Spring Updates on April

I’m not sure if spring actually exists here in the same way it does elsewhere. We’re on the brink of April, but the snow still blankets everything with over a meter of depth (in our yard, there’s even more because the wind brings an extra daily supply from the lake and deposits it on our front lawn). Temperatures drop to around twenty below at night, and the landscape remains a frozen wonderland.

While the calendar tells us it’s spring, the environment seems to hold onto winter's grasp tightly. The contrast between the northern spring and the more familiar southern spring is striking. Here, it’s a slow, gradual transition, with winter still very much in control..

One day away can result in snowbanks reaching a meter in height on the driveway. There will be shoveling to do before we can get the car out of the yard.

You can tell it’s spring by the abundance of daylight. The light sneaks through the bedroom window before six o’clock in the morning and doesn’t set until late in the evening. Strangely enough, spring light doesn’t invigorate me; quite the opposite. Every spring, around this time, I experience a profound spring fatigue. It’s not due to difficulty sleeping (I can sleep anywhere and anytime); it seems that adjusting to the light drains my mind and body of energy, leaving me perpetually tired. With a touch of nostalgia, I miss the dark days and early mornings. The time I’ve enjoyed stargazing and witnessing the northern lights during winter is gradually dwindling day by day.

We have been skiing on the lake ice frequently. Even though there is still plenty of snow, it is now thick enough to support skiing, making all the forests, lakes, and rivers into pathways. It feels like immense freedom to be able to set out on an exploration in any direction from our home, stay out for as long as we like, and return to the warmth of our cabin at the end of the day. It's something I wouldn't trade for anything, even if someone offered me a million for it.

Spring—or actually late winter, since there isn’t a true spring up north—is the least enjoyable season for me. No, I don’t hate it and it isn’t bad, but if I have to choose, spring ends up at the bottom. The fatigue brought on by the increasing daylight and the feeling that everything is rushed in the spring contribute to this. Spring brings many tourists to the north (although you don't notice it in our village, you do at the store), and they always seem to be in a hurry. Hurry to do what? Maybe to make the most of their vacation? Who knows. I don’t blame anyone. If you drive a long distance to get here for a week, it’s understandable that you want to see and experience as much as possible.

But it feels strange.

Recently, E and I were having a lunch of sandwiches at a backcountry cabin along a ski trail. We sat there for a good while, sipping coffee peacefully, and marveled at how people kept coming into the cabin as if it were a mountain restaurant. Everyone would quickly stop by, someone would sign the guestbook with a flourish, and then they’d head out with their skis clattering. This happened repeatedly. No one stayed to sit, no one took a moment to rest. Yes, it might have been because we were already there, but there was plenty of room for more people to sit, and I don’t think we looked particularly unfriendly. I was left bewildered, wondering why everyone seemed to be in such a hurry. The nearest cabins or even the road were about five kilometers away, so they would still have had to ski slowly to leave.

Even though there is still a lot of snow in the yard (and it seems to mysteriously keep increasing), summer has begun to creep into my thoughts. Before moving here, I didn’t really care much for summer, but now it feels like a magical time. Pleasantly warm, mosquito-free (on our mountain top, the wind is so strong that no mosquitoes thrive here), flower-filled, and a peaceful coexistence with nature. I wander around the yard on two meters of snow, and with my eyes, I measure where to expand the garden, where to build a greenhouse, and how to arrange the new planting beds. Summer plant seeds have already been ordered, but nothing has been started yet, as they won’t be ready to grow outside until after Midsummer. At the same time, people in southern Finland will already be harvesting Midsummer potatoes for the table. Quite amusing.

Semi-secretly, I've also been dreaming of getting some sheep for us. With our current resources, it's not quite possible yet—we don't have enough pastureland on our own property or a building to provide them with shelter, but both can be found in the village. The rest is probably a matter of discussion. Although our village has houses and residents, we rarely see each other. The library bus that visits twice a month is a great place to catch up, as it usually gathers at least half of the villagers. Otherwise, you can infer the houses are inhabited by the smoke columns rising from their chimneys and the plowed driveways. Everyone tries to weather the winter in the shelter of their own cabin. Occasionally, the neighbor will come by for a midday coffee during his walk, and we chat for a while in rocking chairs about the world, or more likely, the happenings in our own village.

There are already sheep in one of the village houses. I sometimes bring them our dried bread. When baking, there are occasional mistakes or a piece of dough might be forgotten on the board to dry out, so I take it to the neighboring house on a kick sled and feed it to the sheep and chickens. It doesn’t go to waste. At the same time, I ask about sheep-keeping and help with barn chores. It's familiar work from my childhood. The sheep are incredibly tame, eagerly jostling for scratches.

Otherwise, spring is progressing slowly. It's wonderful to observe the colorful changes in the horizon brought by the increasing light. The landscape transforms like a living painting every day, and it's easy to track the increase in daylight by seeing how far the sun reaches along the ridge before it sets. Soon, it will circle the entire ridge without setting behind it at all. But until then, we get to enjoy these natural paintings morning and evening.

Here are the spring updates. At times, it feels like nothing is happening here, and maybe it won’t. Perhaps that’s the most interesting thing in the midst of all this digital chaos. That somewhere, nothing happens.

Wishing you a lovely anticipation of spring. I’m glad you take the time to be here and read my writings. Recently, the focus has naturally shifted to my videos, which I do update here as well, but mostly on my YouTube channel. There, you can get a glimpse of my daily life and my not-so-eventful existence. You’re welcome to check it out.

A new video about spring life will be coming there soon. See you! ❤️

♥ Sanna