Monday, September 15, 2008

Rivermeet


Let me tell you about the path my grandmother walked to school when she was a little girl.

Every day she left the farm where she grew up, which perches on the edge of a stupendously steep ravine, crossed the green fields of the previous post and slipped under the cover of trees to descend to Åmotan.

Åmotan means 'Rivermeet', and four icy mountain rivers come together there, the last one in the form of a thundering waterfall dancing into the blue waters of the others.


The only reason it is possible to go down the hill is that sinewy roots of very brave trees reach across the path to form little steps, which you can climb down one by one, sometimes using a rope fastened to the grey, cool rock.



My grandmother and her brothers did this every day, following the roaring voice of the waterfall until they reached the riverbed, which is so moist and smells so green, it seems like wild strawberries and bluebells could burst into existence midair. Then they crossed two rickety suspension bridges and climbed up the equally steep mountainside on other side of the valley, to the school on top of the hill. This before nine o'clock, you see.


- But it must have been so dangerous, I said to her. There would have been snow most of the year, and ice.
- Oh yes, I broke my leg one time, she said. - No more school that year.

And that's the school on the other side, outlined against the sky.
Most pictures by Lin.

2 comments:

Li:ne said...

If magic exists in the real world, Åmotan is definitely where it sparks.

seeme said...

i really loved it! wonderful