Off to the mountains day I

This is what tells me when there really is not going to be more summer a year. Getting my aunt and uncles sheep down from the mountains. We leave in the evening Friday and wake up early Saturday to start looking. The sheep are all over. Someone goes up, some down and others straight - almost. Sometimes if you find sheep you have to walk/run like this [showing you by taking my arms in all directions; up, down, up, down, up, down, right way, wrong way, up, up, wrong way, right way, down, even wronger way, down]. Ten hours later we gather and have dinner together; komler cooked by uncle Arnes mother (Besto, 94). We drink two/three cups of coffee, go home and fall asleep. The next day, Sunday morning we wake up, all hurting in everywhere, in muscles we probably never used before and start walking up. Up to where we were Saturday and the day before and then we look some more. We find some more sheep and bring them home. Then we go to work or school for a week and the weekend after we run to the mountains and hope to find the rest of the sheep.

This year, two weeks ago, in a month with only rain, on a foggy, grey, rainy Friday afternoon we left the comfort and civilization of Øystese and went to Laupsaflyane to start from there the next day. Flyane is a place with three small cabins, called sel in Norwegian. They were used by for instance Besto when she was the milkmaid (? budeie) for a cow farmer almost 80 years ago. She lived there the whole summer and watched the cows. The cabins are really old, with of course no pluming or electricity. I love it there. It was cold and dark, but we had a great time. Knut, mum and dad, uncle Arne, aunt Gullaug, the two Germans, the Bjelland twins and Ingvild Bjelland and me.

Two Germans just moved here, and we invited them
to join us and get "kalde, våte og slitne." They told
us they didn't know what that meant before we started,
after they had definetly learned some new words.

My very charming little brother. The youngest one, Knut, with a 

sticker on his forehead saying "made in China." Really happy about it.

Pictures lie. In real life this hill was all mud.

Fall was all over. No more summer.

Crossing the mini river on our way to Laupsaflyane/Flyane

Skarpaselet. The Skarpa cabin.

On Flyane

With Torefjell in the background. Mount Tore

My mum in the rain.

I don't like it when the ants starts climbing trees and falling in your

head and face when you pass. 

Flyane. Peraselet and Skarpaselet.

Almost there

Trolsk stemning

The boss and his wife.

Mor og far. Mum and dad.

I have so many pictures I will post from the Saturday tomorrow.