I was trying to decide whether the sky or the water were more blue. Until my thoughts were interrupted by some cold drops splashing my bare legs. Dad and I were in the middle of the Grevelingenmeer, a huge body of water which is in fact a lake although it could pass for the sea, so vast and endless it is. There we were, in a bright orange kayak, a stark contrast to the blue all around us.
16 degrees. Perfectly clear, not a breeze, not a cloud. A little robin flitting about, pecking at the feeder. Sunshine yellow butterflies tangling with my hair. Prune and Suzi, sprawled on the deck in the shade. Not really a surprising scene in summer, or late spring. But this was February, in North Norfolk. And we had a whole week of this amazingly unexpected weather during my mid-term break in both Bruinisse and Fleggburgh.
Christmas morning. The moon was still visible, a large pale silhouette. The sky was lilac, and seemed to fill the windscreen. Dark coated horses ran underneath, their long manes flowing, hooves flying. Slowly a powder-pale blue seeped through the sky, the moon faded. Bare trees lined the roads, we were the only car around. There aren’t really many places left in the world that are truly peaceful. I love chaos and colour and buzz, but after a tiring first half-year teaching, peace was just what I was looking for. Peace, with a little side of adventure. And you can find both in winter in Zeeland.
You know I once hated this season. I’m a summer girl; bright sunshine, long warm days, cloudless skies. But I’ve slowly started liking Fall. And this year in Bergen, surrounded by auburn and marigold colored leaves and spiralling sycamore seeds, I decided Fall was beautiful too. Some of the sunrises; getting ready to cycle to work, dawn breaking. And the glorious evening sunlight bathing everything in a rich, buttery glow. There were still so many days of lovely weather, too. But you started to feel the shift, that it might be warm in the day, but evening’s cold air would creep in sooner and sooner. And during the week of my half-term break, it was clear what season was in charge.
That funny time of year in Europe. When the heat hangs on, but the sun takes longer to surface in the mornings, and the moon is still a feature of the sky when you first step outside. The last week of my admittedly very long summer holiday. It was hard to leave family in England, but the dogs were along for the final ride. A week in Bruinisse, a chance to enjoy our soon-to-be-home, before I started my first real job.
There are roses which grow on the side of the wall. At first as rich and red as an expensive wine, slowly fading with the sun. Prune sniffs around them indifferently, then goes to lie down in her favorite spot. Summer time. When Prune came to us seven years ago, summer was slowly ending, Fall on its way. How she used to run, wild and young and free, late summer sun dancing across her shiny fur.
You know its rare that I say this but sometimes it really is nice not to travel. At least, not during the summer when you have a huge garden and patio and the roads are crowded and the airports stuffy. Of course, there’s the weather to consider. It might never get as hot as the continent, or as bone-dry as Southern Europe, but as we like to say, rain and stuff just tend to ‘blow over’ and not linger too long. Hence, a summer at home. Which also makes sense since this is likely our last summer in Norfolk.
Those two monkeys never fail to make me laugh. I think I appreciate them even more when I’ve been away, and all their funny little quirks. This Easter we did a lot together- Holland, with Suzi lying on my lap and Prune resting her head on her in the car. Exploring the dykes, watching boats at the marina. Redwings, Suzi’s first time meeting the horses. Enjoying the garden and the new patio- sunny spring days meant the three of us could be outside often. And of course, drives in the Mini- those two love leaping in for an adventure.
The seal spat out the fish for the third time. Patiently and resignedly, the lady netted it out of the water, reinserted a tablet into another fish and tried again to feed her difficult patient. He had half his back scrapped clean off, perhaps from a run in with a boat’s propellor. Lucky he was here, I thought and could one day be returned to the wild. We were in Aseal, a sanctuary for our flippered friends who need rescuing. And visitors can see how the staff are looking after these creatures and preparing them to be released as soon as possible. I wasn’t expecting to find such a place here, in Holland. But then, I had a lot of surprises during our week in Zeeland.
I had been waiting for this for ages. Three months is a long time when its your first year away from home. We were heading up the driveway, lined with daffodils, my favorite flowers. The trees were still bare-leaved and glistened with raindrops, legacy of a cold, wet March. I headed straight for the kitchen and was soon being smothered by two bundles of wagging tails and jet-black fur.