Today was making mayonnaise day. Today was fermenting beet root day. Today was watching a movie day. Today was rainy.
Tapping my feet against the wooden floor thinking about the time I ran away from some institution with this exact song in my earphones. I was very young.
So there I am in my kitchen making mayonnaise, shredding beetroot and I don´t regret being a runner or an escapist, hell no, barred in and bound down- that´s no life for anyone, and so I ran away when I was very young and then I ran away again when I was in my late 30ies, both times I ran towards the forest.
The forest is a hide away, a warm embrace, all the trees are alive, they connect the soil and the sky, like antennas, mining minerals from below, harvesting thunder from above- the forest is a quivering presence.
Hidden within the forest are the golden things.
Sunsets and egg yolks, gold watches and shimmering light above the lake in the summertime, the kiss of a child, a homestead hearth. Embers. Stars. Animal eyes.
You don´t just get to see that. Finding the golden things hidden in the green of the forest takes time and persistence. It´s not given to you lightly. You have to earn it. Never expect it to be different.
Here´s a story:
We met when we were still children. I didn´t want to be his girlfriend. I thought those who played in a band were cooler and I desperately wanted to be cool like them, see, I wasn´t cool to begin with, I had to work on it.
So we went our separate ways, I went on to be the girl you lost to cocaine or crazy, he went on to become a musician. Later I married a guy and raised my children on a little farm, back in the Motherland.
For reasons I cannot elaborate upon (mainly me freaking out) there was this terrible divorce, lawsuits and hell. I changed my name back to my maiden name and that´s how he found me. In the midst of me strolling through hell, he came to see me, after all of those years, he came to stroke me on the chin and kiss my ears.
It was the night of my debut as a poetry slammer (I won!). He was playing a gig and couldn´t come see me but we met afterwards, in the Copenhagen night and four months later we were married.
At the wedding I wore the same black dress that I wore to my sisters funeral. He dyed his hair blue. The kids were all right.
I´m going to tell you more now.
I´m going to create a coherent narrative but truth is that nothing is coherent, not even remotely consistent or calm, is it?
We wanted to take back the land of our childhood. The land of laying on a bridge, staring into the water, the land of climbing treetops, we were fed up with trying to pretend to be cool in the city, white individualistic laptops everywhere.
So I quit my job as a teacher at university and took on the position of being a child psychologer working for the municipally – this meaning that my job was to stare at the broken children all day long, in their institutions.
I quickly died back in the land of our childhood, so did he and that´s why we ran to the forest, to survive.
We´ve been here for four years now and I can´t tell you the things we have gone through because you wouldn´t believe me. You WOULD NOT believe the hardship (like living outside with your children into the dark, cold nights of december). And you probably wouldn´t think it was worth it but it is.
So I´m not even going to try (but I wrote a book about half of the hardship and I hope you buy it (but if you don´t buy it I hope you tell your friends to buy it) it will be out in english this summer)
Safe to say that the screaming and yelling and crying and falling apart we have gone through together, all the demons we faced, the way we constantly challenge each other, carry each other…. safe to say that all of that binds me to him.
Invisible bonds of time and persistence, loyalty and love.
It´s different now. Not a hurricane of love sweeping my feet (my feet) away and sometimes I long for adventure, that´s true- but I respect him.
I truly, utterly respect the man.
Come to think about it I wonder if respect is not a much underappreciated phenomenon in our day and age.
Jeppe has not played music for the four years we´ve been in the forest. He has been so busy handling the trees, building a home for his family, building a life. Couple of months ago he began making music again though, inspired and kicked in the butt by our amazing friend Persille.
Both of us felt this way when we ran to the forest: Fuck our careers, fuck “making it”, fuck our ambitions they never did us any good anyways- on the contrary, lets stop being creative people, let´s concentrate (on mayonnaise and fermented beet roots).
Slowly our creativity came crawling back though, like a spirit following our foot imprints on the soft wooden floor.
I don´t love him because he´s a musician. I love him because he was brave enough not to be.
And I love him because he is not only a country punk- but a funky boy.
He makes people tap their feet.
Tomorrow him and Persille are launching their crowdfunding campaign.
I cross my fingers and my toes. I count my self lucky, one, two, three, I am no longer the only yelling, whispering, singing from the forest, our voices and axes and beaters echoes back into the evil empire, just a subtle sound, from the forest, I am not alone.
Please support them. By supporting them supporting all of us. Out here. In there.
Maybe you can go like their Facebook page and be ready for tomorrow?
You know he is golden to me. Even if he sleeps with his mouth open and always wears this jacket that I hate.