I had to chuckle a bit at the word "fuss" that I wrote in the title. I’m not sure how it ended up there, but it probably best describes the atmosphere of early summer. General fuss.

We managed to spend about a week at our home cabin just the two of us before it was time for the annual trip to the south. My family, relatives, and most of my friends live in Southern Finland. It’s a long journey from here.

I usually visit the south twice a year, during Christmas and in the middle of summer. There’s often so much to fit into a short trip and many places to stop, just to see everyone and be present for at least a moment. This inevitably creates a sense of hulabaloo, not to mention the cities, traffic jams, billboards, and shopping center jungles. I initially escaped all that by moving north, and every time I return, I feel more satisfied with my choice.

Fortunately, we get to travel in our summer cabin—the van. It feels like home—or at least like a cabin—wherever we go. And the van was just ready in time for this trip, as mentioned in a previous post. We mostly slept in the van during the trip, in so-called wild camping spots. I often try to find a spot that’s at least a little away from the road noise and possibly near water so I can swim in the evenings and mornings and enjoy a bit of solitude in nature.

And those spots can be found when you look at the map and have spent a summer searching for them every evening.

It was full summer when we arrived in the south, which came as a surprise. Leaving home, the general landscape was already recognizable as green, but the further south we drove, the more vibrant the meadows became and the lusher the fields were. I had packed completely the wrong clothes—wool socks, sweaters, even a beanie and gloves—because they were still needed almost every day at home. I ended up wearing the only summer dress I had packed for the entire trip since it was warm the whole time.

We first stopped at E’s family farm to help out with early summer tasks. Everyone has their own cabins to maintain and fields to mow, so there’s plenty of work for everyone. And we’re happy to help while catching up after the long drive. With a scythe in hand, we got to work. I left my winter coat in a nearby lake, as there was still ice on the lakes back home. Well, not really—I was just teasing. But it was still so cold that I had no desire to go into the lake back home.

n early summer, we’ve been trying to get a boat for ourselves so we can go out on the lake. I really want to start fishing, and of course, anyone living by a lake should have a boat. It’s just one of those Finnish things—it’s how it should be.

At E’s family farm, we found an old boat, though it had long been forgotten in the bushes. E took it out for a test sail on the lake, and yes, it stayed afloat, but I didn’t dare join him. Our lake is big and windy, and I hope that the boat will also endure my fishing practice without complaint. So, this boat—a beautifully wood-clad one that has aged into a lovely gray—was left by the shore of that smaller, gentler lake for the enjoyment of summer rowers.

My fishing journey actually began two summers ago, and I’ve written about it here. However, it ended quite quickly that summer when I caught a young otter that had sadly died in a net I had painstakingly set up. After a long and sorrowful burial ceremony, I buried my net at the back of the shed. Perhaps now, a few years later, I could dare to use it again. If only that poor otter had already forgiven its tragic fate, I could restart my fishing endeavors.

After a few pit stops and a night, we parked at my family’s home farm, where I grew up and swung a scythe in my youth. We had a lovely mini-Midsummer celebration with family in very hot weather. The temperature rose well above thirty degrees, and we went swimming every couple of hours.

The more the sun shines, the more I find myself adding layers. My sensitive skin burns easily, and I’m not a fan of the stickiness of sunscreen, so on those sunny summer meadows, I find myself running around in long-sleeved and long-pants clothing in this heat.

There’s plenty of work to do on this farm, even though there are helpers available year-round. I got to brush up on my old farm skills behind the wheel of a tractor—with a trailer attached. It wasn’t quite as easy as I remembered, but I dare say that after one summer, I could manage it fairly well.

As kids, both girls and boys did all the same work—driving tractors, shoveling manure, picking berries, establishing gardens, or emptying the dishwasher. It instilled a good lesson that as a woman, you can do any job generally considered a man's work.

I greatly enjoy learning new things and a bit of the surprise when I can tell the eager fisherman neighbor that E doesn’t like fishing, but I do, and I plan to start fishing as soon as we find a boat. Or that I can change the oil in the car and know how to use all the tools and machines we have at home—most of which I acquired myself. Girls can do a lot.

Speaking of girls, Papu, our girl—or perhaps grandma—got a new summer style. The main reason being that the southern heat is tough on an old dog, and her thick coat has become quite hot with age, especially in the warm weather. So, snip-snap, and now Papu can frolic in the summer meadows in her light attire. She looks a bit silly—like a puppy, all fluffy—but she seems to enjoy her new summer outfit.

In the south, we zipped around to visit different people on different days, and the days blended together. Perhaps it was partly due to the intense heat or sleeping in the car with mosquitoes. It’s a contradiction to feel exhausted every time I visit relatives and friends in the south, whom I now see too rarely, but I can’t help it. When there’s too much going on, everything gets mixed up. That’s one reason I’ve chosen to live far away from everything and everyone: so I can focus on one thing at a time, in peace and quiet.

Before heading home, we made one last stop at my grandmother’s place in the Kainuu wilderness. This little, quieter-than-quiet homestead on the edge of the forest feels like a second home after many summers. Sometimes I consider moving there. However, the old homestead serves as an active summer place for my family, where we live throughout the snow-free months, and great care is taken of the house.

In the midst of the flower meadows in the Kainuu wilderness, my mind begins to quiet and prepare for home, which is only a few short hours away from here.

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When we got home, we promised to rest for the next two days without doing anything. Well, that doesn’t seem possible in an old house and garden. I immediately started painting the hallway walls, which had been waiting for a new color for a month, and the next day, I scrubbed the sauna floors with a root brush. By the third day, I napped until half the day was gone; I was that exhausted.

From all this, let’s take away the lesson that it’s okay if everything is still a work in progress in this house. The activities here are still important and enjoyable for me, and that alone is restorative.

After those three days, I’ve focused on collecting plenty of wildflowers that have blossomed everywhere around the house, even in the bathroom. There’s no midsummer cleaning, nor will there be, but there must be flowers. For me, they create the essence of summer and home.