a house called nut

Rowing to the edge

Yesterday morning, I stumbled around sleepily (not a morning person) in the dark, dark morning until trumpeting swan calls prompted a glance out the window. Jack Frost had resumed his reign over the lake, and Janne and I decided it was time for what will likely be the last boat ride of the year.

We rowed right to the edge, dipped our hands in the freezing water, and listened to the satisfying crack of the lake's frozen surface as boat met ice.

Some of us remain unconvinced by boats.

"I'd rather be chasing squirrels."

The freezing of the lake coincides with the southern whooper swan migration. These aren't the tame variety that aggressively beg for food in city parks. They've clearly enjoyed a life away from human interruption, and made it pretty clear that we wouldn't get close. But someone did leave behind this feather.

How's your landscape changing?

Happy weekend to all!

Sun therapy, hedgehog bags, and long-lost friends

Just as I was poised to complain bitterly about the last several weeks of freezing rain and seemingly total darkness, the sun decided to make an appearance and suddenly there wasn't so much to moan about. I'm still learning the trick to coping with this time of year, but I think it has a lot to do with slowing down and savoring the indoors...and dashing for the front door whenever the sun gets over its shyness. I miss spending days outside without getting damp and cold, but then there's all that reading and making that would never have gotten done. Still, the brightness of snow will be a welcome respite. Snow, as the Finns say, beautifies.

As for the making that's occupied many indoor hours, here's a little something I stitched for my elder niece's birthday:

It's made of old jeans and an upcycled pillowcase that I scored at a thrift shop. Yes, those are hedgehogs!

I thought the bright pink lining and straps would add enough of an accent so that surface decoration wouldn't be necessary, but after I sewed the whole thing together, it looked a bit dull. That's when I got the clever idea of sewing on applique. Note to self: always add applique to small bags before assembly!

So the stitching is a bit wonky, but apparently this was forgiven. I think I have the hedgehogs to thank for that.

Speaking of thrifting, a couple weeks ago I was reunited with a long-lost, university friend. We'd lived only minutes from each other in Helsinki without ever crossing paths (and anyone who lives anywhere in this small country knows how unlikely that is!) and finally reconnected just as she's emigrating to a place not too far from my home in the US. So we were classmates in London, unknowing neighbors in Helsinki, and now we've more or less swapped countries. 

Which brings me back to thrifting. It turns out my friend has been busy blogging too. I'm slightly embarrassed to reveal that we've been frequenting the same vintage/thrift shops, but while she's emerged with enough content for years of blog posts, I've remained very much a plain Jane. If you enjoy original, offbeat, DIY fashion...and cats!...check out No Signposts in the Sea. I know I'll be reading.

A November morning

Thank you very much for your get well wishes! Between travel and flu attacks, I feel like I've been living in some sort of bizarre time warp for the past month or so, and am really looking forward to a good dose of normal. There's been one happy modification to the definition of 'normal' around here. While I was busy sneezing in another time in a far away galaxy, great changes took place in our backyard and I'm happy to announce that water, hot and cold, once again flows from our taps. Hooray! After four months without running water, it became apparent that the well wasn't sufficient for much of the year, and we now have a clever lake water filtration system. So not only can I now breathe through my nose, I can shower too. Now that's the life.

As I was pondering these strokes of luck on Saturday, I gazed out to the window and found that a new landscape had been painted. The lake is never static and never, ever dull.

There were two curious lumps of snow resting on the ice, which turned out to be a pair of migrating whopper swans. I crunched my way over to them on the frozen ground too excitedly, and they hurried  along on their southward journey.

Some little dogs were happy about the fresh sheet of ice too. The lake in the summer is a menacing place for certain furry creatures, but in the winter it's nothing but a vast playing field. (Not to worry, he's standing near the shore over shallow water.)

The temperature has risen again and all the traces of ice have vanished. This swelling, freezing, and frosting with brief, warm intervals will continue for a little while still. Then the lake will be covered in thick ice and snow and our winter adventures will begin!

Moonbeams

In this blackest and gloomiest of times, it's easy to take for granted some of the wonders we're denied in the celebrated summer months. Like deep, dark skies, bright stars, and penetrating moonlight on a clear, autumn night.

Last week, deadlines and valiant attempts to fit way too much in a day found Janne and me both still awake in the wee hours of a weeknight. Isn't it funny how astral wonders like shooting stars always come at these rather mundane moments? We were exhausted, very ready for bed, and not at all in a romantic, stargazing mood, but who could ignore a sight like this?

Happy weekend to you all from cold, dark Finland! It ain't all bad. I've been on the road and away from internet access this week, but I'll be back next week with some enticing wool accessories and other handmade goodness. Until next time!

First autumn in Pähkinä

Bilberries

Fall-colored dog

View of Pähkinä from the lake

From the other side

A wild currant bush on of the lake's little islands

Good things are happening. It's been raining, and in the best possible way. Huge downpours that give way to gorgeous, sunny days. We even got a trickle of water from the faucet, and I'm hanging onto hope that the well will make a swift recovery. Another wish was granted, and cold weather has swept through, ushering out the mooseflies and leaving the forest a welcoming haven once more. 

Over the weekend, we paddled in the rowboat to the opposite shore and oohed and aahed at the fall landscape. I can't believe how soon the lake will be frozen and boat rides will have to cease. I can't believe how completely different each season is and how distant summer already seems.

Here are some photos from our little boat excursion.

Every now and then we see hot air balloons over the lake. I wonder where they're headed. 

This hungry woodpecker was lodging a pine cone into a notch in an old tree and then hammering away. You can see the pine cone in the second image.

View from the opposite shore.

Now I'm off to prepare for a mini holiday we're taking. Details to follow. I'll just say I'm very, very excited! There will be a couple of blog posts in the meantime, but I'll mostly be away from the computer, so please excuse me if I'm slow responding to comments and emails. Colorful, autumn wishes to you!

Wishing on the equinox

Autumn craft supplies from nature

Fall leaves, always magical.

Is it really here? Could summer have left us already? I'll admit to some summer nostalgia brought on by the numb limbs that come with September swims in Finnish lakes, but this year I'm happier than ever to welcome my favorite season.

Usually, I have three simple wishes for the fall: abundant mushrooms in the forest, as many sunny days as Mother Nature can spare, and just a bit of balmy weather. It's counter-productive, wishful thinking most years, since the Finnish fall is all about wet and cold, though the fungus usually delivers. But this year I've amended my fall wish list: abundant mushrooms in the forest (ok, that one's the same), rain (lots), cold (bitter). The rain and cold, you see, will deliver the residents of this cottage from two small afflictions.

Janne and I recently watched a movie in which a girl flicked on a bathroom faucet and (ta-da) water came out. Pretty pedestrian, right? Not around here. In unison we gasped "water!" You see, we do what that girl does. We do it every single day in hopes that even the smallest trickle will come out, but, alas, the well is still dry. I'm not sure what it was about that faucet scene (I mean, we've both ventured into the outside world of running water in these two months), but ooh was it exciting. So, rain. Rain! Please come. Pour down. Fill up our well. Bring me hot showers and I promise I'll never complain about doing dishes and laundry again!

Now, the cold serves another purpose entirely and is intimately connected to another item on the list, mushrooms. In these parts, gatherer instincts surface in the fall, when the forest undergoes an enchanting, edible fungal blossoming. This year's foraging has been rudely interrupted by the deer keds (or "mooseflies" as they're called in Finnglish) that are congregating in our local forest. Here's what they look like in case you're wondering. Ah, mooseflies. Not even tightly wound headscarves worn under hoods so snug that only eyes and nose remain uncovered will keep them out of my hair. If I had no hair, or less hair, I might mind them less. But icky, hair-burrowing, egg-laying, biting flies are more than this girl can take. Mooseflies, happily, are very sensitive to cold and one good frost is all that's needed for the forest to be hospitable once more. In the meantime, there are lingonberries ripening and mushrooms sprouting and I'm longin' to go a-pickin'.

At least the apples are still keeping us busy!

Do you have any special wishes for the new season?

Color, light

We take a lot of photographs around here of which only a handful appear on the blog. Sometimes the need to coordinate words and images means that pictures I'd have loved to share instead end up collecting dust.

Here's the first assembly of neglected photos--a few of the many rainbows we were audience to over the summer. Happy weekend! Mine will be devoted to apples! What are you up to?

Hello September

I think it’s now safe to say goodbye to summer and to welcome in the new season. Light and temperature change so rapidly in this country that I always feel like I’m adjusting. These days the sun sets “so early” at 8:30, and often by the time I get round to an evening dip in the lake (yes, still swimming!) it’s already dark and cold, and no longer seems like such a fantastic idea. Each season comes with its own joys. In these next few months we’ll enjoy migrating geese, apples, plums, three more months of mushrooms, and the forest’s most colorful performance. Daylight will grow scarce and we’ll spend more time inside with books and projects, pen and paper, and eventually we’ll hope for some real snow and cold to brighten the scene. Once all the leaves have fallen, the landscape will open up and the forest will release this little house from its tight embrace.

The bird cherry tree is leading the march towards fall in our garden.

Rowanberries are another seasonal joy. My friend Helen, partner in cooking and eating well, told me about a crabapple-rowan jelly she’d made and I’m vaguely considering following suit. Do you cook with rowanberries? What do you make?

Until that’s decided, these berries, now drying in a sunny window, are destined for some creative projects. I’ve seen some inventive use of the berries as beads by Swedish Etsy seller Birribe (see here and here), and would like to have a go myself. I have no idea if drying the berries in a windowsill will work...we'll have to wait and see.

Happy September!

Gone camping

view from the tent

Since moving to Finland, stays at countryside cottages and wilderness cabins have been among our favorite holiday options. But these days everyday life is a countryside cottage, and a simple camping trip seemed a better retreat.

We went to a nearby area called Evo to swim, sit around the camp fire, and just enjoy nature and good company.

There was lake with sandy banks to swim in and drink from…



tiny creatures to befriend…



and nature’s beauty to behold.



When we returned we realized there wasn’t a single activity we’d done that couldn’t have been enjoyed right here at the cottage. But there’s still something special about going away…and coming home again.