Walking on virgin soil. .

By Kirsten Nour Namskau

It was two hour after school was finishing . . . homework was done. When the doorbell rang, I knew it was Kirsten.
I run out and we had a “meeting” . . . what should we do or where should we go today?
I whispered: “Virgin soil”
Kirsten replied: “Yes, virgin soil.”
We wanted to walk on “virgin Soil” . . . a place no one had ever put their foot before. We were not sure where we could find that kind of soil, but we where sure we had to walk for a long time, so it was only to start walking.
We walked streets up and streets down, crossed a field and back again, followed the bus-route for a while, climbed a fence, slide down a hill and came to some houses beneath a hill. (Read mountain)
We stopped and looked at the mountain, then looked at each other. Were we supposed to enter that steep mountain? Yes, we were . . . .
Along the mountain-wall was a crack going along in zig zag with small tufts of grass.
We started to climb the mountain.
We had not come far, before people started to come out on the balconies of the houses and shouted to us: “You must not climb the mountain. It’s too steep. You will fell down.”
One woman called to us: “It has never climbed anyone there before.”
That was exactly the words we wanted . . . we stopped and looked at each other.
Now we knew we were about to enter “virgin soil.“
We made it to the top and lay down and in a way rolled in over the edge, so we should not fell down again.
Well away from the edge, we stood up and brushed off our clothes, looked at each other and shook hands.
We looked around . . .sooo, this is how it looks like when no one have ever been there before?
Suddenly, Kirsten saw a mile-stone. We looked at each other . . .That means, this must have been a meeting-place at the time of the Vikings. Maybe the ocean even had gone all up to the top of the mountain at that time. . . You could never know . . .
Maybe we could find something very precious and seldom item from the time of the Vikings, if we searched the soil. . . like an archeologist.
We started to search the soil. . .Kirsten in one direction. . . I in another.
After some time, I called to Kirsten: “Have you found something?”
Kirsten answered: “Yes, have you?”
I called back: “Yes, let’s see what we have found.”
We had a meeting . . . we both were holding what we had found, hidden in closed hands.
I looked attentive at Kirsten and said: “Show me what you have found, Kirsten.”
She opened her hand slowly. . . and there. . . she showed me . . . one button and a rusty nail.
I was speechless. Think about it . . . the button had for sure been in the sweater of a famous warier. The button could be worth millions now . . . . (I had heard about that, how old things become very expensive.)
And the nail . . . maybe it had been in a Viking’s ship . . .
Kirsten looked at me and whispered: “Your turn. . . show me what you have found?”
I opened my hand like as slowly and showed her.
She gasped. In my hand was . . . a piece of red yarn and a stone with some lines.
Kirsten took carefully the piece of red yarn in her hand and said: “This is for sure from the same sweater as my button. This is maybe all which is left of the sweater”
She took the stone and looked at it . . . and said: “I wonder if this is a kind of runic script from the time of the Vikings. Maybe it’s a spell.”
Suddenly we heard something rustle in the bushes. We fast hid our treasures. Maybe it was a wolf???
We were stiff of fear for a second. . . then we run out of the place and discovered that we after all were not so far from home.
When I came home, I asked for my “secret box” which was at the top of the cupboard in the kitchen. My grandmother, who had staid with us for a while, took it down and asked what was inside?
She opened the box and there she saw all my treasures: two buttons in bright colors, a piece of glossy paper, some small stones in funny shapes and now also a piece of red yarn and a stone with “runic script”.
She called out to my father: “For God’s sake. . . if this girl continue like this, you will have a house full of trash.”
My father answered: “Well, don’t worry . . . When the box is full, we can discuss that matter. “