Life in the North in May
Hello from what feels like the endless winter of the North. I feel like I’ve started so many writings this way already. Yet, here we are, almost mid-May, and the ground is still white, with nearly a meter of snow, and the frost still bites. Thankfully—finally—this week it looks like the nights will no longer dip below freezing, and spring might at last arrive.
Life here is quiet. In May, the North becomes particularly still. There are no tourists, not even in the village centers, and the restaurants and accommodations almost universally close for the entire month, with workers heading off for their "summer" holidays. The roads are empty, the villages quiet, and those of us who stay here wait in silence, with perhaps a little impatience, for summer to finally come.
There are signs of spring in the air. In April and May, the reindeer return. During winter, they are mostly kept in enclosures and fed because there are so many of them, and the winter is so harsh and long that they wouldn’t manage well on their own in the wild. But this time of year, they’re everywhere again—on the roads, in yards, in the forests, on the frozen lakes, and in the fields. The pregnant females (vaatimet) waddle around with their full bellies, and soon a new generation of reindeer will be born. Adorable little calves, moving in sync with their mothers, will soon be wandering about. It’s important to be extra careful on the roads, as these clumsy youngsters stumble wherever they please, trying to figure out how to navigate life on four long, gangly legs.
In the evenings, when the sun still lights up the landscape even at ten o'clock, the reindeer often come to lounge on the ice of our home lake.
Even though the landscape is still white and snowy, nature is starting to come alive. Birds are everywhere now, and their mating rituals fill the once-quiet evenings and early mornings. Black grouse bubble and call on the frozen lake in the evenings, and their courtship songs feel like a real promise that summer is just around the corner. This time of year, we also get some special visitors in the trees around our yard. Flocks of snow buntings sometimes swoop in, fluttering energetically and picking needles from our spruce, while ptarmigans, still in their white feather coats but with black heads now, cackle nearby, and capercaillies burst from the forest with tremendous power.
On a few evenings, a northern hawk owl has perched on top of our home spruce, surveying the vast landscape. Every now and then, it turns its eyes directly towards you, and for a brief moment, you can meet the gaze of this quiet forest predator. It’s a very welcome guest in our yard, as there are plenty of mice here, so it’s free to watch over its territory from our tree for as long as it pleases.
We’ve been doing our best to stay optimistic that summer really is on its way. Just the other evening, I was out measuring where to build the greenhouse, standing on top of the meter-thick crust of snow. If you look on the bright side, it’s easy to draw lines and floor plans in the snow, but it’s still a bit comical to be out there in a hat, sketching a spot for the greenhouse in the snow.
For the past few weeks, we’ve been growing plants for the greenhouse on the south-facing kitchen windowsill. This is my first time starting seedlings myself, and I’m amazed at how well they’ve been doing. We’re planning to grow cucumbers, tomatoes, peppers, cabbage, herbs, and different types of lettuce in the garden and greenhouse. Valuable food crops will be bordered by marigolds, which apparently help keep some pests away naturally. The potatoes are sprouting in the corner of the living room; the neighbor brought over several varieties. I gave him some bread as a thank-you, of course. It’s wonderful to see new life growing on the kitchen table, even though just a few days ago, fresh snow was falling outside the window.
While waiting for summer to arrive, I’ve been spending my time baking and knitting. I started sourdough baking last September, and it feels like I’m only now beginning to understand its secrets. The bread always tastes good, but its appearance has been at the mercy of luck and whatever magical forces might be at play. After dozens and dozens of baking sessions, I’m starting to understand the pieces that make the bread rise beautifully, how to draw lovely patterns on the surface with a sharp razor blade, and how the bread behaves in the oven.
It’s wonderful to see how much you’re learning and discovering. The fact that almost everything can be learned from the internet, whether through videos, texts, or images, is amazing. If you’ve been thinking about picking up a new skill—whether it’s watercolor painting, starting a vegetable garden, changing car oil, beginning ceramics, learning yoga, or running a marathon—chances are someone has already explained it online. You don’t always need a course or a teacher (though they can be helpful), you can teach yourself. Try it out, explore, Google it. It will take time, and learning doesn’t always happen on the first try. But maybe by the tenth attempt, you’ll start to see progress. Or maybe by the fiftieth. But it will happen eventually. Give it a try.
In addition to baking and waiting for summer, I also try to get outside every now and then. In May, it’s tricky because the snow might not support skis anymore, but the only paths are thawed, and trudging along them can get a bit monotonous. So I try to choose trails that have been packed down during winter and are still frozen enough to support a walker’s weight. Snowflakes drift onto my face, and the landscape is often covered in a springtime snow haze, but the fresh air and the completely tranquil nature still work wonders.
My sister has come to stay with us for a while, and yesterday we went to check out what Riisitunturi looks like in May. It was very quiet. We were the only people there. Usually, there are at least a few cars in the parking lot, but this time it was completely empty. The mountain is still covered in a thick layer of snow, and at the summit, winter clothing was definitely necessary because the snow still radiates cold, and the mountain winds amplify that chill.
The trip was enjoyable nonetheless. As always, it felt like my soul was being cleaned on the vast summit of the mountain, surrounded by a blue-and-white color palette. We had our picnic at the top, and as a result of a rather silly idea, we "shortcut" down the snow. The snow supported us for about ten steps before giving way, dropping us a meter or so. We both stumbled and laughed as we struggled on the snow, which no longer supported our weight. Eventually, we made our way back to the more established trail, mixing crawling with walking. At least we had fun!
Back home, I managed to clear a small snow-free patch by the porch, where I planned to put a couple of garden chairs on a sunny weekend. I shoveled snow for quite a while, working hard and huffing and puffing to get the stubborn slush to yield and reveal the ground beneath. However, I had forgotten that the garden furniture was put away in the barn last fall, and in front of the barn door, there's a snowbank more than a meter high, which has melted and refrozen into an even denser block of ice in the sun. I couldn’t even open the door a crack, and moving the icy snow mass was completely impossible. It looks like we’ll have to wait for the sun to take care of it. Garden seating will probably have to wait until around Midsummer.
Even the longest-time residents in the village say that this winter has been the longest and snowiest in living memory. I dug up a photo from last year’s Mother’s Day and took a new one from the same spot yesterday. It clearly shows the snow depth and how much further along spring was last year. At least this first winter has really tested us from the start; hopefully, next winter will feel a bit easier.
Mother’s Day 2023
Mother’s Day 2024
I hope you’re experiencing some springtime vibes or at least a spring-like spirit. There’s so much sunshine and new, inspiring energy in the air. Spring brings everything to life in a fresh new way.
Warm thoughts to you.
♥ Sanna