Summers in one world of its own

Oma and I 12 years back

I’ve always sought to put my feelings into words when it comes to arriving back at my grandma’s place on Rügen, there is so much overwhelming, overcoming thought triggered by the smells, noises and looks of the place, pulling me back 12 years. To seemingly endless summers here, not leaving the radius of the meadows and lakes that frame the scenes here.

{view over the meadows, the lake and afar the woods at dawn}

It’s impossible to ignore that when I arrive again, I am immediately transcended back to those summer days and I would like to put into words how I perceived them.

We typically spent a period of more than four weeks here, with each day only drifting off slightly from the former. Imagine the room my brother and I got to share as an attic roof, both of us with our own corners at each side of the room. Two windows and old wooden beds, blankets that heavily cover the body, heaters that are transparently working and producing dry heat, constitute the room.

Anyhow, a long, long night sleep would end with fresh air and sun rays streaming through the windows. After getting ready and walking down the wooden steep stairs, I’d come to a halt at the third-last step, inhaling the scent of the freshly baked goods from the kitchen one stair down from there. My Oma would greet us happily, already having prepared an entire breakfast. A full-on three course brekky was desperately needed for a long day playing in the sun ahead. My highlight of the feast was and is the warm, still steaming bun and a generously smeared layer of Irish salted butter that would melt in the piece of air pocketed bread. In the autumn time, we would harvest the many fruit trees of the garden, mainly apple trees, to be either eaten immediately, baked in as crumble to be relished whilst listening to a story in front of the fire place, to juice it or convert it into jam. This apple jam atop the salted butter, or a thick layer of cream cheese with black current jam was my go-to. Every day was the same, and, to a large extent, still is up to this day.

{freshly picked raspberries converted into jam in summer 2020}

Summer mornings usually consisted of opening the heavy wooden door, greeting a recently mowed meadow, far and wide. The scent of the still slightly wet grass and the daisies raising their faces up into the blue sky were my stage, my playground. Running barefoot all day long, playing until that lunch was desperately needed.

{View over the meadow at golden hour}

The transparent life in nature enables one to breathe and be inspired by the very much so adjusting, changing days, where the rhythm of the day never fails to persist yet the surrounding scenery would inspire with its microcosmic daily alterations. Life can be so simple and elegant, so basic and pure whilst overly energising and full of stimulations.

Noon time would always kick in at the exact same time (1pm), with lunch being a recreation of the produce from the garden beds.

{Oma with some herbs for lunch}

Afternoons mainly revolved around swimming in the ice cold lake just few steps walking distance over the grass, diving in the cooling, still waters that cause me to inhale and exhale deep in my chest. Given the prolonged time spent in the lake, a hot shower was an inevitable follow-up. Hair tied back in a wet bun and slipped into fresh clothes, the sun was beginning to mellow down and the heat of a long sun-intense day would radiate from the stone steps, donating warmth until late in the evening.

And with a wholesome supper, candle lights and never without a sweet ending, the day would end in front of the TV for the news and a following wildlife documentary. Big eyes staring at the screen or oftentimes staring out of the windows of my Oma‘s Jeep that she would drive through the woods to setting sun, us on the backseat, to spot all the wildlife in the woods and fields and grasslands- watch and observe only!

{probably the only snapshot of a deer I saved on my camera roll}

Oma would then bring us to bed, massaging the back and telling a story, oftentimes with a glass of red wine accompanying her night time routine with us.

Long days in the countryside full of active days in the fresh air need deep sleep, so falling asleep was a matter of minutes, really.

{late evenings around the house}

As I am writing this rather intimate childhood memory, I recall glimpses of the past that prevail until today. The rhythm is still the same and the activities might have altered slightly, but still in alignment with the deep woods that engulf oneself at night, a feeling of total darkness and peace.

These days consist of picking raspberries, cherries, current, harvesting salads, and garnishing them with whatever blossoms up and leads my way, zucchinis to be tossed in olive oil & garlic and to be flavoured with herbs picked just in time. What an oasis, what a world!

{July, farm to fork style}

Finally, the days and moments I recall are revived on an hourly basis. It travels me back in time, takes me to 12 years ago- same feelings, same girl, same Oma. When I take a geographical distance again after spent time on the island, the time required to arrive back in MY time and space may extend for two days. Then I‘m back on track and boosted from the inside.

Greetings from home,

Fabia