A childhood

Growing up in Danmark in the 60?s was a very protected child life.
Back then the last horses were still doing the heavy work in the fields
and the first telephoness and tv-s slowly invaded my childhood.

Imagine a straw-roofed farm with four buildings closing in a paved yard
where you could still pump up water from the underground for the horses
to drink and for the kids to get a cold bath in summer. Imagine a 99
years old man sitting repairing the horses' equipment while talking to
his youngest grandchild playing around beside him. There you have my
childhood home - a farm situated not so very far from Copenhagen in
miles - but far in life style.

Some of my earliest memories are I think a mixture of real memories and
old photos giving me the feeling of having been there. My father
married late and so he was 58 when I, his youngest child and only
daughter was born. My mother was younger - 16 years younger - with me
she gave birth to her fifth child, but two of them never saw the light
of the day. So I was growing up with two older brothers, 12 and 13
years older - and a large gap in between I and them. Which gave some
privileges, I suppose.