When life sucks the medicine often offered is a daily hike. Of course, running, or fighting your way uphill with high pulse, everybody understands that the endorphins are going to cure bad mood. The calm little hike on the other hand, it is not easy to see how it is going to cure anything. But fresh air has been understood as medicine in both Norway and other countries in Europe from mid-20th century. Special sanatoriums of treatment offered patients with tuberculosis the fresh air of the Alps. Thomas Mann writes about it in the novel The Magic Mountain. The book stands in my library, never read. I know I should. But I think about the patients with tuberculosis who struggled to breathe, and decides to put on my clothes and get out.
Close by our house there is a nice little island where I often find myself head to. There is little traffic, the birdlife is awesome and a lot of horses are paddocked outside. And it is ok to just stroll away, not heading for any high mountain. The highest point of the island is about 100 meters above sea level. And in the seashore there are different stones making strange patterns. People are visiting and burning a campfire, perhaps grilling some sausages. It is a good place this little island. I have a separate category in my private photo gallery named by the island. My first photos I am a bit proud of are taken here.
The bridge over to the island, have both old and new parts. There are always new possibilities looking at the bridge, the light change it every day.
When days have been of the kind that the hike has been delayed and delayed, I have a window in my kitchen. In wintertime it gets kind of graphic. It’s a challenge to capture the pattern in the forest. I don’t think I’ve done it yet.