My First Spring in Norway
Normal daylight hours began to return in March. The sun would rise around 6 am and set between 6-7 pm. I could finally see the sun rays slowly stretch over the horizon during the day like a sleepy bear emerging from its long hibernation, pawing its way over the hillsides. The change in sunlight happened rather suddenly, to the point where each week felt noticeably brighter and longer. The quality of sunlight was clear and intense, I almost missed the hazy glow of the winter luminance.
The weather often felt like an exhausted child stuck between desperately wanting a nap, but instead throwing a tantrum and refusing to lie down because you told them to sleep. It would go through dramatic shifts between sunny, blue skies to a thick and intense blizzard, then a brief misty rain before returning to the clear skies again. All of which seemed to be in 30-minute intervals throughout the day (yes, I timed it). The ground was frequently muddy, mossy, or icy due to the indecisive precipitation, and I never went outside without dressing for the worse, no matter how lovely the sky might look at the time.
Despite the unpredictable weather, the precipitation was refreshing. The city always smelled of fresh wet earth and rocks. I began to hear birds chirping throughout the day and occasionally saw some small bugs outside the window. You could feel the beginning of spring begin to stir not only in the wildlife but the people too.
The rest of the month felt wet and moody, but I would soon find out that April showers really do bring May flowers. Color gradually began to saturate the foliage. All shades of green seeped into the manicured lawns, sparrows chirped merrily in the thickening hedges, and tiny leaves sprouted from the trees. Each day felt longer and a little warmer than the last, and by the end of the month the darkness felt like a far-off friend. Before I knew it, it was May.
The Midnight Sun of May
The midnight sun is when the sun never fully sets due to Norway's global position in the summer. May was the first month I really began to experience this incredible phenomenon. My sense of time was thrown off when it would be 10 pm, but I could still see a bright sky and sunbeams. Instead of winding down for the night, I became more invigorated than ever to either work or play outside under the fuchsia skies while the city somehow became still. I no longer knew what night was, there was only daylight and dusk. While biking home from a friend’s house one night at 1 AM, I could still see red on the horizon, and it was bright enough to bike without a light. I wish I could be awake the entire summer to soak up every last drop of sunlight!
Not only that, but cloudy or rainy days almost always yielded the most vibrant sunsets. I'm not sure what it is exactly that makes them so colorful, but I would get so excited on cloudy days, knowing that the sunset would be spectacular that evening.
Barely a couple of weeks into May, it felt like everything went from tiny sprouts to mature trees densely packed with large, vibrant leaves and sweet-smelling flowers. The colors of spring felt like walking through a fairy tale picture book. The skies were always a clear, cerulean blue with fluffy white clouds lazily floating by. Rich green grass covered every the lawns with lemon yellow dandelions and spattered with soft purple wildflowers. Crocus, tulips, and daffodils congregated together like gossiping friends around trees or pockets on the hills. The apple trees are so thickly packed with white blossoms, it looked like piles of snow accumulated on the branches. The goat willow trees slowly waltz with the breeze and let the sunlight dance between their long, thin limbs. Nestled under the shade of trees and lining the banks of small streams, one could find patches of white grass-of-Parnassus flowers that looked like the earth's attempt to paint the stars on the ground. There are so many species of vegetation I have never seen, and I am eager to learn the names of them all. I recently started using an app called iNaturalist, so now I can more easily identify all the species.
The Sounds and Smells of Spring
I simply cannot overstate the aromas of spring this year. Walking around town, it seems like every tree, bush, and plant is eager to outdo its neighbor in beauty and fragrance. There is an ever-present perfume of apple blossoms, lilacs, wildflowers, honeysuckle, and pine in the air. On days when we are treated with rain, the earth adds a nostalgic touch of petrichor into the blend.
One of the first things I notice when I travel to a new country is the birdsongs. My parents enriched my childhood by teaching me the names and sounds of birds wherever we lived or hiked. This is ingrained so deeply into me that I have become keenly aware whenever I hear an unfamiliar birdsong. I recognized the calls of sparrow, magpies, and crows, but I have recently learned the songs of the European Robin, chaffinch, song thrush, willow warbler, and the Eurasian blackbird. There are several songs I am still eagerly investigating. It is rather fun to think about how this lyrical language can create a comforting bond between you and the unknown.
There are raucous birds that can be quite irritating, such as the seagulls, whose shrieks will startle you at all hours of the day or night. They are fiercely territorial and at constant war with the crows and magpies. At the beginning of spring, I noticed kites in the shape of crows mounted on the top of apartments and buildings across the city. I soon figured out that they are used to deter seagulls from nesting.
A more endearing, yet still annoying bird is the magpie. They are actually one of my favorite birds with black heads, white bodies, and iridescent blue-black wings. They are part of the Corvidae family, which includes ravens and crows, and are of similar high intelligence. We have a family of 4 juvenile magpies frequently testing their adolescence outside our kitchen window. One day they were particularly chatty, and I stealthily watched them for a while. They chased each other, hopping from the lilac bush, to a tree stump, to a larger tree, over to the top of our neighbor's deck, and then back to the lilac bush. They made a funny, sharp chatter at one another as they traded spots, and I wondered if they were perhaps playing a sort of game. It’s a nice reminder of how much you can observe simply by looking out the window.
