A Week of Weird Spring

And lo and behold, spring has arrived. With a bang and unexpectedly—just like every year. Yet it still catches us by surprise.

Just a week ago, it snowed on top of a meter-deep snowpack. Then came a warm spell lasting a couple of days, and most of it has melted away. Not all of it yet, but most.

Today, I unearthed the strawberry patch. Over the years, it had become completely buried under grass, but someone had once tended to it with care. Perhaps it’s time for it to shine again.

I also dug out the summer furniture from storage and set it up along the sunny side of the house. With the porch shielding us from the worst of the wind, it felt just like summer. We officially opened the terrace season for this fell and our cabin right then and there.

I think this summer is going to be unforgettable.

On Mother’s Day Sunday, most of the front yard has already freed itself from the weight of the snowpack and enjoys the sunshine for most of the day. The reindeer come by to nibble on the freshest shoots right by the house. The dogs keep them away from the yard, as they should. The crooked flagpole, which is very loosely anchored, received a flag found at the back of the cupboard as a decoration in honor of mothers.

For the first time in a while, we ventured somewhere beyond our home village. With the renovations going on, it hasn’t been easy to escape anywhere except to the hardware store. (Though that’s 45 km away, so even that trip takes half a day, but still.)

We heard from a neighbor that there are large fields nearby where migratory birds from the south gather. On our way north, we immediately spotted one. We chuckled a bit when we saw an old couple birdwatching from their parked car by the side of the road. Adorable. We continued our journey.

Fields came and went, but we also found some open water. It hadn’t been seen for the last eight months, so it was worth stopping for.

The open, sky-blue lake and the sun warming the shoreline—now it feels like true spring.

So I don't lose touch with the latitude of my own home, I should mention that when there’s open water in the landscape, it’s everywhere. The spring floods are at their peak, and we waded halfway up to our calves along a firm patch we hoped would lead us to the lake shore. Papu struggled to keep up, with the water reaching her belly. We even managed to fulfill that vet-recommended “grandma dog swim” on this trip.

From the vague lake shore, we ventured into the forest, which was mostly thawed and felt so human after a long winter dominated by white snow. The birds were chirping and calling. We tried to be cautious as we were moving through bear territory.

Here in the northern eastern border, there’s a wilderness vibe both in nature and among people. Bears, eagles, wolves, and all the other woodland life are present everywhere. In the short time we’ve been here, we’ve already spotted nearly ten eagles. Birds of prey and grouse are seen almost daily. It feels like living in a nature that should be everywhere, but has been pushed here, where there’s hardly anything else. In the midst of something ancient, where we are just a small part of a larger chain.

Just as it should be.

The old neighbor mentioned he wouldn’t give up his long underwear until the village lake was thawed. That seems to be the wisdom of the old folk, as a wind from the lake easily negates the warmth of the sun, instantly dispelling the illusion of a summer day. There’s also a playful tradition in the village about when the lake will be completely free of ice. The lady from the blue house said that sometimes people have even swum on Midsummer while ice cubes clinked against their sides. The older gentleman speculated that the ice would leave this year in May.

We joined in the lighthearted competition with over twenty villagers. Those who live here definitely have the advantage, having lived here for most of their lives, while we’ve only been here three weeks. But we proudly accept our place in this village and its future.

P.S. I guessed that the ice would leave on June 11th. Apparently, I might be wrong, according to the old gentleman who goes ice fishing. I’ll let you know how it turns out.

 ♥ Sanna