Monday

9 October 2017

— Not a cloud in sight!

Good Morning All,

This is the time of year Britta and the kids and I liked to go up to north Zealand to Frederiksborg Castle in the town of Hillerød. You have seen snaps of it before, probably, from Holly and Johs, but I have included a couple of tour-guide shots, in case I can lure any of you to come see it.

It was built (completed in 1642) by Christian IV, justly recognized as Denmark’s Builder King. He’s also the fellow who built the Rundetårn (Round Tower) in Copenhagen, a 42 meter (140 feet) high tower made of  brick with an inner spiral ramp wide enough for him to ride up in his horse-drawn coach. (He was a portly fellow.)

Today, the castle functions as the National History Museum, housing most of the royal family portraiture and all sorts of other art, sculpture, period-piece furniture, the odd suit of amor. It has a large chapel and a vast ballroom done in the high Renaissance style, ceilings as ornate and filled with art as the walls, and lots of wedding cake.

This time of year, though, we were usually more interested in walking the grounds for the pleasure of the fall foliage and the search for horse chestnuts still in their spiky coverings like World War II harbor mines.  We’d also bring bread to feed the ducks, the coots, and the swans. Some years we got lucky and  found beech nuts and wild blackberries.

Best of all, though, was the annual leaf catching. We had our favorite trees for this, one of which was a stately oak on a small rise. It must have been well over three hundred years old. We’d stand around under it, craning our necks back to scan its branches, and wait for a breeze to set free a dozen or so leaves for their swan songs. 

Then, like the leaves themselves, we’d be zig-zagging and darting all over the place, with our arms up, fingers splayed wide, in the hopes of snaring or snagging a leaf before it hit the ground. When we did so, the leaf was secured in a pocket, where it had to remain for a week to ensure good luck to the catcher until the next autumn.

When the kids were small, there could be the occasional tear if the leaves were being unusually agile. But we always stuck at it until everyone had caught at least one. And there was always lots of joyous shrieks and laughter, enough so that I can yet hear them three decades later.

Tomorrow is Britta’s birthday. She would have been 75, which in Denmark is a Round Birthday. I wrote the sonnet in today’s Day Book on this day in 2002, the first autumn I was without her.

Go Well and Stay Well,

Bhekaron