week 46 & week 47 of „One Year – One Island“
Now it finally happened: all the visitors have left, the holiday homes are winterized, all the hotel beds have been stripped, the refrigerators in the restaurants have been emptied, and even the last service building at the campsites is locked up. The final curtain has fallen; the tourist frenzy is over for this year. From now on, it’s “ourselves” again—the permanent residents and the locals. You can almost hear a quiet sigh across the island. From now on, parking cars in front of the ICA will no longer be locked, and people will greet oncoming cars because they know who’s inside.
After the colorful end to the season a week ago in Borgholm, I sat all alone by the road in Äpplerum. I could count the passing cars on both hands. In front of me was the Lammbutik, a farm shop that has ”made it” over the last 13 years. Here they offer everything you can make from a lamb: lamb’s wool products, curly sheepskins, lambskin gloves and slippers, lamb salami, homemade cosmetic products with sheep fat, and of course, vacuum-packed, pre-portioned lamb. Just 50 meters away, I watched the sheep and this year’s lambs (the ones that have survived so far) craning their necks to pluck the red apples from the trees.
On the one hand, I appreciate this very short journey from pasture to meat product for the sake of animal welfare. On the other hand, I can’t empathize how anyone can care for animals only to then slaughter them – AND even worse: make a daily living of this. Even as a child, I strictly refused to eat “baby animals”—I wasn’t a vegetarian back then. But if you must eat animals, then please let it be done this way: from birth, a carefree life in nature, until the day it’s over. Here on Öland, the big majority of beef cattle and sheep that end up as a meatdish have a good life until they are taken to the slaughterhouse in Kalmar. The calves and lambs are born right in the pastures and remain there with their flocks until the day of slaughter. Dairy calves are less fortunate: they are led away to a small box just a few hours after birth, where they stay until they are taken to the slaughterhouse – if male – or to the heifers – if female – where they await their first artificial insemination. There are fewer pigs on Öland, and you don’t see them, which could mean that they live crammed together in small stalls. But I don’t know for sure. The chickens from Sweden’s most known chicken producer “Guldfågel” (on south Öland) are certainly not well cared for. But it’s not the confined space where the birds live that’s the problem. Due to excessive breeding, chicks have to gain so much weight in such a short time that their hearts can’t grow fast enough. Many broiler chickens die of heart failure before they can even be slaughtered. I have 8 chicken myself and They live the happiest, most chicken-like lives I can give them. If you are intressed in chicken, I want to recommend the book ”Världens vanligaste fågel” (“The most ordinary bird on earth”) av Per Jensen from Danmark. Well, I actually thought about all of that as I sat there, listening to the sheep bleating while I painted.
The lamb shop is a true flagship of Öland products. Here you can get (almost) everything that’s made on Öland: honey, rapeseed and linseed oils, jams and chutneys, wool and felt products, even felted and carved art objects. Of course, the shop was closed when I was there with my sketchbook. The bright orange pumpkins from the Skördefest were still on the tables, decorated with heather on hay bales. Behind the gate, the street signs were stacked up, the café chairs folded, and the parasols closed. It had rained the night before, and the blue sky was reflected in the puddles. It was another beautiful autumn day on Öland.
Another week later, I was driving through an area I didn’t know at all, searching for an interesting subject: south of Räpplinge, on a small country road, I came through Tomteby.
Tomte – that’s a house elf, like in Tomte Tummetott (by Astrid Lindgren). He lives on the farm as a good spirit and protector, and because he’s skilled with his hands, he makes and delivers gifts at Christmas. He’s the Jultomte, not to be confused with Santa Claus. However, the Jultomte arrives with a billy goat in front of his sleigh, no reindeers. But that’s just a quick explanation for the non-Swedes here.
It was foggy, and I hoped that the fog would lift – as predicted by the weather app – by the time I found my subject. Just a short distance past Tomteby, I passed a harvested cornfield where several cranes had gathered. When I stopped the car to look at the beautiful birds, they became nervous and took flight, squawking loudly. They circled in a large circle before gathering again further back in the same field. It’s an image I truly associate with Öland, even though I know that cranes are found throughout Sweden. But in my life before moving to Öland, I very rarely saw a crane. Here a video I took on an other day in october this year:
For me, cranes are the harbingers of autumn and spring. They have a very distinctive, plaintive call when they fly across the sky in a group. When I hear their calls, I always look up to spot the cranes. I’m especially delighted, of course, when I spot the first flock in spring, because when the cranes arrive, spring has truly arrived! This isn’t just my feeling; it’s deeply rooted in Swedish folklore. It’s also well known that cranes play a special role in Japan and China. But in the scandinavian mythology, the crane is also associated with fertility and good fortune and is considered a messenger of the gods. What the stork is to Germany, Poland, and other European countries, the crane is to Scandinavia: according to old folklore, it brought the children. A crane is truly impressive, especially when it spreads its wings and rises into the air with the grace of a ballet dancer. And it can even dance on the ground too: this is the courtship display of the male cranes. It’s actually a fight, but because the bird has such long limbs, it looks elegant and much more like a dance. The dance of the cranes is an annual event at Lake Hornborga, attracting countless bird enthusiasts and tourists. Decades ago, people there began feeding the migrating flocks grain so that the birds would leave the surrounding fields alone. This has obviously gotten around among the large migratory birds, as 10,000 or more are currently stopping here to feed on their way north. The Hornborgasjön field station has been regularly counting the birds for over 30 years; the “dance season” is between mid-March and mid-April.
After a moment’s thought, I pulled my watercolor pad out of my art bag and made a sketch while still sitting in the car. I didn’t dare unpack my camping chair or even open the car door, fearing I’d scare the birds away completely. It was a bit awkward with the steering wheel in front of me, even though I pushed the driver’s seat back as far as I could. That’s also why I didn’t even unpack the watercolors, but finished the painting at home in my studio. I hope I was able to capture the atmosphere:
Well, the project almost reached its end. There are only five more pictures to show. I hope you will also join for the last ones to come. Untill then,
