My little Iceland

From now on a large part of my indoor photographs will be taken on this fragment of the forest’s soul. This beautiful slice of about a hundred-year-old hornbeam was given to me as a gift. I have a strong belief that was an expression of gratitude for my diplomatic withdrawal from men’s plans. I was invited by them to spend a day on a shooting range. I almost felt happy. Almost because as soon as I gladly accepted the invitation, I caught a glimpse of anticlimax in their eyes. And then I heard “Great, we haven’t had a male outing for a while, have we?”…. I swear I heard a thunder and my heart broke. I really wanted to go with them but obviously that wasn’t the original plan and the invitation was just their politeness and not their true intention. I withdrew pretending I wasn’t sorry.

Seconds that followed were incredibly rewarding. One of they guys said “Pick one”. What? This one! “Nah, you better look at those, take that one!”. The wooden slice was raw, but in that very moment the other of guys started polishing it. Being a woman. Inhale and exhale. So this is this feeling.

I counted the growth rings and taking into consideration only the clear ones I got a result of 97 years plus minus my personal human error.

I am so enchanted with the topography of my new accessory that I will probably be using it notoriously for taking pictures in oncoming month at least. Once the western cliffs, once the eastern part. Until it splits. And it will split eventually as the wood is still wet. This is what bonds it with real Iceland even more than its physical resemblance. Not only it looks like Iceland, it is also struggling internal strains… It is Iceland itself having a rift and personally I had the privilege of stepping from the North American plate to the Eurasian one.

Hornbeam in action:

More picures taken from cliff’s face:

In the pictures starting from left: handspun white Norwegian wool, steel grey from Polish Heather Sheep and warm grey from Icelandic one.

 

Love it.

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