Compost Studios

This is my third summer in Belgium, and I’m still blown away by the impossibly long days. Light licks around the edges of the room darkening curtains at 4:30 a.m., the birds begin singing, and the sun rises only an hour later, long before I want to open my eyes and greet the day.

I may not fall back to sleep, but I’ll linger in bed until at least 7 a.m. on those days when the light summons me too soon. At night, though, my body refuses to go to bed before the stars shine, even when I’m tired. This isn’t a good pattern for someone who needs a lot of sleep.

My home in Virginia was in an area located at the same latitude as Southern Spain. In June, the sky would grow dusky after 8 p.m., the sun would set around 8:40 p.m., and the sky darken at 9 p.m. Fourth of July fireworks would always be launched just after 9 in my hometown.

Here in Belgium, twilight doesn’t draw a veil across the landscape until 9:30, and the sun doesn’t set until after 10 p.m. Light lingers in the sky for quite a while longer. From the third floor of my house, I can see the Atomium (a famous Brussels landmark) on the horizon. By the time it’s dark enough for the evening light show there, it’s about 11 p.m.

Many a night I sit typing at the computer, completely oblivious to how late it’s getting because a lifetime of the summer sun setting around 8:30 p.m. has permanently set my interior clock. By the time it dawns on me, that gee, I’m feeling bone tired, it’s already late. And then there’s the kitchen to clean and a shower to take before slipping between the sheets.

Too often I get to see the digital clock in the bedroom hit 00:00, always a disconcerting site for a North American who is accustomed to clocks running on twelve hour cycles and never, ever displaying all zeroes.

But the zeroes are a good reminder that the day is over, I’m out of time, I MUST GO TO BED. In what will feel like the blink of an eye, the sun will be nudging me awake again, the birds calling me to breakfast.

June 20, 2007