Personal, historical, and geological time scales...

Traveling with me (as you are all doing) or with Ole (which we are all doing) means that inevitably you will be traveling back in time fairly frequently. You've probably already realized this tendency--hopefully not to your displeasure. So, here we go again, traveling back a full half millenia before the mighty Vasa met with disaster on her maiden voyage.

Not far from Hornslet, Ole and Annette took me to an old church standing on a hill overlooking the sea. It was clearly a medieval church, but my age estimates were almost 400 years off. According to the little commemorative plaque, this little church--yeah, the one I actually stood in front of and photographed--was built in 'the year of our Lord,' 900.

Now a brush with history is hardly a rare occurance in my field...the fields of history and museum operations... but you jsut don't encounter that many artifacts of this vintage in daily life--especially not ones that are still in use.

Inside the church you could almost feel the history radiating from the walls (the 200 year-old ceiling and pews were just too 'modern' to ooze history in the same way). It was a fine little place-solid and certainly established. Most brewery labels proclaiming "established in 1887.." or whatever look pretty pathetic beside this place.

Stepping out the door into a powerful blast of wind coming up from the German coast was pretty awe-inspiring as well. The cemetary has a spectacular view out over the fields, farmhouses, and the island fortress out in the windswept bay.

Back on th eroad again, we drove up into the gently rolling hills of Denmark, winding along narrow roads climbing up the sandy mounds deposited by receding glaciers more than 10,000 years ago--now that church looks no older than this morning's paper.

Soon we reached the high point of the entire region--and one of the highest 'peaks' in all of Denmark. We drove right up to the summit, parked and walked the last 30 meters skyward toward the gleeming sun and found ourselves atop the 'mountain', feeling like masters of all we surveyed.

To the south we could see out over Danish waters where a dark and foreboding front was blowing in, dramatically smothering the sun's rays shaft by shaft as if we were living in a 19th century Danish oil painting (I always thought those artists were just being melodramatic...).

In the Southeast glowingly green fields spread out across the peninsula, tracing the movements of the clouds in great shadows slithering over the land.

To the east where the land was higher, last year's grass stood dead and brown. Beyond lay the straits and the Swedish coast.

A few farms stood there on the edge of the bluff--which may as well have been the edge of the world as the sea haze obscured the horizon and created what appeared to be an uncrossable sea.

Then, as yet another passing rainsquall receded over the hill to the north, a great shimmering rainbow appeared--bestowing its fabled 'pot of gold' upon a very fortunate shrub.

Pulling out my binoculars and scanning the distant hills below (well, barely below. This is Denmark after all) I found an old windmill standing in a grove of trees over looking the sea. The much more attractive predecessor to today's devices for harnessing the energy of the wind.

Then, having surveyed the land 'from on high' and having become aware of the rapidly approaching dinner hour (priority), we returned to the car and beat our way home...

...passing countless lovely Danish farms and traditional houses with thatched roofs. Along the way, however, we decided to stop and take a very short walk in a patch of woods high in the glacial morraine.

Those of you who are familiar with my nickname, "Magellan", and how I was 'awarded' that moniker might find this photo particularly amusing. Just like Kettle Morraine State Park in Wisconsin, the Danish glacial morraine also has forest trails marked with a yellow paint splotch on a tree. It is a genuine wonder I am not still wandering around out there...

(for those of you who are not familier with this epic tale, here's the quick and dirty version; freshman year of college I joined the cross country team and on a 19 mile run in Kettle Morraine State Park I got insanely off track and ended up navigating my way around the park to the rendez-vous. After running somewhere between 26 and 30 miles in 4 hours and 51 minutes, I finished my 'circumnaviagtion' and found the team. During the course of the ensuing 'investigation' I learned that a yellow metal tag nailed to a tree does not mark the same trail as a splotch of yellow paint on a tree. Well....