Dark Times

As far as I know, the Norwegian word mørketid doesn't have a definitive translation. It means dark-time or time of darkness. This period began just after we arrived here, and for the first week or so it seemed to include a surprising amount of light. Each day the interval between sunrise and sunset grew shorter though, and now the sun no longer rises. There is still a small period of time around lunch when the sun hides just behind the horizon and the land is lit up but drained of colour. By early afternoon it's gone again.

This situation hasn't been helped by the fact that the weather turned mild last week and melted the snow which serves to make everything visible here in the winter. Only this evening has it started to snow again. Those remaining fools who still need convincing that the world is heating up should have been in Nord Troms last Tuesday when it was ten degrees centigrade. To add to this apocalyptic vibe, a storm is making its way up the coast, a storm bad enough to have been given a name. Bevit should be with us tonight.

Living in a wooden house by the waterside is an interesting experience in high winds. It sounds and feels like a part of the building is certainly going to come loose, as if it's only a matter of time and the best you can hope for is that it won't be the roof. I know this because some days ago we began to get the first intimations that a storm was on the way. The house made so much noise that both Marthe and I had problems getting to sleep. I woke up again at 2.30 and I was not too happy about it. When I got out of bed and looked out of my window the sky above the mountains opposite was beginning to turn a luminous green. I went downstairs to get a glass of water and by the time I came back up there were two large blocks of rough-edged glowing lines of green light in the night sky. I went back to sleep feeling as happy as at any time since I arrived here. 

Small events take on great significance. Our neighbour and her children came by to give us eggs from their hens. Our wood supply arrived and we spent two afternoons carrying it in bags up to the barn. 

In defiance of the darkness the Christmas celebrations have begun, or Solstice celebrations for those of us who observe an older calendar. Marthe has put a glowing star in our kitchen window. Tonight we're going to a local Christmas gathering, which follows Marthe's work-party yesterday. That party took place in a Lavvu - a giant tent with a fire in the middle, used by the Sami people up here in the North - and today that same Lavvu was the site of a Christmas market. It strikes me that all these things are just excuses to bring people together and remind them: Don't worry, it's only a month and a half until the sun starts to come back, until there will be a little more light each day.