All about robins (the European ones)

I follow several Facebook pages having to do with European robins. These robins are the smaller versions of their North-American counterparts, and in my opinion, much cuter. They are also quite friendly to humans. I think they understand that kind humans are a good food source, especially during the winter. But they are more than smart. They are curious creatures, as I've experienced when I'm working in my garden. The one that visited my garden last year (up to late December) hung around, watching what I did. He hopped up to me, standing in front of me as if to say 'I'm here', wandered around the greenhouse, and let me feed him and take photos of him. He never landed on my finger, but we were very close to that point. I fell in love with him. There is another robin that visits now; I can tell because the new one has several black markings on his chest, unlike the previous one. 

I don't know what happened to my little friend from last year. I'd like to think he's doing well and visiting other gardens, but my gut instinct tells me that he has passed. Whether it was a natural death (the mortality statistics for the first year of an European robin's life are poor) or death by cat, crow or magpie, I will never know. Perhaps the new one who visits now is his son or daughter. I'd like to think so. They tend to remain in one place, and our allotment garden is filled with many interesting gardens to visit. There is an abundance of worms and insects--a smorgasbord for birds of all kinds. 

I'm reposting the post I wrote in December 2025 about my little robin friend. I will always treasure the time I had with him. He appeared in my life right before I had a major operation, and as they say online 'robins appear when loved ones are near'. I'd like to think that he was channeling all those whom I loved who have passed and were rooting for a successful operation. In any case, he appeared at a time in my life when I needed him. 

A New Yorker in Oslo: My little garden friend

These are my people

Gardeners. Who knew? Gardeners are my people, the ones with whom I feel most at home. They can have small or large gardens, balcony gardens, you name it. We click and bond over shared gardening experiences (sometimes failed experiments), types of seeds, what garden store is having a sale, and what we can share with each other. The latter is the most important to me. Gardeners are generous. I have not met one gardener in our allotment garden who hasn't been willing to share plants, seeds, or advice. Yesterday we had our annual Volunteer Day in the garden; we all pitch in to do weeding, raking, clipping, etc. for a few hours, and then afterward we gather together over cake and coffee. It was a lovely day, weatherwise and socially. Such events are important for strengthening the bonds between us and also for getting to know the new gardeners, those who have recently gotten their allotment gardens.

Why do I feel comfortable with gardeners? They are not flashy or chic. There are no in-your-face displays of wealth, even though there are probably a number of gardeners who are well-off. There is no overt competition among us, at least in our allotment garden. I don't feel like I'm competing with my fellow gardeners to 'have the best garden'. Each gardener is an individual with unique ways of expressing their love of gardens, and that is reflected in their choice of bushes, trees and flowers, as well as vegetables. My garden neighbor has tried growing artichokes; this year I'm attempting to grow asparagus. The lack of overt competitiveness is refreshing in a world that values 'being the best', sometimes at all costs. I'm simply not interested; perhaps I was at one time, early in my career. But even at that time, I worked together with colleagues who were more supportive rather than competitive. I'm thankful every day to be away from a work world that values competition and being the best above all else. The falsity of that way of thinking lies in the reality that only one person can really and truly be the best. All the others are accordingly ranked less. And that's ok for me, but it wasn't for our workplace leaders who did not care at all for those whose careers didn't measure up to snuff. I do not miss that world at all.

I know that gardening can be quite competitive; there are contests for having the most beautiful flower garden or for growing the largest vegetables or the most fruit. But like art, literature, and music, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. You can judge the beauty of a garden, but it is a subjective evaluation. There are no objective criteria for what characterizes a beautiful garden. I respond intuitively to gardens that have a 'soul', but that too is subjective and emotional. There is much in our past and in our subconscious that is wrapped up in our gardens and garden choices. For example, when I plant tulips, I remember my mother ordering tulip bulbs from Holland and planting them on the front lawn. The resulting tulips were beautiful. Lilies of the valley remind me of a neighbor from childhood who had them lining one side of her house. They were my favorite flowers for the longest time. Basil and salad plants remind me of a family friend who grew them both in her backyard; we children would pick them for dinner when we visited her. Tomato plants remind me of my friend Jean's father who grew them in their backyard. The tomatoes were delicious. She has carried on the tomato-growing tradition.

As I get older, I am drawn to visiting public and private gardens. New York State is full of lovely gardens--The New York Botanical Garden, Innisfree Garden, Kykuit/The Rockefeller Estate, and Untermyer Park and Gardens, to name just a few of the ones I've visited. There are more on the list and I look forward to experiencing them in the coming years.  

More garden photos

 

Arctic barren strawberry plant

Hosta stems forming 

Narcissus

Hyacinths

Scilla 

Grape hyacinth

Crocuses and alumroot (Coral bells) in front of birdbath and statues

Spring in my garden

I got an early start in my garden this year, after a rather amputated season last year due to my surgery. The weather has been cooperative for the most part, so I was able to start garden cleanup in late March. That involves clipping dead stalks and raking leaves; the former filled six large garbage bags, the latter ended up in the compost bin. You would think there wouldn't be that many stalks to be clipped, but there are. My garden is about 1000 square feet, so there are a large number of plants waiting for their spring trim. The garden refuse is taken to a nearby recycling station where it is processed into mulch and compost. Nothing goes to waste. The leaves that I've added to the compost bin will be soil when late autumn comes. 

April sees the blooming of snowdrops. I have spread bunches of them around the garden and they grow and spread like wildfire. They are so pretty when they bloom. After that come the scilla, crocuses and hyacinths, including the grape hyacinths (muscari) that are so lovely. And then come the tulips, forsythia and cowslip. I've also planted one perennial (arctic) barren strawberry plant (does not produce berries), which has lovely yellow flowers. I often forget where I planted tulips in previous autumns, so it's always a surprise to see where they turn up! They too multiply underground, like allium plants. 

I'm posting some garden photos from the beginning of April until now. Enjoy!

Snowdrops

Cowslip

Forsythia

Tulips

More tulips and magnolia tree behind them

Cherry tree 

Wisteria blooms forming 

Bergenia (aka elephant-eared saxifrage or elephant's ears)

Snapdragons, rose mallows, pumpkin and zucchini in the greenhouse

Gardening and my relationship with the earth

For most of my adult life, I have been searching for something to 'complete' me. I don't think I really reflected fully upon this while I was working. There were too many projects and deadlines and the like. In my free time, I wrote poetry, and when I look at some of what I wrote circa twenty years ago, I realize that I was searching for connection. Not with people, because that part of my life is fine, but with nature and the earth. That was sorely lacking. I was stuck indoors for most of the workday, five days a week. It's not as though I didn't get outdoors to walk or bike or just enjoy the sunny days that came our way; it's more that I had no personal connection with the earth. I was missing that in my life. It wasn't until I began to garden that I realized what I had been missing. 

There is nothing that makes me happier than working with the earth, in the literal sense (planting seeds and plants) and in the figurative sense (aligning myself with what the earth can and cannot give). People talk about mindfulness and how important that is in our age. It is. A garden offers many opportunities for mindfulness, from weeding for several hours to pruning bushes and trees, to watering what you've planted, and finally to harvesting what you've planted (if one has planted vegetables and fruit trees). There are many gardeners who dislike weeding. I am not one of them, although I wouldn't want to do it on a daily basis since it's backbreaking work. What weeding has taught me is patience and perseverance. Weeds persevere; they come back in every which way no matter how often you remove them. They're survivors and they adapt to the conditions around them. I understand that they need to be removed because they choke the life out of the plants they surround and intertwine roots with. I need only think of skvallerkål (ground elder in English, Aegopodium podagraria in Latin). It spreads like wildfire in the garden. But at the same time that I'm removing them, I'm marveling at their ability to survive and spread. I admire that ability in all plants that are designated as weeds. I would not remove them if they were not so invasive and threatening to other plants. 

I've written about gardening many times before, but that's because I am ever grateful for a pastime and passion that centers me. The world around me can be literally going to hell in a handbasket, but I am happily oblivious to that when I am in my garden. I am more concerned with what the garden needs to be happy. Most gardeners feel the same way. I know that my own lone voice will not change the world situation at present (many voices can do so, so I understand the need to participate and vote), but once I do my civic duty, I am free to pursue my relationship with my garden. I am free to put my hands in the earth, to see the earthworms moving about in the soil, likewise the little pill bugs that remind me of little armadillos. Little spiders have made their home in my greenhouse, and every now and then they peek out from behind a ceramic pot to see if the coast is clear (is she still here?). I love watching the sparrows chattering, singing and quarreling with each other, or taking common baths in the birdbath. Every now and then my robin friend comes for a visit; I wish he'd stay longer, but I guess he has other gardens to visit too. 

My relationship with the earth is multifold. It is with the earth, literally, with my garden, as well as with the life in the garden. I've learned to appreciate all life in the garden, no matter how small. Each living thing has its job to do. It's immensely comforting to know that. Their purpose is by design, and I tend toward believing that it is a divine design. When you look at the intricacies of garden life, how everything is interwoven with everything else, it's hard to believe otherwise. 

My little garden friend

I've been feeding the birds in the garden for the past two weeks. It's gotten harder for them to find food. There hasn't been any snow, but it's been cold and frost has formed on the grass, plants, and bench, and the ground has become quite hard. 

Last year around this time, I became aware of the presence of a sweet little robin, a European robin. They are much smaller than their American counterparts. He would fly to the bird feeder while I was filling the holders with seeds, and just sit there, watching me. Sometimes he was an arms-length away from me. He was curious about me and unafraid. If I moved to another part of the garden, he would fly to where I was and watch me intently. It seemed as though he and I were to be good friends. But then my life took another turn. 

My last visit to the cold winter garden was in mid-February, after which I battled influenza and then had surgery for a faulty cardiac mitral valve. I didn’t return to the garden until late May, by which time the birds were finding their own food, so feeding them was no longer necessary. Still, I kept feeding them. My little robin friend did not show during the summer or autumn months. But I kept hoping he would. 

One day last week, he suddenly reappeared, and it was as if he had never left. He perched at the feeder, patiently waiting for me to finish filling it. When I sat on the bench in front of the greenhouse, he flew over to be close to me, strolling across the frost-tipped grass near my feet. Then he hopped onto the bench and let me take a few photos of him. Here's a photo of him posing. He's a cutie. 

Autumn in Oslo and in my garden--October 2025

I usually publish a post about autumn in Oslo and in my garden each year, and this year is no exception. It's been a mild but rainy autumn this year, and the foliage colors are lovely. I still take a fair amount of photos, but less than I used to. The advantage is that I don't have to wade through so many lesser quality photos. So the ones I'm sharing in this post are the ones that made the cut. Enjoy......

Gamle Aker church

'Karl Johan' main path in our allotment garden

my Japanese maple tree, growing happily

my allotment garden, facing Telthusbakken

some plants are still growing and blooming

Garden update

I've been working in my garden since mid-May. I tried doing garden work a couple of weeks after I came home from the hospital in mid-April, but I became dizzy and had to stop. Now, almost three months after my operation, I'm back to working in the garden for hours at a time. But I take precautions--sun umbrella up, wearing a hat to protect against too much sun, drinking a lot of water and resting when I get tired. We've had intervals of sun and rain, which has been very good for the garden, especially the berry bushes. There will be good harvests for black currants, gooseberries, raspberries, and strawberries. I've planted a cranberry bush that is thriving, and my Norwegian blueberry bushes are also happy. The American blueberry bushes, less so, so I ended up transplanting them to a sunnier location. 

Yellow loosestrife has overtaken a large area of one of my perennial spaces. I cut it back but it just keeps on coming. It's beautiful, but I need to keep it in check or else it will take over the entire space. That seems to be my job this year--keeping growth in check. Everything is doing well and I can't complain. But maintenance of the garden keeps me busy. I'm very glad that I decided to aim for a (mostly) perennial garden, because I don't have to worry about buying a lot of annuals each year. The bushes that have grown the most since I planted them three years ago are the forsythia bushes. I cannot believe how large they've become. Ditto for the lilac bush. And of course the ninebark bush, which resembles a tree at present. I could clip it right down to the base, and it would grow back happily. I don't do that though; I clip a number of branches to keep it in a certain shape. And the Japanese maple tree is thriving as well, which makes me happy; it is so lovely. 

The wild cherry tree that decided to take root from seed in my garden (I didn't plant it) has grown quite tall. It produces sour cherries, but not as many as the cherry tree I bought and planted. The birds (blackbirds, brown thrushes, sparrows) are eagerly waiting for the red currants to be ripe; each year it's a contest between humans and birds to see who gets the most red currants. Last year, we managed to pluck half of the berries, but the birds got the other half. They don't seem to go after the other berries as much. I don't know why. 

My garden is thriving, if a bit overgrown in places. I like it that way. It's as though I enter my own private secret garden when I arrive there. Except for the formal garden entrance (an arch covered with white clematis), the other three sides of the garden are 'walled-in' by growth along the street fence, tall raspberry bushes, and black currant bushes plus a 'krossved' (Viburnum opulus) bush.

Here are some garden photos from May and June.......enjoy!

Beautiful wisteria 

Japanese maple

Irises

Rhododendron

Ninebark bush

Blooming peony plant

Loosestrife