Bergius (vi)

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When the sun goes down on a December afternoon, the Edvard Anderson greenhouses shine like green oases in the icy darkness. To enter the middle house, being met by the Mediterranean smells, just breathing it it. Or the moisture in the tropical house, like a caress. And the darkness outside. Sitting in the palm room, drinking tea in the dim green light, while the sky is pitch black outside. A perfect spot for solemn thoughts, a moment full of feeling.

So with this image, I wish you a happy end to this long year, hoping that you get to spend it together with good friends – if not near, then at least connected for a moment, through space and in your hearts.

Photo: The palm house in the Edvard Anderson greenhouses, Bergius Botanic Garden in Stockholm, December 2017. Posted on Instagram December 31, 2020.

Cambridge (ii)

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Compared to other botanic gardens I’ve been to in the UK, the Cambridge University Botanic Garden is not large. But it has everything you need in a botanic garden, with that typical British eye for lush detail and secret nooks. And they even had a grass garden. Flower beds full of different kinds of grasses. I so appreciate the careful display of the ordinary, the easily missed and passed-by – but beautiful, if you take the time to take a closer look.

Photo: Cambridge University Botanic Garden, England, June 2013. Posted on Instagram December 30, 2020.

Nitobe, Vancouver (i)

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The Nitobe Memorial garden in Vancouver is a traditional Japanese garden, tucked in between a few ugly buildings and a small piece of forest with huge Douglas firs on the University of British Columbia campus. On a road nearby, there was quite a lot of traffic, but the moment I walked in through the gate during my visit in 2012, it was as if the rest of the world disappeared. The cherry trees were blooming and the newly opened leaves were bright green. In the middle of the garden, there was a pond and the shelter of the trees blocked out all the noise and the wind, so that the surface of the water was calm and bright as a mirror.

Photo: The Nitobe Memorial Garden, Vancouver, Canada, May 2012. Posted on Instagram December 29, 2020.

Prague

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The city has two botanic gardens. I only had time to visit the historic one, run by the Faculty of Science at Charles University, during my brief stay in the city in 2013. It was a lovely little green jewel, wedged in between the concentrated downtown city tangle on the east bank of the river. I particularly appreciated their geological garden, a large section among the trees and flowerbeds dedicated to displaying boulders of rocks of different kinds, including information of their formation and where in the Czech Republic you could find them. The recently graduated physical geography student (that is, I) was utterly pleased.

Photo: Botanická zahrada Přírodovědecké fakulty Univerzity Karlovy in Prague, Czech Republic, July 2013. Posted on Instagram December 28, 2020.

Bergius (v)

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God jul, hyvää joulua, merry X-mas, wherever you find yourself in the end of this the strangest of years. May your day be calm and joyful.

The Edvard Anderson greenhouses in Bergius botanic garden change with the seasons. Maybe they do this in other botanic garden greenhouses as well. I wouldn’t know, as I visit most of them only once or twice. I don’t get to see the seasonal shifts. But Bergius is my home. In December, they often dress the greenhouses in a festive Christmas atmosphere. When I visited over Christmas break 2017, signs were showing and explaining the use of different Christmas-related plants: amaryllis, false Christmas cactus, cloves, ginger and cinnamon. It was all very neatly done, both pedagogical and cute. Adapted to all the happy children running around on the winding, narrow paths, allowing them to marvel at the wonders of plants.

Let’s hope that next Christmas season, they will be able to do that again, freely and without fear of getting too close. .

Photo: Little surprises in the moss terrariums in the Edvard Anderson greenhouses in the Bergius Botanic Garden in Stockholm, December 2017. Posted on Instagram December 24, 2020.

Portland (i)

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One of the big tourist attractions in Portland is the International Rose Test Garden, a meticulously manicured garden with over 500 different rose varieties. It is cared for by the Portland Rose Society, a non-profit founded in 1889. Hanna and I went there on a rainy Monday morning in 2012, but I was soon so intoxicated by the smells and the beauty of the raindrops on the rose petals that I neither felt the chill nor heard Hanna’s careful suggestions of “mightn’t we go into town soon?”. My camera simply couldn’t get enough.

Photo: International Rose Test Garden in Washington Park, Portland, Oregon, USA, June 2012. Posted on Instagram December 23, 2020.

Phoenix

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One of the impressive things that Phoenix has to offer is the Desert Botanical Garden. And among the botanic gardens that I’ve collected over the years, this was something really special. I guess it’s part of my fascination for deserts. I just love succulents. During my visit in 2012, we realised it is really hard to access through public transport – but I guess that’s nothing unique in the US. But once there, mother and I got a really enjoyable afternoon strolling around among the cacti and dryland trees.

Photo: Desert Botanical Garden in Phoenix, Arizona, USA, July 2012. Posted on Instagram December 23, 2020.

winter solstice

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Yesterday was the winter solstice. The longest night, of a year that to many of us has been heavy to carry. Natalia and I felt it needed to be properly celebrated, old school, with a mid-winter blot in the style of our Nordic ancestors – to allow for the new to replace the old, with the returning sun, lighter hearts and new scientific discoveries.

In the pre-Christian times, the blot was a blood sacrifice. Me being vegetarian, the blood-shed felt outdated – so we sacrificed a chocolate Santa instead. (Although, as it turns out, sacrificing chocolate can also turn violent…) Dressed in our most season-appropriate finery, with fire (candles), mjöd (beer) and some well-chosen words to lay the past year to rest. And then we rounded off the evening with some eggnog and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. All conducted over Skype, of course.

And in sacrificing for the new year, we also wished for new and exciting stories to come. Big feats on the horizon: Me defending my PhD after the summer, Natalia doing her first internship as a nurse in the spring.

But also smaller stories. After singing in the return of the light, I clicked the “Publish” button on the website I have been working on, on and off, during this autumn. I have enjoyed writing about my crafts, remembering the botanic gardens I’ve visited, editing photographs. In the new year, I hope to have time to also write a little about my research. A portfolio for myself, just for fun:

So here’s to the returning sun. Wishes for new stories of art and science to be experienced, and then written about. A new captivating TV show to love together with Natalia (because we only have one and a half season left of Buffy). And hopefully more visits to Bergianska – in the picture, a past visit lighting up the darkness in December 2017, the smells of dry Mediterranean soil, inside the seasonally decorated Edvard Anderson greenhouse.

Posted on Instagram December 22, 2020.

train-travel

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I’ve been thinking about train-travel a lot lately. Maybe because of all the people moving away, the friends who graduated but, because of this strange year, couldn’t get a proper send-off. And also, not being able to get on a train myself. I like train travel. The moments that can happen, in the waiting. My last long train trip, to San Sebastian and back in October 2018. Drinking an Orangina by a dusty, hot street in Nevers across from the train station while waiting for my connection. There is a feeling in waiting, in a strange place, soaking in the warmth of the last summer sun. Being idle, and therefore, letting thoughts fly a little freer. A state of mind difficult to enter into otherwise, never at home.

Or seeing the landscapes transition outside the windows. Thinking about the exogenous processes that made them, the Earth movements and people through the ages. On trains, it is okay to not do anything in particular, it does not make me restless, because I can feel the movement in my body already. The train-ride from Lyon to Barcelona is gorgeous, grazing cows followed by vineyards followed by olive groves and grassy wetlands by the ocean, mountains constantly framing in the landscape. Forests on rolling hills half-covered by evening mist in northern Spain.

And the places I never would have seen if I didn’t have to make so many stops along the way. Many of my favorite botanic gardens: Lyon, Hamburg, Paris. And Barcelona. I would never have made the detour to Barcelona on that conference trip to San Sebastian. Never would have fallen for those concrete and rusted-iron-framed garden beds with all Mediterranean plants. Winding paths make for more interesting journeys. For Christmas, I’m wishing for a not-too-far-off future where getting on a train, for a journey of detours, will be allowed once more.

Photo: Jardí Botànic de Barcelona, Catalonia, Spain, October 2018. Posted on Instagram December 20, 2020.

Edmonton (i)

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March 2012, afternoon. I’m sitting in the temperate pyramid greenhouse at the Muttart Conservatory, Edmonton’s botanical garden. It’s slightly cold, but with my Peruvian alpaca sweater I won’t freeze. The smell in here is heavenly, a combination of pine and herbs and the early blooming daffodils. And above me: An elk’s-horn fern growing on an Alexandra palm. An excellent specimen of an epiphyte. Edmonton might not be the most exciting city, but they have some really nice botanic greenhouses, wonderful to visit on a snowy March day.

Photo: The Muttart Conservatory in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, March 2012. Posted on Instagram November 26, 2020.