opening shots of the Collinwood mansion that sat atop a hill overlooking the sea, shrouded in mist during the early evening. I don’t recall all the plots and storylines, but I do remember the characters well: Barnabas Collins, the vampire, played by Jonathan Frid; Elizabeth Collins Stoddard, the Collins family matriarch, played by Joan Bennett; her daughter Carolyn, played by Nancy Barrett (with the beautiful long straight blond hair); Angelique, the witch, played by Lara Parker; Victoria Winters, the governess, played by Alexandra Moltke; Maggie Evans, a waitress, who resembled Josette du Pres, Barnabas’ love from long ago, both characters played by Kathryn Leigh Scott; Julia Hoffman, the doctor and friend of Barnabas, played by Grayson Hall; Quentin Collins, played by David Selby; Daphne Harridge played by Kate Jackson, and so many more. Barnabas could be quite evil at times and yet there was some sort of pity for him too- he was a vampire who wanted to be cured of his affliction. The stories were well-written for the most part, and quite strange. They were haunting--they got under your skin. Characters became identifiable with specific music as well; I remember Josette’s music box song (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LItWENw8Plk&feature=related), and Angelique had her music as did Quentin. The stories revolved around different love relationships (past, present and future), betrayals, witchcraft, vampirism, ghosts, and numerous Collins family problems. At times overly dramatic, sometimes campy, sometimes funny, but always memorable and the acting was always mostly good. There’s a reason the series has the fan base that it has, so many years later.

The actual mansion that was used (at least the exterior of it) as the fictional Collinwood mansion in the TV series is located in Rhode Island. When Dan Curtis decided to make his two Dark Shadows movies, he chose the Lyndhurst estate in Tarrytown New York (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lyndhurst_(house)) as the film location. The Lyndhurst mansion became Collinwood mansion. Both films, House of Dark Shadows followed by Night of Dark Shadows, came out in 1971. The actual filming at Lyndhurst was done during the early spring in 1970, and there were many people who hung around the gates of the estate waiting to get a glimpse of or an autograph from the actors and actresses after they were finished filming for the day. I remember doing that with some friends from grammar school; we waited for hours for them to be finished on the set. The actors and actresses were always very gracious and they would sign autographs and pose for pictures with us. I have photos from that time of two of my friends posing together with Jonathan Frid, and I have autographs from Jonathan Frid, David Selby and Kate Jackson. It was an exciting time, and even more exciting when the films were actually shown for the first time at the Music Hall in Tarrytown. It was fun to see the Lyndhurst mansion transformed on the screen into a house that was inhabited by vampires and witches, a real house of evil.

Lyndhurst mansion--back view

Lyndhurst mansion--front

Fårikål season

Summer begins to seem like a distant memory. It is chilly here during the day now, whereas I see that in NY it is still warm. With the cooler weather come the traditional meals that one associates with autumn. We are approaching ‘fårikål’ season here in Norway. ‘Fårikål’ can literally be translated as ‘sheep in cabbage’, and that’s exactly what it is. Google Translate translates it as mutton stew. A stew according to the dictionary is a dish of meat, fish or vegetables (alone or in combination) that is cooked by slow simmering, so a stew it is! Fårikål is an autumn meal that is very popular in most of Norway and is often served at dinner parties. It was originally made with meat from older sheep (mutton), but is now made with lamb meat, which I prefer. It is fairly simple to make. The grocery stores now sell pieces of lamb meat (often with attached bone) for fårikål already cut for the purpose. This, plus a head of cabbage, whole black pepper, and flour are all that are needed to make this dish. The recipe that follows is for 4 persons; you will need a head of cabbage (about 3.3 lbs), 3.3 lbs meat, 4 tsp whole black pepper, 2 tsp salt, and 1.2 cups of water.

1.      Cut the cabbage into medium-sized chunks

2.      Place the meat pieces (fatty side down) in a big pot

3.      Add a layer of cabbage pieces, sprinkle with whole black peppers and salt, then another layer of lamb pieces, then another layer of cabbage, more pepper and salt, etc., ending with a cabbage layer

4.      Add water and bring to a boil, then simmer for at least two hours until the meat is tender (falls away from the bone).

5.      Serve with boiled potatoes.

Fårikål is one of the first Norwegian dishes I ever made. It came out really well (because it is so simple to make) and it is very good. It tastes even better the day after you’ve made it.

Du bor i forskjellige rom (You live in different rooms)

Du bor i forskjellige rom 

Og flytter mellom dem

Med jevne mellomrom.

Jeg har banket på en dør en hel dag

Bare for å komme inn,

Å finne fram til deg

Da døren var lukket.

Jeg har forskjellige nøkler

Men du skifter lås like ofte

Som du bytter rom.

Jeg puster hardt bare for å holde tritt med deg.

---------------------------------------------- 

(English translation)

You live in different rooms

And move among them

At regular intervals.

I have knocked on one door an entire day

Just to come in and find my way to you

When the door was locked.

I have different keys

But you change the locks as often

As you change rooms.

I breathe hard just to keep up with you.

from Parables and Voices 

copyright Paula M. De Angelis

Vacations at Strømtangen

In keeping with my apparent desire to not let go of summer, not just yet, I was remembering the two times we vacationed on the island of Strømtangen off the coast of Fredrikstad. The first time was for two weeks in the summer of 2003; the second time for one week in the summer of 2006. We rented the old house that used to belong to the lighthouse keeper. The working lighthouse on the island these days is automatic and is physically separated from the keeper’s house, unlike the old round red-brown lighthouse that was attached to the keeper’s house (that is now used as a dining area). A full-time lighthouse keeper is no longer needed to take care of the lighthouse. Thus the keeper’s house is now rented out to interested parties during the summer months. We rented the house the first time together with two friends and their little baby and except for a few enjoyable visits from family and friends, we had the house and the island to ourselves. We had our boat with us as that was our transportation to the mainland and back. We used it to sail into Fredrikstad where we would do our grocery shopping, eat out at different restaurants, or use the showers at the visitors’ dock. Sometimes we also went out in the boat to do some fishing but did not really catch much.

The house on Strømtangen, with the working automatic lighthouse to the left

The keeper’s house itself is white, big, old and drafty, and sits up on the rocks that lead down to the sea. The windows rattle in a storm or when it is windy and the stairs leading to the second floor creak. The kitchen, living room, and dining room are on the first floor, and the bedrooms and bathroom on the second floor. The bathroom was useful only because it had a sink with running water—the shower did not work--and that was true for both times we stayed there. We have since heard that the organization that rents out the house was thinking of fixing the shower, but I have no idea whether that has happened. There was no toilet—there was instead an outhouse. Running water was drawn up from a well but we were told not to drink it, so we purchased bottled water instead. Despite these slight drawbacks, the experience of living on an island in a drafty old house away from civilization was interesting, challenging and fun. The kitchen was large and cozy, and we made good use of it. The weather in 2003 was hot and sunny—perfect beach weather. We were also able to use the grill quite often to prepare food and to eat outside. I can only remember one thunder and lightning storm during the two weeks we were there. That was an intense storm during the night, with high winds and waves that crashed against the rocks. It seemed like it went on forever. It was literally nature at its wildest—a bit scary but exciting at the same time. The house and the adjoining supply house and everything associated with them had more or less blended into the nature of the island—there were large fields of tall cattails growing in the marshy areas around the house, and otherwise worn footpaths leading to and from the house.

The island is an amazing place--stark, wind-filled, and beautiful. I wandered around it, taking pictures here and there. There is a more sheltered part of the island where the butterflies live, hundreds of them, beautiful to see, fluttering among the flowers that manage to grow in the sparse soil on and around the rocks. If you stood here you could look out over the vastness of the ocean for miles. On the side of the island where the boat was docked, which was a more protected part of the island where the water was calm, there was a small pebbly beach that led out into shallow water, and we spent some time there as well. One of the nicest memories I have is of waking up in the morning and seeing the swallows perched on the top of the bedroom window that opened outwards. They just sat there quietly watching us while we slept, not intimidated at all by our presence. It was as though this was something they always did—sit on the windows in this way, and we were merely curiosities for them to peer at. Most likely they lived in the eaves of the main house or of the adjoining supply house. After we left the island they got their house to themselves again and the life on the island went on as before.  

Musings on a Friday night

Today is the end of a very long week. Once again, I spent an inordinate amount of time during this week writing a grant to see if I can get funding for a new PhD student. I managed to get my thoughts organized enough so that I could shift intellectual gears and apply with a new project. I had debated with myself whether I should bother to apply, but like the New York State lottery advertisement says—“you can’t win it if you’re not in it”. The odds of getting your grant funded these days feel like the odds for winning the lottery. I feel like Charlie Brown being tempted by Lucy to kick the football each autumn, only to have her pull the ball away right at the moment he is about to kick it. I fall for the grant game every year, twice a year in fact, in May and in September. Hopes get raised and then dashed. You get told you’re good but not good enough. No one has to even tell you that—eventually you figure it out for yourself. The comments come back—too little international collaboration, too complex a project for a PhD student, or the project was not clinically relevant enough. I don’t want a huge research group, but you cannot do research work without helping hands. Such is the academic game. It actually hasn’t changed its face in all the years I’ve been playing it, and I can remember my some of my college professors getting out while I was in college because they couldn’t stand the pressure anymore for the little amount of money they actually made. I wonder what some of them are doing now.  I guess most of them are retired by this point, or close to retirement.

No researcher is an island—and no researcher has come very far without his or her co-workers. It’s a good metaphor for life—and it has been said before me by a wiser person. No man is an island. We help each other along the way, along our respective paths. We are who we are because someone cares and cared about us. Someone has guided us, nurtured us, and supported us. We do the same for others. Sometimes we have no real idea that we have been of help until much later. Other times we step in to help others because it seems like they are floundering. But it is not always easy to know when to step in and when to hold back.

This autumn will be a busy one. I don’t see a light at the end of the tunnel until the beginning of December. Then it is nearly time for Christmas. I miss summertime already—the long lazy days, the sunlight, the warmth, the not having to stress to get anywhere. As much as I like crisp autumn days, I have begun to hate the darkness of winter. Winter is too long in Norway. I guess that’s what makes summer special and memorable—there is light and warmth and we slow down. I like living at that slower pace. I sometimes wish the rest of the year proceeded at a slightly slower pace. I am trying to take some time these days to literally stop and smell the flowers—to pay attention and not just rush by. Sometimes when I walk past Ullevål hospital I notice the beautiful flower beds that are blooming now in front of the hospital. They are unbelievably beautiful. Someone cared enough to want to add beauty to daily life. I appreciate it. I have no idea how much it costs to plant and care for them, but I thank the person or persons who made it a part of the budget.

Living with Litter

When we were teenagers, there was a commercial on TV showing a native Indian in a canoe paddling his way along a polluted river. He pulls the canoe up onto a city beach that is covered with litter---cans, bottles, and paper of all kinds. He makes his way up to the highway and watches all the cars whizzing by. A person in the passenger seat of one of the cars tosses a bag of garbage out the car window and it lands at his feet, spilling out its contents. His face then turns toward the camera and there is a tear running down his face—he is crying because people were polluting his country. I was reminded of this ad this past Sunday when I was walking down a side street in the vicinity of where I live in Oslo. For some reason there was a lot of litter in the streets, in addition to broken glass from a few smashed windshields. I walked on further until I came to the main street that runs through our section of the city and the park that is situated there, and again it seemed as though there was litter everywhere as well as overflowing trash cans. I never really catch people in the act of tossing their trash on the street. I’ve got to wonder when during the day it happens. If you comment generally about how much litter there is on the ground, most people will agree with you, but also tell you that they themselves do not litter. So my question then is who is actually doing the littering, because someone is destroying the beauty of the city in this way.

The beauty around us should inspire us to want to take care of what we have and not take it for granted. It could so easily disappear tomorrow. The lovely green park today could become yet another flat treeless asphalt wasteland if it is not appreciated and taken care of. Cleanup costs after park concerts and outdoor events have become quite substantial according to the newspapers here. People leave behind their belongings--shoes, sneakers, sunglasses, articles of clothing, knapsacks and expensive tents (!), in addition to their garbage--food, disposable grills, beer cans, wine bottles, paper and plastic bags--the list is endless. Not only do some people take their beautiful surroundings for granted, they also take for granted that someone will clean up after them. What if that ends? What if the city stopped appropriating money for such cleanups? Appreciating your surroundings, taking care of what you have and preserving what is beautiful now for future generations are lifestyle choices, and they begin at home with parents who emphasize that way of living. My parents did not litter, and we were scolded if we even tried to litter as children. The message stuck--you don’t ever litter--period. Later on when we were older we understood why. We have all seen pictures in the media of urban areas and city streets in different countries that are littered with garbage for one reason or another. Garbage attracts mice, rats and insects such as cockroaches (if you have ever seen a cockroach-infested building, you will want to clean up after yourself for the rest of your life--it is that horrendous). Suddenly beautiful surroundings become ugly. Parks become places to avoid and buildings become uninhabitable. We live in a free society, but that freedom comes at a price--we are required to take care of what we have. That is our responsibility as free people. 

Boating on the Telemark Canal

One of the most enjoyable summer vacations we’ve ever had was in August of 2001 when we decided together with two friends to sail up the Telemark Canal with our own boat, from the beginning of the canal in Skien (in south Norway) all the way up to Dalen (a distance of about 65 miles/105 km) and then back to Skien. Our plans included an overnight stay at the famous Dalen Hotel once we arrived there. This was a trip we had been talking about doing for several years, ever since I had taken a short day trip on one of the passenger boats that tourists can book trips on and experienced how the boats enter and leave the lock-chambers in the multiple lock system that characterizes the canal. The canal, formerly an important transportation route within Telemark, was completed in 1892. It consists of eight manually-operated locks situated at Skien, Løveid, Ulefoss, Eidsfoss, Vrangfoss, Lunde, Kjeldal and Hogga, and each of these locks consists of several lock-chambers (a total of eighteen spread out over eight locks), with Vrangfoss having the largest number of chambers (five) (see http://www.telemarkskanalen.no/nor/content/view/full/288).  The following websites describe the canal and also the lock system in more detail (see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Telemark_Canal; http://www.visittelemark.com/The-Telemark-canal).

It took us about three and a half days to make the trip from Skien to Dalen and three days to return to Skien, so we were on the canal for about a week including the one-night stay at Dalen Hotel. Hilde and I drove by car from Oslo to Porsgrunn to meet Trond and Tom, who met us there in the boat before midday, having already sailed from Oslo the day before we left. We then sailed from Porsgrunn to Skien and entered the canal at Skien. 

The entrance to the Telemark Canal in Skien

Thus began a fascinating and idyllic trip that I will never forget and one that I would like to do again at some point. The first day (Monday) we sailed as far as Ulefoss where we docked the boat at the visitor’s pier for an overnight stay. Except for the one evening we stayed overnight at the Dalen Hotel, we slept in the boat (room for six people to sleep) the entire trip. The following day we sailed as far as Lunde and stayed there overnight, and then on Wednesday we docked for the night at Kviteseid; this day was the only day of the trip when it rained heavily, otherwise the weather was very nice for rest of the week. 

The following day we arrived in Dalen at midday where we docked the boat and made our way to what must be one of Norway’s most spectacular old hotels. The hotel’s architecture has been influenced by stave churches, with dragon heads and spears at its topmost portions. 

Dalen Hotel

It has to be experienced—the grand salon with piano, velvet draperies, elegant furniture and carpets—fit for kings, and indeed, kings have stayed here. We enjoyed a very good dinner in the hotel’s restaurant and then retired to the salon afterwards for coffee and cognac and to listen to the pianist play. This was the one night of real luxury during the trip. On Friday we began our return trip down the canal, with an overnight stay at Lunde and then at Ulefoss again. We arrived back in Skien on Sunday evening where we spent the night, returning to Oslo on Monday.

We didn’t realize at the time we planned it, but we actually made the trip during the very last week that the locks were manned for the summer. Had we done the trip a week later, we would have had to have called ahead to each lock station to ensure that someone was there to manually operate the lock chambers.  As it was, we did not have to wait at all to enter the lock chambers, as would have been the case had we done the trip in July with all the other smaller boats plus the tourist boats that normally sail the canal. The rule is that the tourist passenger boats have priority, so sometimes the wait to enter the chambers can be long for pleasure boats.

Tourist boat

It was very interesting to be on our boat as it entered or left the lock-chambers. Once the big wooden doors had closed tightly behind us, the water would rush in and fill the chamber in order to bring us higher (the height of the canal increases considerably from Skien to Dalen—about 72 meters total). The reverse occurs on the return trip to Skien--the water in the chamber would begin to be slowly emptied in order to aid our descent. Several pleasure boats of about the same size were usually allowed into the chamber at the same time. Fenders had to be out of both sides of the boat, and ropes (attached to a post at the top of the chamber) were tossed down to us by the men who manned the locks. These were to help us keep the boat in position during the filling or emptying of the chamber, which could often create choppy water and currents that tossed the boat about somewhat. Holding onto the ropes was actually a harder job than it seemed at first, once the filling or emptying of the chambers started, but Trond and Tom managed this job well (Hilde and I helped as well) and it became easier with each chamber we entered.

Lock chamber filling with water

Our boat in a lock chamber

On the return trip, during the time it took for the boat to go through the five lock-chambers at Vrangfoss (about an hour), I had the chance to leave the boat before it entered the lock to go the restaurant there that sells rømmegrøt—a sour cream porridge that is very good. I never thought I would like it—but I do. It is particularly good in exactly that restaurant in Vrangfoss. During the remaining time Hilde and I stood and watched Trond and Tom maneuver the boat into the lock chambers and watched the other pleasure boats as well.

It was peaceful to be on the canal for a week. There was no rushing, no stress, no having to be anywhere at any given time. We enjoyed leisurely days--eating lunch on the boat and dinners at small cafes or restaurants in the vicinity of the different places we docked for the night. The water was calm, the weather mild, the sky blue and the sun warm. Parts of the canal were idyllic--the scenery beautiful with the greenery of summer, and small cottages dotted the landscape here and there. We saw many swans along the canal, especially at Lunde; such graceful beautiful birds. I took a lot of pictures, trying to capture that idyllic feeling in photos. It cannot really be captured—it has to be experienced. We had the canal mostly to ourselves for the week because there were so few tourists at the time we made the trip and that was ideal. Looking back on that vacation, I would have to say it is one of the best we have ever had. 

A beautiful poem by Walt Whitman

Out of the Rolling Ocean the Crowd

Out of the rolling ocean the crowd came a drop gently to me, 
Whispering I love you, before long I die, 
I have travel'd a long way merely to look on you to touch you, 
For I could not die till I once look'd on you, 
For I fear'd I might afterward lose you. 

Now we have met, we have look'd, we are safe, 
Return in peace to the ocean my love, 
I too am part of that ocean my love, we are not so much separated, 
Behold the great rondure, the cohesion of all, how perfect! 
But as for me, for you, the irresistible sea is to separate us, 
As for an hour carrying us diverse, yet cannot carry us diverse forever; 
Be not impatient--a little space--know you I salute the air, the 
ocean and the land, 
Every day at sundown for your dear sake my love.