Calmness. Let that be the theme for August and September.

Summer in the North is always truly extraordinary, in every sense of the word. Extraordinary because everything is in bloom, nature’s colors shine brilliantly, and the sun never sets. Extraordinary because there is hardly any rhythm to the day due to the abundance of light, and everything happens in such a short span of time, making life feel intense.

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At the beginning of the month, nature was still as summery as a bride. Now, just a few weeks later, the colors have suddenly shifted. Mornings are cold and misty, and the evenings glow with the red hues of the sky across the lake. The flowers have finished their grand season, and the vibrant colors of the berries have taken over. The first hints of autumn are starting to peek through the blueberry-covered forest floor. It won't be long until the full colors of fall arrive.

The past few weeks have been spent berry picking. Or, rather, in the berries, if that's how one can put it. Over the summer, I've collected cloudberries, strawberries, raspberries, and blueberries. The blueberry season continues, joined by the juice berries from the thirty bushes in our backyard. I've made jams, juices, and frozen berries for winter. I can happily say that we are fully self-sufficient in that regard. We won't need to buy any juices, jams, or frozen berries from the store this winter. Wonderful.

Next summer, I plan (or at least will try) to expand our self-sufficiency to include more root vegetables. We're already getting some, at least carrots and potatoes. I haven't yet had a chance to dig under the soil to check on how they're doing. I could write an entire post or make a video about the full harvest. Gardening and the idea of self-sufficiency have been in the back of my mind all summer, but I haven’t had much time to focus on it. Even further back in my mind, I've been planning a small greenhouse project for next summer—or at least a larger vegetable garden. Haha, I can't wait!

A week ago, E and I took a little trip to Fell Lapland in our van. The short film I made, "Talvelle - A Story for Winter" (which you can still watch on YouTube here), was shown at the Ylläs Nature Center’s movie theater during the celebration of the 10th anniversary of the Arctic Circle Heroes Film Club, which runs the theater. Two local short films were selected for the event, and mine was one of them.

The event itself was over quickly, but I was quite grateful to be part of it. We spent the night in the van at the base of the home fells, right by the edge of Pallas-Yllästunturi National Park. We went for a night swim in the rather cold fell lake, where the water nipped and made my skin tingle.

It felt good to move around the familiar fells and my old stomping grounds. I thought the place might stir up some nostalgia—after all, I spent three of the most important and best years of my life there.

But I didn’t find sadness. Instead, I found joy and happiness, knowing that this place was once my home, but also that my home is now exactly where I want it to be.

I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the dark August evenings and the misty, chilly mornings. The month has felt like a prelude to the coming autumn, a time that always seems to bring something new with it. It feels as though the year truly begins in the fall, not in January.

Suddenly, our house is quiet, as the summer cottage residents from our village start returning to their primary homes. Only the few year-round residents remain. And us. For the first time, it’s starting to feel like this might truly be home. A permanent home.

I'm still finding the rhythm for life in this home—how to balance everything and still surround myself with enough silence and peace, which I need like a flower needs water, in order to tap into my creativity and reconnect with myself beneath life's basic routines. Living far away from everything helps with that immensely. Most days, I see just a few of the villagers, if any. I see more reindeer than people.

When I was trying to get a better internet connection, the customer service representative told me that they don't usually say this to customers, but we live so far out and in such a remote place that it's unlikely we'll ever get a strong connection, now or in the foreseeable future. After a moment of frustration—since it usually takes about three days to upload my YouTube videos—the realization started to feel kind of nice. It means I only use the internet for what's absolutely necessary.

I'd choose nature’s own spectacular shows over all the wonders of the internet any day.