torsdag 29 augusti 2013

Harvest time

It feels a bit too early, as always, but also like this is the meaning of the summer:


The neighbor is harvesting his barley, and his pigs will eat it and grow pork for us. The valley is almost done, there are only a few fields left to harvest. Sometimes I think of my grandfather. In the 50s it would've taken him and his horse a week to harvest the same area as this small combine does in a couple of hours. The war had left the farms without both men and machines, much was done as in the 30s and with much less people working. A hard life.

But the barn swallows are still here, and the house plants are still outdoors. I thing my stellar pelargoniums are Brian West's Vectis Glitter. I got two cuttings from a Swedish spinner in Stockholm last autumn, and both survived the winter. I love them! They are so beautiful, especially in the twilight. The begonia loves to be out in the summer, and shows some spectacular red flowers.


Every August I look at the fireweed: what if it has longer fibers this year?


But no, they are as short as always. There were some efforts to use them in the the 18th century, but it can't compete with cotton. So better just look at it:


Apples, vegetables, herbs... I love to go out in the morning and stand on the porch for a while and just sniff the air like our dog. There's a strong scent of ripe things in the air, and it's chilly and fresh. Later we take a walk, the dog and I, and look at the lingonberries. They are temptingly red, but not ripe yet. But next week I think I could cook lingonberry jam. Hubby likes it with food, a bit like catsup, but I like it better in yoghurt or to just eat as much as I can directly from the plant while I can, and then wait for the next autumn and new lingonberries.