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and I hope you do, will.

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.
Feet. Running.


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.



46 comments on “You golden thing

  1. BeeHappee says:

    Mouth open. . At least you did not mention snoring! 🙂

    Oh, how romantic, Andrea. Beautiful story about your childhood.
    Looking forward to read your book in English. Good luck to Jeppe and Persille! I liked their page. Where is the music? 🙂


  2. Yes, yes agreed, Bee, romantic wonderful story Andrea. Same. Looking forward to the english version, good luck and like, like like!


  3. Is it usual to have rain now, in your area?
    What do you feed your hens? My hens are so cooped up due to snow here in south-east Massachusetts that their yolks have gone pale and look as if they came from the store
    ~ Abigail


    1. Hey A,
      No, it´s not usual to have rain, the weather is so weird….

      We use our chicken yard as a compost. We live on a slope and hens will always scrape the earth downwards thus creating a flow of more or less vibrant nutrients (procesed compost) for the garden, we pick it up at the buttom of their yard. So they feed on compost and now when it´s (supposed to be) deep winter we also give them some grains.


      1. smcasson says:

        Wow, that sounds like a great idea.
        Jeppe’s project sounds awesome.
        Romantic story, like others said! I appreciated hearing it.


  4. ncfarmchick says:

    Well, that is one of the best love stories I have ever heard. I told my husband years ago that I would live in a cardboard box to be with him and it was (is) true. You have taken that to a more literal level than I have and I think that makes your story so truthful to me.
    Very excited to have the opportunity to read your book. Best of luck to Jeppe! Between the two of you there’s a lot of beauty flowing out of that forest.


  5. Eumaeus says:

    That’s the second time with Jeppe. What’s he looking at me like that for? I didn’t do anything.

    You were the golden girl when you wrote that first part for sure. Congratulations. They tell me such things are not given lightly.

    Yeah, I was a runaway too. First time I made it all the way to Phoniex. The second time I made it to Oklahoma city. When I got old enough I never stopped. Still haven’t I guess.


    1. never run to the city, golden E, run to the forests….


      1. So they launched today and here´s the project

        Their mission is to spiff up sustainability and permaculture a bit, to make a soundtrack for going green…. please support them if you have any money. They will be giving the record away following the “pay what you can” method….


        1. I have no idea what they were saying but I liked how it sounded so much! Was that Persille singing? What instrument does Jeppe play? How would an American like me donate to this?


          1. jeppe juul says:

            Every instrument except the harp 🙂


            1. BeeHappee says:

              That is impressive!!! I finally listened to the song, and I liked it. Nice work guys!


        2. nicoleaugust says:

          Always great to get back to art. Congrats to Jeppe ! I checked out the link. Wish I could read it in Danish, but I had to rely on translate. This paragraph made me smile :

          “We need to be brought back word to the problem – and music. Scum will with the album “The hops by the whole” try to illustrate the diversity that exists and should continue to exist among both people who cabbage.”

          I think a few things might be off 🙂 :). The music was great !


          1. Hah! Well, I told you, google translate likes to mock us!

            This is what it says (my translation)

            “I a world of dire need of green transition, more fervency and a broader understanding of what it means to be human- there is also a dire need of beet root funk.

            Jeppe Juul and Persille Ingerslev have joined forces and created a band “outcast”- making a record that highlights transition, psychological biodiversy but also gives voice to more than what you find in the mainstream.

            It is neccesary to make room for humanity in a growth society and it is neccesary to make room for basil in the rat race- for what is our purpose if not having a human experience of existence?

            It has gone too far- tramping down the weakest in society while giving massive bonusses to the fast, inuequality is growing contrary to our areas of nature – which are being demolished.
            Something has to happen.

            We need to put words to these problems- and music.
            With a record called “The point of it all” outcast wants to illuminate the diversty that exist- and must continue to exist- amongst both humans and cabagge.

            With songs such as “Nutshell” “Grapejuice” “Apple core” and “Asphalt yard” Outcast wants to begin a conversation, inspire thoughtfulness and self examination.

            Outcast want to present this record to the audience via crowdfunding and plan to promote the record- not via the conventional channels but via the new and different channels that emerge when people create bonds with their hearts instead of their wallet.
            Therefore the record will also be sold according to the “Pay what you can” principle- so that everybody can join in.

            It is time”

            (and then they say in the video that they want to make a soundtrack for transation, my name is Andrea and I approve of this message)


            1. And yeah, Persille is singing and Jeppe is playing all of the instruments 🙂
              The made the songs together- over the internet, they would send eachother ideas, bits and pieces, beats and sentences and they have made so many cathy tunes now – they need to make a real record out of it 🙂


            2. nicoleaugust says:

              Well, for sure “Outcast” is a much nicer name than “Scum”, although I’m quite fond of pond scum. “People who cabbage” could be a catchy name for a tune :).


              1. BeeHappee says:

                Yes, I thought “people who cabbage” was great. 😀


      2. Eumaeus says:

        my destination was only ever as far as I could go…


    2. BeeHappee says:

      “What’s he looking at me like that for? I didn’t do anything.”

      I am seeing this great Hollywood film they will make of Andrea’s drama autobiography, full of twists, and shadows, and ancestor spirits, and sun. . And a girl in the woods, wishing to run away, even compost toilet not keeping her there. . And a great musician sadly felling the trees dreaming of the day he can strum the guitar again. And she says, fine I am going, forget the trees, and he is making music again, happy, forgetting dishes, and trees, and chores.
      Then a swineherd with talking cows shows up, and he talks to the moon, and he carries the sun, and he walks on the rivers that are frozen, leaving a trail of rushing water behind him. . . And he says, win before you fight. And he says, nothing is perfect. And he talks in tongues.
      And the girl in beautiful skirts listens. And she hears the forest talking to her, and the sun kissing her on the cheek, and the moon swinging her. And she knows it is all good, all good in the forest, where she belongs, where she always belonged.

      And she tells the golden man she wants to pickle beets, and cook pies, so she needs more firewood, go fall the trees. But the man says, what did you do, you swineherd, what did you do!!!…. he spits fire through his eyes, he is done with falling those trees!! But she kisses him with those beet lips, and they sit there, writing songs together, under the unfallen trees. . .

      Oh. . . what a film it would make. .

      Sorry, did I get carried away? 🙂
      Just trying to entertain all those Scandinavians in their cold dark winter.


      1. HAHAHAHAHA! LOVE IT BEE! What a movie that would make! 🙂


      2. Movie??
        Write a book, a novel, a trilogy!
        Put the imagination to work, not kill it.

        Liked by 1 person

        1. BeeHappee says:

          Oh, movies can be good or not, books can be good or not. But on second thought, this is just perfect for a theater play. Did you want to be in the play too, Ron?


          1. Don’t tell me…… I’d be a talking cow…. There’s not much else I could do here, do I??

            Unless you are having gnomes!
            I could be one!
            I love them!


  6. siv says:

    Such a good read Andrea. Thanks for sharing, and exciting with Jeppe’s project, I just shared it on my Green page on facebook:


    1. Åh, thank you! Wonderfull!


  7. BeeHappee says:

    “never run to the city, golden E, run to the forests….”
    “my destination was only ever as far as I could go…”

    Golden words, you guys.
    Aren’t we all runners, even those who seemingly stay put in the same place.
    At 5 I ran away to a friend’s house and said I am not coming back
    At 7 my uncle wanted to train me for a professional runner, I refused
    At 18 ran away across the country. that was not enough
    At 20 ran away across the ocean. that was not enough
    At 21 ran away from the law and eloped with a man I met just 3 weeks prior. .
    I guess he put a stop to all that running. But truthfully, I was not running away at all. The world was running away from me.
    Now I am too old to run, barely shuffling along. . 🙂
    Congratulations to Jeppe and the band, again!!!!!


    1. Ever out there, always stood she, eyes gazing west, prospekt impressed…


      1. BeeHappee says:

        Always eyes east
        Ponders she now—

        You can run but you can’t hide. . . .


        1. That is SO COOL that you know that poem! You are the most well read person I can think of right now! I painted a pastel painting that I called The Riddle in honor of that poem.


          1. BeeHappee says:

            Are you kidding me, Renee. I just googled it. 🙂 I love the poem though, somehow it came to me from you at a perfect time. I was just thinking this morning how I ran West and ever since then eyes gazing East. This was perfect, great poem.


            1. Oh You! You could have let us keep our idea but you had to bust the bubble. I now really respect you even more than I already did! It’s always been “my” poem ever since I saw it on the frontispiece of The French Lieutenant’s Woman by John Fowles. West has always been my “direction”.


          2. smcasson says:

            This whole thing made me laugh. She is really well-read, all you guys are. I am, sadly, not.
            Sounds like a great poem, if only from that little blurb…


            1. I read the wrong stuff…. But poems don’t work for me. I somehow fail to grasp them and they fail to grasp me… Alas, sometimes I feel lesser because of it.


              1. Ron! Now that’s a grand statement if I ever heard one. Poems don’t work for me? I bet there’s at least one on this planet that would work for you. You just haven’t found it. Do not, I repeat, do not feel lesser! You’re more-er for sure!

                Liked by 1 person

              2. BeeHappee says:

                Ron, I kept thinking about your comment on not liking poetry. I had lots to say, but then did not, and then somehow did not have anything to say anymore. . Anyway, for one, Andrea’s writing is always poetry. What difference it makes which way words are scattered on the page, in lines or in columns or all over, they are still poetry. So I think, you do like poetry. 🙂

                I had gone through periods of my life liking poetry, not liking poetry, liking and not liking this or that. . But if you read the right stuff, I think you will like it.

                I tried to think of poems that you would like, a few came to mind, some nature stuff by Frost. . . And here is one that I think you may enjoy and maybe change your mind about poetry just a tiny bit? And read it to your son? :

                ~ Rudyard Kipling, 1896

                If you can keep your head when all about you
                Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
                If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
                But make allowance for their doubting too;
                If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
                Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
                Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
                And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

                If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
                If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
                If you can meet with triumph and disaster
                And treat those two imposters just the same;
                If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
                Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
                Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
                And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools;

                If you can make one heap of all your winnings
                And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
                And lose, and start again at your beginnings
                And never breath a word about your loss;
                If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
                To serve your turn long after they are gone,
                And so hold on when there is nothing in you
                Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on”;

                If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
                Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch;
                If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
                If all men count with you, but none too much;
                If you can fill the unforgiving minute
                With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
                Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
                And—which is more—you’ll be a Man my son!


                Bill, your words also very poetic!


                Andrea, good luck with your tour!!


                1. Nice…. I guess.
                  Never said I didn’t like it. It just doesn’t work for me. It somehow fails to speak to me, to touch me, to do something to me. More often than not it is an illogical jumble of words with messed up interpunction to me.


                  1. BeeHappee says:

                    “illogical jumble of words”. . . at least you made me laugh. I say life is pretty illogical also.


            2. BeeHappee says:

              Here is the full poem for you non-poem people. . Very brief.

              Thomas Hardy : The Riddle

              Stretching eyes west
              Over the sea,
              Wind foul or fair,
              Always stood she
              Solely out there
              Did her gaze rest,
              Never elsewhere
              Seemed charm to be.

              Always eyes east
              Ponders she now—
              As in devotion—
              Hills of blank brow
              Where no waves plough.
              Never the least
              Room for emotion
              Drawn from the ocean
              Does she allow.

              Thomas Hardy (1840-1928)


              1. nicoleaugust says:

                Oh, I was a bit smitten by Thomas Hardy’s prose when I was a teenager. I didn’t know he wrote poetry (no Google back then ). Will have to look some of it up !


  8. All of the this made me feel happy!


  9. Beth says:

    Dear Andrea,
    “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.”

    is the truest, most heart-achingly honest and gorgeous thing I’ve ever read.

    Thank you for your beautiful words,


    1. ncfarmchick says:

      The description of Jeppe and Persille’s album made me think of this. Their website has lots of fun info, too.


      1. BeeHappee says:

        Very cool, nc, thanks fro sharing!!!


      2. BeeHappee says:

        So the beetroot copyright is kind of taken by these guys. . Too funny, I watch this with the kids and they are pretty critical:
        My daughter says: “that was freaky! never ever do that again!”
        I laughed so hard at both the video and her comments. 😀


  10. Bill says:

    This is beautifully written.

    What else is there to do for someone who longs to live in the woods and make mayonnaise but run or suffocate? I admire you for having the courage to run, rather than live in quiet desperation. Your story is inspiring.

    May your book and Jeppe’s music seep through the cracks of culture and reach those yearning for the things y’all have to say. Who knows, maybe someone will run with your words or his songs ringing in her ears, as Throwing Muses were in yours.


    1. David says:

      “What else is there to do for someone who longs to live in the woods and make mayonnaise but run or suffocate?”

      Yes. Exactly right.


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