They were all dressed in black. “Its like a funeral”, they said. The Death of the Year. Nervous laughter, an anxious wait to be called to the stage. Its crazy to think my first year of teaching is over. It could still be that first day, standing in my empty class with not enough tables for the 28 kids I would soon inherit. Trying to navigate playground duty with a dodgy foot, hastily learning names and how best to teach maths, how to get their attention when they’re running wild in gym class.
The cow and I were staring at each other. The inevitable tractor had made me quickly pull my bike over, right up next to her. She eyed me curiously, probably wondering what my problem was. Behind her, a whole herd of chocolate-splodged dairy cows, contentedly grazing green pasture, and a sign advertising free-range milk.
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.
July 1st. The middle of the summer, the midst of the heatwave. A gorgeous morning, the sun already up. I laced up my running shoes, took a deep breath of fresh morning air, and set of down the driveway, starting my run. So ordinary, something I’ve done like clockwork for the last four years. No matter where I’ve been, put on my shoes, the day barely underway, jogged off for an hour. Birds were singing, the sky was azure, little rabbits hopped across my path. This was the life, I was so happy to be out there, free.
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.
I know that there is some polar vortex right now in the US, bringing insanely cold temperatures. So I should not complain, but it is cold here. Most days don’t get above 5 degrees, and most nights go below -1. Its snowed a lot too. But there are mornings that fill you with hope. The sky is clear, turning from indigo to pale blue, a large golden moon between the rooftops. Slowly, the sun butters the world in a mellow light, and its just so beautiful. Freezing, but beautiful.
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.
It seems that every day this week I’ve come home covered in glitter and glue. ‘Tis the season for carols, chaos and crafts. Especially in school; when normal lessons seem to be put aside and everything is coated in Christmas. We’ve decorated the tree in our classroom, learned the words to countless Christmas songs, and (tried) to embrace the festive spirit of sharing and being caring. Its funny now that I can look at Christmas from their perspective, it reminds me of how exciting it all was when I was young. I loved this time of year; the buzz, the lights at a dark time.
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.
Biking isn’t the same to me as running, and I do miss my long runs outside. But when in Holland, bike. And I’m glad I finally got back on mine, literally. On a perfect autumn day, there is just something about free-wheeling along the tree lined lanes, wind in your hair, sunglasses on. Biking to and from school each day is so quick, just ten minutes. Five minutes on two wheels to the town. In Holland, where biking is more like a form of transport, its easy and safe.
