Jutland (Jylland); Thy, and Han Herred
You can feel it in your bones as soon as you cross the bridge from Fyn to Jutland. The sky rises high into the heavens, and the land supports the heaven's great expanse. You can feel creation's cataclysmic forces and nature's indwelling strength reaching over these long silent landscapes and wind battered coasts.
Jutland craves a response, strength for strength. Life here has always been hard and demanding. The hedgerows that protect the fields are shaped by the harsh weather, their trees bending eastward away from the sharp western winds that rise in the North Sea.
The landscapes show scars of vulnerability while revealing a strength as old as the earth, mute and independent. The many dialects of the Danish language spoken here are bound to the soil, wind, and waves. They reflect a deeply close experience of the land, the waters of sea and fjords, and the seasons of sowing and harvest, filled with complex nuances that weave images of all that belongs to a life with vast horizons and strong winds.
This is a place for those who have discovered compassion at the core of all that is held in common, and a sense of reality that comes from a willingness to search for an inner faith that shares life with the uncontrollable, and the unpredictable.
To the Danes, the North Sea is known as the 'Western Sea', Vesterhavet.
Those who live on its coasts, belong to the winds and waves that arise in its vast spaces. The North Sea creates a land whose coast is thousands of miles long and has no name on any map- These are the people and lands of the headlands and islands where the earth passes into this cold restless sea. Denmark, England, Friesland, Belgium, Netherlands, the Shetland and Orkney Islands, Normandy, Bretagne, and Norway.
Here all eyes turn to the Sea, languages share words and wisdom, and those of this great map live and die on its raging coasts and silent deep waters. What the waters don't take, the sand does. On Denmark's West coast, several villages from years past lie buried in the coastal dunes, their names all but forgotten.
Vesterhavet is not a place but a relationship. It is the sound of great spaces and distant horizons that echo in your bones even when you have left its shores. It is the feel of salty winds pushing and pressing against your body, sun that burns and caresses, a meeting of time and timelessness that flow in every memory. The touch of day and night reflected in colors that breathe and stretch into distant horizons. Here the eye turns constantly to the sky to know its temperament, for it changes and shifts, revealing itself from moment to moment as light and winds gather to form the world of deep spaces and life on its fragile coast.
These dark rolling waters hold the colors from which the earth was made. They rise to its surface and reflect over the land and into the heavens; mysterious blues, violets and living greens, heavy greys, steely blacks, golds and salmon reds, that reach far inland from its coast.
There are days when the water is so still that it mirrors the horizons farther then the eyes can see in a transparent violet sheen. Other times, the wind screams in the riggings, darkness shadows the coast, and frothing white wind-blasted waves crash into the harbors, rocky beaches, and tear at its sandy bluffs. In the morning, windows are blurred from a grey-white wash of salt born on the stinging rains that blow in over the sea. As the winds moderate, delicate greens and yellows suffuse in the landscape and rise as aquamarine in the rolling swells, and the fields and inland villages reach towards its fertile breeze.