We spent a week visiting our home. I say visiting because, honestly, the house doesn’t quite feel like home just yet. We’re getting there, but it’ll take some time. Right now, we’re in between two homes. Our belongings are split between both places, and my mind is trying to sort out matters from both homes at the same time.

I also say visiting because our house is right in the heart of a village—a small wilderness village with only 25 people. Neighbors stop by as they pass, greeting us and welcoming us. If we don’t manage to invite them for coffee in the summer, they’ll just invite themselves over! Our house is the oldest in the village, and it feels like it belongs a little bit to everyone here. I’m not going to change that—that’s how it should be.

At the same time, we unloaded the first batch of our belongings. This is where it all begins.

The house was buzzing with activity. First, on our part, as we unpacked boxes, warmed up the house, and carried firewood to the stoves with both hands. At the same time, we started thinking about and preparing for the bathroom renovation that will begin early in the summer.

The house’s plumbing is old, and when it was installed, it was done a bit haphazardly. We learned that the hard way when we tried to fix the kitchen pipes that had been repaired before. It didn’t go well. We ended up spending a couple of evenings without water, as every time we fixed one connection, the next one started spraying water.

After a few more attempts, we finally managed to keep the water more or less where it was supposed to be. Just to be safe, we installed a water leak detector in the cabinet, in case any pipes decide to give up on their connections again. At least now, we have running water back in the house. These will be professionally fixed at the start of summer, but for now, we just needed them to last until then.

We’re beginning a new era in the house’s history as we bring in warm water with the bathroom renovation. Fortunately, all the changes made to the house so far have been modest and haven’t really altered the old charm of the place. We don’t plan to change that either. But since we’ll be living in the house permanently (apparently, it’s been nearly fifty years since anyone has done so), it’s important that the basics work well.

Even with the bathroom, I want to reflect the two-hundred-year-old character of the house. So, we’re trying to choose fixtures that match that atmosphere. Bathrooms, as we know them, didn’t exist two hundred years ago, but we can still incorporate a vintage feel. For example, we’re planning to convert an old, solid wood dresser into a bathroom vanity ourselves.

In the midst of all the busy work, we took a few skiing trips to explore the surrounding nature. It never fails to surprise me. The area is incredibly diverse—there’s a lake, a river, fells, a variety of forests, and nature reserves. All of it is within reach on skis.

Our friends from Lapland came to visit our new home. We call ourselves the Lapland family because of how close we’ve become during our time up north. They came to wish us well in our new home, bringing traditional gifts—handmade bread, reindeer meat, and wine. Well, maybe in the old days they wouldn’t have brought Italian wine, but the sentiment is still the same.

With our Lapland family, we went skiing with forest skis in the nearby national park, which is only a few kilometers away. The park’s wilderness hut is also within reach without needing a car. How incredible is it that we can ski from home to the wilderness hut for an overnight stay anytime? It’s pretty unique, I’d say, though I don’t want to brag too much!

Since the house is perched on top of a fell, it bears the brunt of all the winter storms, snowdrifts, and gusty winds. There’s a snowbank nearly two meters high in front of the door—you can’t even see over it. Snow piles up against every wall, and even if you shovel it one day, it’s back again by the next morning. Oh well, so be it.

We had to clear the snow in front of the sauna, though, so we could wash up. It's currently our only option for warm water and bathing. There was about a meter and a half of snow in front of it, and the winter winds had packed it down as hard as concrete. I tried a few times with a plastic snow shovel, but it was completely useless.

In the end, I decided to make use of the concrete-hard snow. I dug a few steps into the edge with a shovel, ran across the solid snow to the sauna door, and dug out a small pit in front of it so the door could open. Voilà, the path to the sauna was cleared more easily than I had expected. I was prepared for a sweaty, half-day job, but the snow work was done in under an hour. With an old house like this, you need tricks as much as strength.

In the evening, the sauna was heated with the help of our Lapland family, under the light of the full moon. Fresh and clean, I opened the creaking, heavy sauna door into the crisp, freezing air. Northern lights danced across the northern sky, stretching over the entire expanse like a magical path from horizon to horizon. The sky on top of the fell feels vast, like an enormous blanket of stars over the house. Even in the dark, you can see far into the distance. I went inside to grab my camera, but by the time I returned, the lights had already disappeared. They’d come just briefly, offering a quick welcome to the village before continuing their journey to the next dimension.

Amid all the hustle and bustle, the house insists on slowing down. It almost demands it. Small moments by the softly crackling fire or in the light of the spring sun, the tangible silence of the log walls, watching frost flowers form between the windowpanes. These are the moments for which we bought the house.

We still have two months of hustle ahead before we can finally settle under one roof. I’m not good with all the rushing—busyness is my worst enemy. It stresses me out. But now, it’s all for something good: our own home, our own house. That’s reassuring, and it helps me approach everything with a better mindset.