Can't Sleep

I know what you're wondering - what does our backyard look like at 5 a.m.?

Well, wonder no further:

The sun rose a while ago, the birds are singing, and with an open window in the bedroom, it's impossible to sleep. Welcome to (almost) summer time in Southern Sweden!

I wish I could record the sound of the birds, because it's an amazing sound. Kind of like a rainforest, but with smaller birds. (Disclaimer: I've never actually been in a rainforest, but I did visit Rainforest Cafe once if that helps.)

The birds are quite busy here in Sweden, and don't seem to get much rest with all that chirping, flying, and whatever else it is they do in the daylight hours. Today, according to Google, the sun rose at 4:24 but I can attest that it was light earlier than that. The sun plans to set tonight around 10 p.m.

It's one of the best times to be in Sweden - the strawberries are out, the flowers are in full bloom, and the ice cream truck plays its melody through the streets at 8 p.m.

Welcome summer!

Swedish Spring has Sprung

I was beginning to wonder if the leaves would ever appear - I'd never gone so long without greenery. But the last three weeks we've had beautiful sun-filled days here, California weather I call it, though it's really a Swedish spring.

And just like that, there were leaves. And blossoms. And birds. People are smiling, coming out of hibernation, and queuing for ice cream. Or maybe that's just us.

Three weeks ago, our backyard looked like this:

And today:

Beautiful Vitsippa flowers carpet the forest near my in-laws' home, only to disappear after a week:

And here are some pictures from my neighbors' yards:

Happy Spring everyone!

Snödroppar

I find myself so much more tuned into nature here. In the south of Sweden, there are many trees, but most are deciduous. For months, the landscape shows only dark, barren branches awaiting spring.

When the first bulbs start to bloom, it's a big deal. The schools talk to the kids about the spring flowers, people smile and remark on the new blooms, and the newspaper reports on which flowers are coming next.

In February or March, the little white snödroppar (Snowdrops), said to cheat winter, are the first to bloom.

On the second day of spring, Henrik's preschool opened. His class is named "Snödroppen," which seems fitting as the school opened just as the flowers were appearing. Here he is, riding his bike to school with Mats on his first day:

He really likes school, and his teachers say that he's understanding Swedish well, but still speaks to them mostly in English. With the kids, however, I hear him starting, just like Lucas did, to speak Swedish. "Look here," "Stop it," and "Come here" seem to be some of the first phrases kids learn. This past week it seemed that some magical language piece clicked in, and now I hear him switching between the languages like Lucas does.

Along with the flowers and trees, I look forward to watching Henrik's Swedish bloom this spring.

Save Shouka

There we were- the four of us at Marine World. We’d gone on the Thomas the Train kiddie rides, and our next stop was to see the show starring Shouka the whale.

My husband got lunch, and we sat there while they entertained us with environmental trivia and advertisements. The male announcer was handsome in his polo shirt. The female trainers were cute and energetic in their wet suits. The music pounded.

And then Shouka came out. She is 13 years old and 16 feet long. She weighs in at a slim 4,000 pounds. She was wearing what’s “in” right now- black and white.

She did one swim around the stadium, and then went back to her private area in the back. Finally she emerged again and did what they wanted her to- waving to the crowd with her fin, splashing an unsuspecting visitor with her tale, and jumping high to reach the suspended balls.

All of a sudden I found myself crying. It totally took me by surprise. I hadn’t gone in there thinking, “Oh these poor animals…” I had been looking forward to seeing a beautiful whale. But seeing her do these forced human actions and realizing how small the aquarium is versus the ocean, I just felt so sad. I imagined being confined to a small area for my whole life. The feeling was suffocating.

The sadness seemed to have a life of its own. I wasn’t thinking about the whale, I was feeling. I held my two year old close to me as I donned my sunglasses. I wanted to run away, but I didn’t. Everyone else seemed to be happy and clapping to the nauseating music.

My husband later asked why I’d been sad. I told him I felt bad for the whale being cooped up and having to do these stupid tricks. “You aren’t going vegan are you?” he asked.

It was a fair question, but no, I’m not going vegan.

I want to believe that these animals are ombudsmen, teaching children and adults to care for the earth and its inhabitants and therefore their captivity is worth it. Or that if they are not born in wild they don’t know what they’re missing.

But I don’t buy it.