by Bill Murray
We’re here early this year. June has just gotten started, and after a day or two of intermittent rain with a blustery sky and a stiff wind off Lake Saimaa, fifty degrees Fahrenheit feels a lot colder than the same back in Atlanta. I’ve just learned that it hasn’t been this cold in June since 1968. It snowed today right down the road. The paper took the laconic approach and called it the ‘first snow’ of summer. On the other side of the comfort ledger, we have a fire of easy to light birchwood, and if the Finns understand one thing well, it’s insulation.
We come to Finland every summer. The best time to visit is July into August, when the lakes have had a chance to warm, it never gets completely dark, and saunas and swimming are in full swing. To heat your naked body just past tolerable in an old wooden building and then run screaming and jump in the lake is the national pastime.
It’s not time for that yet. Already the days are long again but this year at least, the nights are still jacket-and-gloves cool down on the water, where the fish are jumping and the bird life thrives.
Never in my life have I heard a swan demonstrate the Doppler effect. But such utter silence reigns in the twilight after midnight, when our bit of the lake is glassy still, that far back to the southeast I heard the steady repetition of a swan’s two-note honking from beyond a stand of spruces.
For perhaps half a minute she approached, wings stroking a meter above the water, neck extended, churning forward and back stroke by stroke, steady honking, and in her wake her cry changed pitch as surely as a two-toned Parisian ambulance on the motorway. She continued the half kilometer further I could see her, flying upstream above the lake, announcing her arrival all along the way. Read more »







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