So I woke up on cats screaming under my window. Or behind the wall. I can hear it well because there is just mere wooden planks separating me from the elements. It seems to be two new male cats that I have not seen before. One red or ginger, one black with half tail missing. Possessed bastards, I say. Though I like the red one because the legend has it, these cats bring money. How they bring money, no clue. But I have been keeping my eye open for a red kitten for years, with no success so far. Maybe that explains me being constantly broke?

Cats woke me up at about 10 or so. But they interrupted my nice dream so I hissed and shouted at them and went back to sleep. 

Now it’s noon. I draged myself to kitchen and got me coffee and came out to terrace to slowly wake up and face the terrors. Took some nice strawberry tart-kinda things with me from the city. Pretty good for breakfast. So today, instead of hiding in some forest or seaside or other fancy half-wild place, I came to my cottage to make it decent looking again. Yes, I carry the common curse of cityfolks. Cityfolks here are known for their weird routines. A lot of them (or should I say us) have summerhouses/ cottages/ countryhouses. But they live in the city because their work is there. So the Friday afternoon looks like that: folks leaving city to all directions, all highways are full of leaving cars. There are not many roads leading out, so you can set your clock right by the traffic as that is 1 occasion when the jams occur. Now lately with the help of covid some folks kinda sorted out that actually they can do some work from distance, over the phone or computer. Not everyone can, but some office staff certainly. So these clever bastards leave on Thursday already!! I also had this Thursday thing years back because I wanted to go to my island. That time it was not thanks to covid tho. I just made Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday longer workdays to “prepay” for free Friday. Again, not possible in all places but I got to arrange that. I did not go every week to island, but when I knew I wanted to go I asked boss and did the long hours. It was really fair because to get to island takes 5 hours one way. So going on Friday after work, staying full Saturday and starting to come back on Sunday noon to be back on some sort sensible time made no sense! I could not even heat the sauna properly and certainly would not be having too many beers. So that was the thing the islanders did. We nodded to eachother knowingly in port while staying in line on Thursday eve. We, the clever ones. Yes I am bragging. Sort of. One has got to do what one has got to do!

So now, I have my cottage on mainland exactly because getting home to island was wearing me out. The barge queues, the costs, the time, everything felt like a drag and in the end I figured damn, on the island only rich people can live. And I am not rich. So the cottage thing is in our blood because we were brought up growing own foods, not only veggies and garden stuff, but also meat, milk, eggs, etc. My dad was hunter. Half of men on island are fishermen. So no such problems with food as we have today. I  have my cottage since some 20 years now and the cityfolks curse is real. I come here every possible time but in general the tale goes: cityfolks come on Friday eve. They mow the lawn, clean flowerbeds, chop wood, etc all Saturday and leave on Sunday to be back in the ratrace. Without enjoing a moment of peace. 

Many households run like that. And I praise the one who thought of robot lawn mower. I have that bit partly covered. So I am now here, having second coffee and second tart-kinda thing and mentally prepping myself to do the other half of my lawn and flowerbeds 🙂 because half of the household is not covered with robots. So yes, I am partly cursed. But to my defence the wild parts of  my garden are pretty cool and that is my goal to keep parts wild, not going around with liner. Something in line of Piet Oudolf and English wildflower meadows. Wild garden. Something like that we had on the island without knowing anything about Piet or England :). Just going by feel and nature as forcing usually doesn’t work. 

My neighbours across the street run pretty successful pizzajoint. And they make what is called wine. From rhubarb, nettle, apples and such. I am not qualified to say it’s not wine or is wine so I shall leave it as that. They make these alcoholic beverages that are registered as wine and are pretty good at it. The rhubarb one has won some prizes even! Rhubarb is extremely popular here, they make bubbly one in many locations here. Old manorhouses had vodkafactories attached to their premises, in addition to carriagehouses, literal slavehouses (people working for german “ovners” lived in shacks and worked til death) etc. From here the number one trade was vodka right after salt, spices and such ran short some time in 17-18 century (as we were part of Hanseatic trade route). We never ran short of vodka :). So the opposite house is some 200 years old ex vodkafabrik that now produces local wines and runs pizzaoven over weekends. The best pizza I know in this country, believe me. I have only had better pizza in Fuerteventura. Yes, I go far for good food 🙂

I sprayed sunoil on, bikinis on, rubberboots on (red, ofcourse), off I go. 

I shall yet be part of the cityfolks going back in looooong caravanlike lines in the evening. Yes, that’s the second time we have trafficjams. Thirs one is on Monday morning. These are the optimistic city folks who try to get back to city in the Monday morning, going straight to work in their dull stupid offices. I have not yet heard of one who made it on time to office 🙂

Tuuduluu, 

stay hot and cool

XOXOX