by Monique Sliedrecht
'Tales From The North' is a podcast hosted by Dutch-Canadian artist and blogger, Monique Sliedrecht, who shares her reflections and experiences from her home in the far north of Scotland. Music by Neon Waltz. Used with permission. www.moniquesliedrecht.com
Language
🇺🇲
Publishing Since
2/10/2021
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January 28, 2022
<p>The morning is cold. A light sparkly dusting of frost covers the ground and the clear blue sky reveals the stars and waning slice of moon above. It is 8:30 and it is already getting lighter out, a rosy orange glow graces the horizon- evidence of the days getting longer.</p> <p>I find the matchbox and notice there is only one match left, so I decide to use it to light a candle and bring some feeling of warmth to my indoor surroundings.</p> <p>The last match in the box reminds me of my time of teacher training in an outdoor education programme in Northern Michigan many years ago. One of the courses involved teaching ways of surviving in the snow, and what to do if we were stuck out in the wilderness with only one match left. We taught the pupils to gather and light small branches and leaves to start it off, and gradually as the flame grew, larger branches were added until we (hopefully) had a roaring fire in the middle of the woods. It was an interesting and sometimes painstaking challenge, theoretically a matter of life and death!</p> <p>For another lesson we built a lean-to with our 12-year-old students and afterwards took turns going in and experiencing what it might be like to sit in such a frozen cocoon. As it happened, inhabiting the insulated space meant that it soon became cozy and warm, not to mention very quiet! A few of my colleagues took their sleeping bags inside and slept in it one night to test it out further,. They woke up fully rested the next morning!</p> <p>That particular winter in January involved a lot of constantly falling snow which accumulated to a height way over my head. So the snowshoes and skis came out often.</p> <p>When groups of children visited the centre for a day, we would take them out for walks in the woods, each with their own pair of snowshoes, and hunt for animal prints, or anything else nature had to offer.</p> <p>We’d often see rabbit or deer tracks. Though I remember once coming across a kind of brush mark in the snow. Our professor at the time suggested that it was most likely a ruffed grouse or ptarmigan that had left the mark when it got up from its snowy nest and flew away. I remember thinking how perceptive he was to spot that.</p> <p>Another time, on my Saturday off, it was -25 degrees Celsius. I decided to layer up and stepped out of my wooden cabin accommodation to do a bit of cross country skiing through the woods. I was very content, gliding through the snow, until an hour later I did not know where I was. I was starting to make circles with my ski tracks, unsure of what direction I was moving in, and stupidly had forgotten my compass. It was another 2 hours before I came across another human being who pointed me in the right direction, and I made it back by early evening light, so relieved, and cold, and happy to see my friends.</p> <p>…</p> <p>A flock of geese flying overhead interrupts my thoughts….</p> <p>…</p> <p>Yesterday, here in the north of Scotland, I went out onto the frozen beach for a break from the day’s tasks and to get some fresh air, crunching through the frosty sand and seaweed. Eventually I came upon some tracks that could only have belonged to a sea otter. I had seen him from a distance in the late summer, a rare sight indeed. I followed the five-toed footprints for a while, until they vanished and I found myself in a patch of low tidal rocks and egg wrack swishing this way and that in the rising tide. I looked up to see how far I had gone, and decided to turn around and walk back, retracing my steps that ran parallel to the otter’s.</p> <p>Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted birds of black and white in the sky, flying in a flock and turning this way and that...</p> <p><br></p> <p>www.moniquesliedrecht.com</p>
January 14, 2022
<p>At this late and magical hour, I decided to go out for a walk - something I used to do quite often when the moon was full and shining bright. I would go out without a lantern, my eyes easily adjusting to see the way ahead and much more besides.</p> <p>There was a rustling in the bushes as I walked past the house, a creature scuttling to a safer place. Then a flutter of wings sounded from the tree branches.</p> <p>Turning back to look at the house, I can see the indoor warmth through the windows. The twinkling of the small lights that frame the window, echo the silent stars above, and the faint sound of music drifts through the still frosty air.</p> <p>I continue my walk and as the music fades a flock of geese replace the choral tones with their honking sounds above and then flap away into the darkness.</p> <p>As I follow the winding road I wonder why I haven’t done this midnight walk more often in recent years.</p> <p>The burn is flowing steadily, cutting through the ancient land and rocks, carving its peaty path to the sea.</p> <p>The incandescent moon shines full in the dark sky casting a bright light across the moorland. I can pick out objects, buildings and grasses in the night silence and tree branches and hills against the horizon. The outline of the castle stands tall against the wide open sea and landscape, its shape defined by the blue glow; and the waves reflect a momentary sparkle of silver white as they gently rolled into the shore. And if I look out toward the sea, even in the darkness I can make out the moving lights of ships passing on the horizon. The inkiness of the ocean merges with the headland, which merges with the large expanse of sky, hardly any distinction can be made between one and the other, and therein sits a smattering of house lights - or are they stars?</p> <p>These days are at their shortest, the nights long.</p> <p>As the moon gradually waxes, the stars are still strongly visible in the dark sky.</p> <p>The earth continues its usual rhythms and the world waits with anticipation. With hope. In stillness. Something is different. I stop in the sand on the beach and stand motionless for a time, awed by the silence and beauty and lulled by the incoming tide, the waves gently lapping the shore.</p> <p>I look up to see the stars, outshone by the moonlight, but there nonetheless. There is Orion … and the Big Dipper, or the 'Plough’ as the call it here in the UK.</p> <p>'Twas in the moon of wintertime… '</p> <p>The lines from a song I learned in school back in Canada called ‘The Huron Carol’ comes to my mind. I know we are all emerging from this past festive season, but looking back, it remains one of my favourite Christmas hymns…</p> <p><br></p> <p>'Twas in the moon of winter-time</p> <p>When all the birds had fled,</p> <p>That mighty <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gitchi_Manitou" target="_blank"><u>Gitchi Manitou</u></a></p> <p>Sent angel choirs instead;</p> <p>Before their light the stars grew dim,</p> <p>And wandering hunters heard the hymn:</p> <p>"Jesus your King is born, Jesus is born,</p> <p>In excelsis gloria."</p> <p><br></p> <p>It goes on, but I cannot remember all the words now.</p> <p>It is the oldest Canadian Christmas hymn, written in around 1642 by Jean de Brébeuf, a Jesuit missionary at Sainte-Marie among the Hurons in Canada.</p> <p>Brébeuf wrote the lyrics in the native language of the Huron/Wendat people; the song's original Huron title is "Jesous Ahatonhia". The song's melody is based on a traditional French folk song, "Une Jeune Pucelle". The well-known English lyrics were written in 1926 by Jesse Edgar Middleton .</p> <p>As the song continues...</p> <p><br></p> <p><br></p> <p>www.moniquesliedrecht.com</p>
December 25, 2021
<p><strong>Hello to all of you who are listening</strong></p> <p><strong>This is a special short episode, different from the others,</strong></p> <p><strong>for this Christmas Day.</strong></p> <p><strong>I hope everyone is having a lovely time, whether with family</strong></p> <p><strong>and friends, or if you’re self-isolating, or wherever you are.</strong></p> <p><strong>For those of you who, like me, were unable to get back to have</strong></p> <p><strong>Christmas with the family, I hope it is still a special time for you.</strong></p> <p><strong>It’s Christmas Day afternoon now, and I’m sitting here all cozy</strong></p> <p><strong>next to the Christmas tree, and the fire is glowing.</strong></p> <p><strong>I’m raising a glass to you all and want to share with you this</strong></p> <p><strong>poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow at this special time.</strong></p> <p><strong>Enjoy the rest of your holiday, and Happy Christmas!</strong></p> <p><strong>The Three Kings</strong></p> <p>BY <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/henry-wadsworth-longfellow" target="_blank"><u>HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW</u></a></p> <p>Three Kings came riding from far away,</p> <p>Melchior and Gaspar and Baltasar;</p> <p>Three Wise Men out of the East were they,</p> <p>And they travelled by night and they slept by day,</p> <p>For their guide was a beautiful, wonderful star.</p> <p>The star was so beautiful, large and clear,</p> <p>That all the other stars of the sky</p> <p>Became a white mist in the atmosphere,</p> <p>And by this they knew that the coming was near</p> <p>Of the Prince foretold in the prophecy.</p> <p>Three caskets they bore on their saddle-bows,</p> <p>Three caskets of gold with golden keys;</p> <p>Their robes were of crimson silk with rows</p> <p>Of bells and pomegranates and furbelows,</p> <p>Their turbans like blossoming almond-trees.</p> <p><br></p> <p>www.moniquesliedrecht.com</p>
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'Tales From The North' is a podcast hosted by Dutch-Canadian artist and blogger, Monique Sliedrecht, who shares her reflections and experiences from her home in the far north of Scotland.
Music by Neon Waltz. Used with permission. www.moniquesliedrecht.com
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