We are nearing the end of September already and that means we arrive to the blog where I usually reflect on what has been and ponder about what is in store next. I usually refer to my readings which I did last year and see how the lessons and premonitions showed themselves now at their respective months. For each passing month, turning the Wheel of the Year there are more answers to uncover, new questions to be asked and things to look back on. As we are nearing the end of September, the year 2026 grows longer behind us and I can look back on an incredibly alchemic year full of deep transitions and transformations. This is one of my most favourite times as we pass through the seasons, we see the fruits of our labor, sometimes quite literally in our own gardens, our lives and our stories. When I pulled cards for the whole year, last december, I had no idea I would be writing it from the place I am today. Moving to Tangen is quite literally one of the best things that happened. For me pe

I pass them by very often, several times a week actually. They stand tall between all the lower trees and bushes, surrounded by rowan, birch and maple. Carried by a cloak of green in spring and summer, to golden and red in Autumn. Below is a river, falling all the way down to the lake, covered in endless clouds of snow and sparkly ice when temperatures drop below zero. Yet the 3 guardians still stand tall. I wonder how old they are, if they grew together, finding eachother as they began to rise above all the others. What have they seen, which storms have ravaged through them in all these years. They've seen children grow up, their first and last steps at primary school, before they would embark on their journeys in other towns and cities. They've seen the elderly pass by one last time. Dogs, cats. There's a mill down by the water. It is old and in ruins. You can see there's been fires as some of the windowsills are blackened by soot. The mill's fate is undecided and remains so for the

With immense gratitude I look back on a wonderful celebration of the Autumn Equinox. With what I hope created room for reflection, introspection, community and celebration. This year the Autumn Equinox falls on the 23d of September, but as it is in the middle of the week, the celebration was held a bit earlier on Saturday. We gathered, 9 wonderful souls in total, to mark the time where day and night are equal in length before we head into the half of the year where the night grows longer. The day was a bit windy, raindrops falling every now and then. I was a bit anxious wether it would be possible to do a ritual and walk the labyrinth at all, but as soon as the first loving guests came in, the sun peeked through. For some, these celebrations being their first time, for others, having participated all the way back since 2024. Food was brought in and properly cooled and stored for later. We gathered in the stone circle as the fire was started and connected with the space. The wind throug

This gorgeous flower is called Akelei, in Norwegian (and also in Dutch), they're also known as columbines. They're a genus of perennial flowering plants and there are gorgeous natural variations all across the northern hemisphere, but you can find both natural and introduced flowers all over the world (except Antarctica). They are really cool as they posess both male and female organs and they are capable of self-pollination with and without pollinators. Yet, caution is adviced as parts of the plants are toxic to humans. It is why my Akelei grow quite protected where the cats or the kids cannot get too close. It doesn't protect it from me though, grabbing every chance to watch those gorgeous colours and petals! All throughout the season there were only leaves visible and very very slowly in the middle a stem would grow larger, eventually developing those enveloped petals you see on the picture. So this one came in quite late, nonetheless being a pleasant surprise in what I may call: a

As we move toward the Autumn Equinox, there is a shift in the air. The bright, high-energy expansion of summer slows down, the light changes, and many of us may find ourselves suspended in an uncomfortable middle ground. It’s that familiar, heavy sense of limbo—feeling deeply unsatisfied with where things are today, yet having no clear vision of where to head next. If you are feeling this seasonal gloom or notice that internal stagnation right now, I want to offer a gentle reminder: you are not failing, and you are not falling behind. Nature never leaps instantly from full bloom to winter rest. It pauses, cools, and slowly releases. When we transition between seasons, our minds often race ahead. We feel a sudden urge for radical clarity, new plans, and sharp direction. But when those instant answers don't arrive, the intellect can quickly turn inward, turning into self-criticism. We build mental cages out of our own expectations, judging ourselves for feeling stuck or for not having ev

As summer shifts into autumn here in Norway, the mornings and evenings have taken on a sharp, familiar chill. Though the days can still be warm, the birches are turning yellow, mist rises from the water, and the garden is slowly winding down for the season. One of the most rewarding things I’ve done this year was building a frog pond. It’s essentially a bucket filled with a mix of water from Lake Mjøsa, our well, and whatever falls from the sky, set into the ground and layered with stones and water plants. When I first started, it didn't look like much, and I quickly discovered the area was crawling with ants. But the pond had to be there, so we made it work. I added more stones as we went and planted strawberries (which had sprouted between my asparagus) and meadowsweet. Digging up the soil actually opened the way for even more wild plants to emerge. Throughout August, I let the growth surrounding the pond run wild on its own terms. I did try introducing three specific pond plants, bu