In the morning, the thermometer reads -29°C, even though just a week ago it hovered around zero. February is a strange month.

There are so many ordinary days. The kind that pass by almost unnoticed, but that’s what makes them so wonderful. You don’t need anything special to feel that it was a good day.

Even though I often share trips, adventures, and life’s highlights, there’s plenty of space between them. Lots of emptiness and plenty of everyday moments. It’s good to remind myself of that and mark them on life’s map from time to time. Life can’t be a constant celebration. That would be overwhelming.

A very ordinary morning or afternoon. It might have been evening by then. But still, such a lovely moment.

Winter is on the verge of turning into spring-winter, one of the eight seasons in Lapland. Maybe not just yet, but it’s coming soon.

February has been unusually warm so far, but to balance it out, this past week has seen crisp, nearly -30°C days every day. Winter is reminding us that it’s not going anywhere just yet. Silly humans, just you wait.

Either way, in the morning we go skiing or walking on the frozen river with the dogs. The frozen river wonderfully opens up new possibilities for getting around. The snow crust is firm enough that you can easily ski or walk anywhere.

Ah, what freedom.

The night sky is shrinking day by day. We gain an extra hour of daylight each week. Soon, life will be all light again. Until then, I’m savoring these dwindling dark moments. There’s something calming about them.

It is a bit abnormal, isn’t it, to have a day that’s either all light or complete darkness. I guess the human mind craves some kind of balance in the amount of light in life. In the north, that balance isn’t an option. The stubborn sun is either fully on or not at all. Around this time of year, there’s a brief moment when darkness and light are relatively balanced, just before the light takes over again. It’s an eternal competition where no one wins for good.

One of the benefits of biting cold (and there are many, to be honest) is that the sky is often crystal clear. The vast, starry sky stretches deep into the untouched spruces, and on a few nights, the northern lights have joined the stars, lighting up the sky. They’ve been rather scarce this year—or maybe I’ve just slept through them.

On weeknights, work sometimes takes me to the village. While I’m not particularly fond of the 70s-style aesthetic (all the wooden village buildings burned down during the wars…), the clear starry sky and northern lights reach all the way to the village streets. There are so few streetlights and other sources of light pollution that the sky stays bright even in the village center. Take Kittilä’s center as an example, which is already quite a large village. I’d almost call it a city—it certainly feels like one. But even in this bigger village, the northern lights shine during the calm evening hours. And that’s a good thing.

During the weeks of warmer weather, the trees have taken a beating. The snow that’s been piling up on their branches all winter has become even heavier, and for some, it’s too much. Even on our driveway, the top of a pine tree snapped off, and we had to saw it down together. The trees around here aren’t particularly tall or thick to begin with, but they usually hold up surprisingly well under their snowcaps. However, they’re too scrawny to make good firewood. This broken one will continue its journey as nesting material for squirrels, birds, and other forest creatures, resting on the forest floor.

This late winter, we’re expecting lots of visitors, almost every weekend. It’s funny how people seem to remember the charm of Lapland only when the sun starts shining and the snow is better here than in the south. It’s nice that people travel all the way here, but it seems everyone wants to come during these few weeks of late winter, all at once, to our small cabin.

Aside from my creative projects and time outdoors, I’ve been doing a lot of knitting this winter. I think this is my fourth sweater—maybe even fifth. Quite a few, it seems, have been finished, along with mittens, hats, and wool socks. Everything else feels so digital and intangible, but when I feel the wool flowing through my hands and transforming into something new, it feels meaningful.

It’s refreshing to genuinely think about what kind of clothing or accessory is actually needed, what color and shape it should be, so it’s something that will truly be worn before I even start working on it. There’s no fast fashion here—when it takes dozens of hours and kilometers of yarn to knit a sweater, it’s definitely not for one-time use. And as we all know, nothing beats wool in freezing weather. I’m probably a walking example of that every day—almost always wearing wool, whether for everyday life or special occasions.

We’re mostly preparing for the move that’s happening in a couple of months—to our own house. It’s exciting and still feels so distant, but day by day, it becomes clearer in my mind, and soon it will be real. We’ll be visiting the house again in just over a week, which will be the last time before the actual move in April or May. Phew.

I’ll be back soon with a video about our Hetta-Pallas ski trek. See you soon!

Wishing you a wonderful late winter and sunshine in your days 🌞