It’s not easy to reach. Getting there takes a bit of time and effort. And you need some kind of watercraft. We either row or paddle our way there.

Gliding on the water, I admire my children, who always handle it so well and are so brave and confident.

Then we arrive. The paddleboards are tied to a tree, and the rocky shore receives us firmly and protectively.

So close to the cottage, and yet so far away. Worries are forgotten. As if the waves of the journey had washed them away. All everyday things feel distant. It feels light to be here.

Water has gathered into small pools in the hollows of the rock, and what a joy it is to float tiny boats there. I pour myself a cup of coffee and sit with the feeling of quiet happiness that always finds me when I am here.

And the views are amazing. The island is a lush green world, full of interesting things to explore. The sky and the lake are such a calm blue that it is hard to believe there could be anything else beyond them. Here, everything feels as it should be. People are close, yet there is peace everywhere. Nature is a value in itself, and we as humans are only small within it, moving respectfully in its presence.

And coffee… it tastes best right here. When I pour it into my kuksa, my wooden outdoor cup, and feel its warmth in my fingers. The best part is really the thought itself, not so much the taste. The thought that I can simply be here now, to root myself in this moment. The cup helps me to ground myself. The drink in my cup is like an hourglass, one whose flow I can control myself.

The bracelet my son made rests on my wrist and makes me smile. It was immediately clear to him that my bracelet could say “coffee,” and it suits these moments perfectly.

A boat passes us, and soon the waves follow. They hit the rocky shore, bringing a small sense of tension. As if reminding us: the lake could be wild, unruly, even dangerous. After the waves, the calm lake feels, if possible, even safer.

When everyone has that tiredness on their eyelids that comes from fresh air, we set off on the way back. There is always someone who would like to stay a little longer. I would too.

But sometimes, you have to go back.

Still, I can always find my way back here — by closing my eyes.

In March, people walking on the sea ice in the Gulf of Finland were surprised. The ice was bright red. The sight was almost surreal. However, it was a natural phenomenon. The cause was bladderwrack, and the phenomenon was actually very positive.

Bladderwrack is a species of brown algae with tough, olive‑green fronds. It has a leathery texture and contains air-filled bladders that keep it floating toward the surface. It can live at depths of up to 10 meters, although it is most commonly found at around 2.5 meters.

Bladderwrack once nearly disappeared from the Finnish coast, but its population has since recovered. It shelters young fish and countless small organisms — shrimp, amphipods, isopods, mussels, and sea snails. These, in turn, feed many fish species and coastal birds. Large amounts of bladderwrack washed ashore also play an important role as egg-laying sites for grass snakes.

Bladderwrack is an indicator of the state of underwater nature. That is why the red-colored sea ice, despite its dramatic appearance, was actually a positive sign.

Bladderwrack has always been a resourceful species — a quiet treasure of the shoreline. It has been used for dyeing yarns and fabrics, as fertilizer, for soil improvement, as famine food, and as a traditional remedy. Today, it is also used in cosmetics due to its antioxidant properties and its ability to support collagen production.

Yet its deepest work happens where no one sees it. It remains one of the Baltic Sea’s most important foundation species. Somewhere in the slow sway of the Baltic, the bladderwrack keeps doing what it always does, holding the coastline together, its quiet work continuing beneath the waves.

Share Grow Wild in Forest Soil

We spent the whole day on an island in the Gulf of Finland, exploring, fishing, and simply enjoying being there. It was me, my partner, our three children, my father, and his partner. Come along, and I’ll show you the beautiful marine nature of the Baltic Sea awakening in spring.

In this same boat, I have spent many trips from my childhood on these same waters. My father has had this same boat for over 30 years, and many journeys have been made on the Baltic Sea with it. Perhaps it is precisely because of those trips that the islands still fascinate me to this day.

Our 6yo daughter smiled happily for the whole boat trip with sand shovel and bucket on her hands. She was waiting for a sandy beach. On our way, we saw many birds: cormorants, swans, geese, and of course plenty of seagulls. We passed many interesting islands and saw many beautiful smooth rock surface stretching along the shoreline.

We landed on one of these rocky shores. There was hardly any sand at all, which slightly puzzled the 6yo, but the children quickly started playing on the rocks. Water had gathered in the hollows of the rock, and it was fun to scoop it into buckets. It was also nice to dip their hands into the water and feel the slimy surface of the seaweed.

Our 9yo discovered the remains of a great spotted woodpecker under the pine tree, and we gathered its beautiful feathers, feeling sad about the bird’s fate.

My father set up his whitefish fishing rods. A worm is placed on the hook, and it is cast far out into the water. The rod is set upright into a crack in the rock, and a small bell is attached to it to signal when the rod starts to move. This is a fun way to fish, because it doesn’t rule out doing other things while waiting for a catch.

My partner and I went to light a campfire to make coffee. We had a nice moment together, listening to the crackling fire and slowly finishing the sentences left unfinished during the busy day.

After we had all had coffee together, my partner and I went to explore further along the island’s shoreline. We climbed among the rocks, exploring what we could find between them. The sun was really warming there, and we took off our jackets and were just in T-shirts.

We found beautiful pebbles, seaglass and shells, which we collected in our hands. Seaglass is nature’s way of turning waste into beauty. Once sharp, dangerous glass litter, now a treasure shaped by the waves, sand, and sunlight into something smooth and rounded.

I found myself thinking: Somehow, like the seaglass itself, things that were once sharp and difficult can be softened by time, movement, and growth.

The children had moved on to building a miniature world on a mossy area. At this point, the fishing rod rang, and my father caught the first and only whitefish.

We cooked meal over the campfire. While eating, my father began to recall boat trips from 20 years ago. Near this very island, marine research vessel had been anchored for several weeks. After it left, my father and his brother went diving at the site with their own boat to see what might have ended up on the seabed. They found, among other things, several filleting knives and a washing machine. My father shook his head; he could not understand why anyone would throw a washing machine into the sea.

The Baltic Sea is one of the most polluted seas in the world. Its salinity is low due to a large drainage basin and only a narrow connection to the oceans. For the same reason, water exchange is slow, and therefore environmental toxins and nutrients can affect the Baltic Sea for a long time.

It saddens me that our sea is in such poor condition. In the past, people treated the seas with negligence, and all kinds of things were thrown and discharged into them. There is still a lot to be done, but fortunately things are moving in a better direction. It is a pity that problems are often addressed only once the damage has been done, even though the Baltic Sea has shown some signs of recovery.

At the end of the day, we returned to the mainland and lifted the boat out of the water. We were tired, but in a quiet, content kind of way — the kind that comes after a day spent fully outside in the fresh sea air.

I can’t wait to get back on the water again. Our long summer holiday will once again include a lot of time at our summer cottage on the shores of Lake Päijänne, boating, paddling, and admiring Finland’s beautiful nature.

The children immediately sank into play among the fallen tree trunks, and in the roots they built small homes for their little figures. The tree’s roots formed a kind of apartment, with each hollow like its own little room.

We also played battle beam game (Finnish: pukkitaistelu) on the fallen tree trunk, trying to knock each other off. It helps develop balance and is a lot of fun.

While they were playing, I thought about how easy parenting is in the forest. The forest is a safe place to play, full of endless opportunities for inventing imaginative games. They could have played there peacefully all day. I just admired them and their ideas.

As a parent, it delights me to watch them play outdoors, knowing how beneficial it is for children. Walking in the uneven forest terrain and climbing over stumps and roots helps develop their motor skills, and exposure to the forest’s important microbes has been shown to boost immunity.

We admired the beautiful cycle of nature, inspired by the decaying trees. I felt proud as the children were able to explain on their own how fungi and insects decompose the tree, returning its nutrients to the soil.

Children develop a strong connection with nature when they spend a lot of time outdoors. And a child with a strong bond to nature grows up to become an adult who respects and cares for our planet. This is what it truly means to Grow Wild in Forest Soil!

We stopped for a snack break on a windy hill. Our 4yo had chosen this spot for our picnic and was already sitting there so sweetly, on a fallen tree trunk, waiting. For us adults, it wasn’t quite thick enough to sit on comfortably, but that didn’t matter.

My partner had packed Karelian rice pies and a sweet bread loaf. While eating, we counted how many different kinds of moss we could find on the hill. If I remember correctly, the children found six.

Then we reached a gravel road, and my partner and the children made a stream from a big puddle toward the ditch. The water flowed across the road into the ditch, and it was fun to place all kinds of natural materials into the flowing water and watch them float. They could have continued this play for who knows how long.

At the end, we saw a few real signs of spring: a brimstone butterfly, a bustling ant nest, and a caterpillar that had ended up on top of a large, shady ice patch. We helped it move to a slightly sunnier spot.

As we headed home, I felt grateful for these simple moments — the sun, the forest, and the joy in children’s eyes. Spring was truly awakening all around us.

We set off from the cottage and walked across the ice. The sky was an unreal, bright blue. The frost was sharp, and the sun was shining from a completely cloudless sky. The trees were covered with a layer of snow, which made the landscape truly beautiful.

We first headed to Swan Island, where the rock is split, creating a natural window. The children immediately found things to do: they climbed around the island and shook the trees so that snow drifted beautifully down.

There were beautiful icicles under the shoreline rocks, which they collected and played with. They also crawled through the rock window several times. The atmosphere felt very unreal because the world looked so unusual — as if we had landed on a strange new planet.

Then we arrived at our familiar destination, Mother’s Day Island, where we lit a fire and enjoyed the scenery.

I can’t wait for spring, when we can come here by water as before: paddling, rowing, or with my son’s small boat. Here is an autumn post from the same island:

For many people, a familiar place in nature becomes a source of safety and calm. The place can also be something very simple, like a bench in a nearby park or a bird feeder in your own yard. The best part is that you can return there just by closing your eyes and imagining it.

This island is that place for me. When life feels busy and stressful, and I don’t have time to go outside, I take a few minutes for myself and imagine that I am on the island.

I imagine the journey: sometimes I paddle, sometimes I walk across the ice. On the island, I sit here by the fire pit or on the rock on the shoreline and watch my children playing. They are in the safest place in the world: with me, on the cozy island, under the bluest sky.

By the fire, the sharp bite of the frost felt a little less harsh for a while. A hot drink and the crackling fire brought that comforting outdoor feeling that makes winter trips like this worth it.

We grilled some food and made hot chocolate and coffee. Despite the strong frost, no one felt cold.

Places like this slowly become part of you. No matter the season, the island is always waiting.

Inspired by the song lyrics “Päivänsäde ja menninkäinen” by Reino Helismaa (1949), this tale follows its light into the night.

The Last Sunbeam and the Goblin

The sun had set behind the forest, and the last golden rays shimmered beyond the trees. The final sunbeam still lingered among the trunks, daydreaming after the others had gone.

She had not hurried, but dawdled instead. She caressed the moss, balanced along a tree fallen by the storm, and paused to admire a spider’s web where the evening moisture gathered into tiny drops.

The goblin had just awakened in his cave and crept out into the dusky forest. The quiet of the night suited him. In the darkness, small things grew large: the scent of moss, the snap of a twig beneath his feet, the low whispers of the night wind in the treetops.

But that was not the only reason. The goblin’s eyes were sensitive to light. Had he left his cave during the day, he would have been blinded.

So he had learned to live alone, in his own company, in the dark. The forest was his home — but only at night. By the time dawn arrived, he would already have returned to his cave.

As the goblin walked on, he suddenly sensed that something was different from usual. The dusk had not yet settled over the forest. The last sunbeam stood before him, beautiful and bright. The sunbeam gazed at him in wonder, her head slightly tilted, at this strange figure she had never encountered before.

But the goblin felt something stir within him. Like night moths fluttering inside him. The world filled with color, and wandering through the forest gained meaning. He felt a longing — a desire to take the sunbeam with him. He lifted his hand toward the light and stepped closer. The sunbeam felt the goblin’s touch. It felt gentle.

“Hi,” said the goblin boldly.

“Hi,” replied the sunbeam, questioningly.

“I’ve never seen anything like you before. Even though my eyes tingle, you are wonderful.”

The sunbeam smiled, and the smile was beautiful; it made the goblin feel certain of himself. Suddenly, everything felt full of meaning, and nothing felt more important than bringing the sunbeam into his world, into the darkness, to dwell together forever.

”Come, with me. I will take you to my cave, where the darkness is gentle, and you’ll be safe by my side. I will make you happy.”

The sunbeam closed her eyes for a moment and whimpered: “Oh, I can’t. I cannot live in the dark. I must leave very soon.”

The goblin’s eyes went dim. A wave of sorrow washed over him “Don’t go.”

“I have to. If I don’t leave now, I will die.”

The goblin lifted his hand once more, and the sunbeam responded to the touch. She lingered warmly on the goblin’s skin, climbing gently to caress his tangled hair and rough beard. The goblin closed his eyes, and a bitter tear rolled down his cheek.

When he opened them, the last sunbeam was gone. The forest had grown twilight; soon it would be fully dark. The goblin’s eyes now filled with tears.

So the sunbeam was gone, yet the goblin still wanders through the night forest, lost in his thoughts. Even now, he remembers the sunbeam — her warmth and brightness, her beauty. But he cannot understand how anyone could live only in the daylight, while another could live only in darkness.

And though the sunbeam has vanished, her light lingers softly in the goblin’s heart forever.

The original song was composed and written by Reino Helismaa, and performed by Tapio Rautavaara in 1949. Over the years, the song has been performed by many different artists.

If you want to hear a beautiful version of this song, here’s a link: [link]

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The lake was completely frozen, beneath a blanket of snow. The ice was making mournful sounds, like it was stretching and groaning under the weight of the winter, sending long, low ululations across the silent, snow-covered expanse.

The snow crunched beneath our feet as we set off walking along the forest path. The moon hung high in the sky, illuminating the sparkling snow with its bright glow.

Whenever I look at the stars, I can’t help but think of all those who gazed at the same stars long ago. Back when the world had no electric lights, no factories, no cities. When people lived in the forest and made their lives from it. They must have looked at the stars very often, as it was one of the few moving pictures besides the changing landscapes and weather.

At that time, patterns began to emerge in the sky. Back then, no one yet fully understood what those bright lights were. People noticed that the same patterns appeared in the sky according to the yearly cycle. They began to look for familiar shapes, such as the bear, the hunter, the goat…

We saw many constellations on our night walk. In the photo above, Orion is visible in the center, just above the top of the spruce. Orion’s Belt consists of the three stars in a straight line, and the row of stars below them forms Orion’s Sword. In the upper right corner of the image, the star cluster is the Pleiades, also known as the Seven Sisters — in Japan called Subaru, which is where the car brand gets its name and logo.

In many cultures, the lower part of the constellation Orion — below Orion’s Belt — has been seen as a weapon or tool. In Finnish folklore, this part of Orion is called the ‘Kaleva’s Sword,’ a reference to the heroic figures and ancient stories of Finland’s national epic Kalevala.

The snow muffled the world, making everything feel quiet and distant, as if time itself had slowed down. But it was not truly silent. The ice’s lament could be heard from the lake, beyond the trees. It was like the northern wind or the whisper of the aurora, mysterious and far beyond human understanding. From a distance, it sounded more like singing.

I was thinking: How small we are in the universe, and yet how heavy our lives can feel. And yet, here on this tiny planet, every life is vast from the inside. A single moment — a hand in yours, the crisp air of a winter forest, the quiet before night settles — can hold more meaning than entire galaxies.

Returning to the cabin never felt so comforting. The fire crackled in the fireplace, and it was warm inside, even though it was -20°C outside.

We settled on a sheepskin in front of the fire and fell asleep, while the ice howled through the night and the stars twinkled in the sky until the first light of dawn.

First, let’s walk across the ice to Mother’s Day Island, a little wooded haven in the waters off our cottage. It’s a regular spot for our trips with the children — the same island we skied to a few weeks ago. Even in winter, it feels wonderfully hygge, a cozy living room in the middle of the icy lake.

The cold forces me offline. With two layers of gloves — woolen mittens underneath and leather gloves on top — I don’t feel like looking at my phone or reacting to its vibrations. It’s great, because the cold deepens my sense of presence and pulls my attention fully to where I am. But I still want to capture moments. To take photos, I zoom with my nose if needed and press the side button, which works even through the gloves.

Dressing warmly is a skill. During winter, you learn what combinations work and what don’t. Right now, for example, I need three layers of wool socks under my iconic Finnish Kuoma winter boots. I wore the same kind of shoes as a child, and now my own children wear them too.

Underneath, I have a wool base layer, then an inner clothing layer, and on top, my winter outerwear. In such extreme cold, I always wear two thick sweaters underneath. My insulated winter jacket and pants are preferably a bit roomy rather than tight, so that air can circulate between the layers. The trapped air creates an insulating layer that keeps me warm.

The amount of light has increased dramatically. Just a month ago, it got dark by 3 pm, but now there’s still light until 5 pm. It feels surprisingly long. Now it’s easy to get outside twice during daylight. These photos were taken at 1 pm.

Just a few days ago, on January 17th, the polar night ended in northern Finland, and the sun rose for the first time in two months. There, in Nuorgam, each day during polar night is like our brief blue hour in the afternoon down south. The blue is incredible, and the snow, moon, and northern lights illuminate the landscape.

Here in southern Finland, there is no polar night, only the gentle rhythm of shortening and lengthening days. First the days shorten toward the end of the year, and then slowly, almost imperceptibly, days start to grow again

Here is a short video capturing the mood of the first island.
[zoom the screen to make it full screen]

The shoreline rocks are glazed in bright ice, and on one large icy boulder, the grasses sparkle like crystal. Behind it, the island filter sunlight through its trees onto the frozen lake.

The ice lets out a few sharp cracks — perhaps new cracks form somewhere under the snow. Let’s continue toward the next, smaller island.

Swan Island is a tiny island made from a single rock. The rock is split in the middle, and from the crevice opens a window with a lake view, framed by a young pine. That rocky window is like real art — like a natural installation, made by Earth.

In summer, we rowed here and the children crawled through the gap (link to the post). Now they wouldn’t fit, all bundled up in thick winter clothes.

Surprisingly, it feels quite warm now, even when I briefly take a glove off. Movement helps keep warm, and walking briskly from one island to another warmed my body.

This island is mostly covered with pines. They look incredibly beautiful as the low sun casts its light between the trunks. Somewhere far off on the shore, a woodpecker taps softly. It’s the only sound you can hear besides your own breath and the crunch of snow. The world has fallen silent.

Did you enjoy this lake walk? I did, very much! I don’t mind the cold when I’m dressed warmly enough. Out in the freezing air, it can be just as comfortable as indoors. And the best feeling is coming back inside after fresh outdoor air — feeling energized and full of life!

The half-moon hangs above like a quiet witness, not asking anything. You sense you’ve stepped into a place that exists only while you’re passing through it. The World of Dreams.

We were there. When we descended into the valley formed by the rolling fields, we stepped straight into the mist. I felt the mist around me, even felt it as I breathed. The dry winter cold had turned damp, and we looked at everything through the gray veil of fog.

5yo said it first: “ Is this dream?” And indeed it was! We waded in the fog, we breathed it, we filled our lungs with it. And the split moon watched as if it had always known we would pass this way.

We trudged through the white snow. It was dry, powdered frost, like white, light sand — dream sand. The moon hung split in half. I began to wonder — maybe the moon itself is the source of the dream sand, and the Sandman has grated it here, scattering it over the world while we slept, while we wandered.

Then we suddenly felt a rush! The gates of the dream world were about to close, and we had to reach them before that happened. Mist curled around our ankles as we ran, the snow crunching under our feet, and the half-moon watched silently above, as if urging us onward.

Behind us remained silence, and our traces in the snow. The footprints led home. The blue hour began. The moon stayed.

The world of dreams remained folded into the edges of the mist and the frost, a quiet place that waited patiently for the next wanderer.

This post is part of the Enchanted Stories section. Let your coffee freeze over as you click it to enter more imaginative worlds!

First, my partner and 9yo went walking out onto the ice to drill a few holes and check that the ice was thick enough. Currents can be tricky. The ice, however, was about 20 cm thick at each test hole.

The younger kids skied on the cottage shore while we adults were still packing. So 3yo didn’t have the energy to ski by the time we left. That was fine — she got to sit in the pulk (a Nordic sled for carrying children and gear) on a sheepskin and enjoy the scenery.

In the morning, I had been worrying that we probably wouldn’t see any sun all day. The sky and snow were the same shade of gray. Yet, once we got properly moving, my mood changed. The day was, in its own way, really beautiful and special.

5yo skied quickly at first and couldn’t wait for the rest of us, but once we caught up to her, the situation reversed: we had to wait for her. She kept stopping to reflect on how we had been paddleboarding in the same spots during the summer.

I completely understand — it feels amazing to think that I was in the same spot on the water with soft waves around me in the summer, and now I was standing in the same place on a hard surface on skis.

We reached the shore of the island. On our right was small Moss Island, where we’ve taken small trips throughout the summer, both in my son’s boat and on paddleboards. But we turned left, behind a larger island.

Our plan was to reach the rocky spot and fire pit on the far side, where we had stayed overnight and taken day trips in the summer. We’ve named the island Mother’s Day Island because we first visited it on Mother’s Day. That time, we made a cake there and explored the island.

We stopped to admire the icicles formed under a large shoreline rock. I literally ran aground on my skis. A few rocks were just barely above the ice surface, hidden under the snow. I skied straight into them and fell.

From the other side of the island, a beautiful, eerie sight revealed itself. Little Swan Island rose like a quiet sentinel against the endless white. Like the last place on earth, untouched and still. The final stop for humankind, a place where those who leave pause for a moment of rest before continuing their journey into eternity.

We reached the fire pit on Mother’s Day Island. We climbed from the ice onto the land, and my partner immediately started building a fire. The fire spot is simple, just a few stones around it. The kids watched with curiosity as he used a fire steel to start the fire.

We had hot chocolate (of course, it’s a must for a winter ski trip!), meatballs, Karelian pasties and cinnamon rolls. We made cowboy coffee, which is made with just water, coffee, and a coffee pot over a campfire. You can start it as soon as the fire is lit, even directly on the burning logs or you can hang it with a thick stick.

Cowboy coffee tastes like pure magic. You know how everything somehow tastes better outdoors? This isn’t just that. The landscape and the weather add their own special flavors to the coffee. It never tastes the same twice, and sometimes it’s so good that when you remember the trip, that particular cup of coffee comes to mind as well.

Cowboy coffee

I don’t measure anything myself. I let the water boil and then add the coffee grounds — better a bit too much than too little. I put the pot back on the fire, and once it boils, I take it off.

The coffee needs to be shocked by tapping the pot. You can do this however you like. I usually tap the pot gently against a rock or a piece of wood. Then we wait a moment for the grounds to settle at the bottom. You can pour a little out before filling your cup, so the grounds left in the spout don’t end up in the coffee.

We returned along the other side of the island. 5yo moved along quite slowly, and 3yo fell asleep in the pulk. 9yo could have easily skied a much longer distance.

On the horizon, three rounded stretches of the mainland were visible. Each one was wrapped in fog to a different degree — the farthest barely visible, the middle one a little clearer, and the closest standing out the most. Taking pictures in this kind of weather was an experience of its own. The photos could be almost completely white, except for the dark outline of the shoreline.

At the end, there’s also a photo of some ice fishers, who turned out to be the only other people on the ice besides us.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. This last one seems to have lost them somewhere in the snow.

Thank you for skiing along! ♡

We are lucky to live close to the forest. We can get there by crossing the field. At the edge of the forest, there is a large, steep rock that we sled down. We took sleds and sliders with us and set off as a whole family.

First, we crossed the nearby park to reach the field. In this ditch, the children have often floated their little boats, wading through the muddy bottom. Now the ditch was completely frozen, and the kids enjoyed running across the ice and listening to the faint sound of water flowing beneath the thick ice.

At the edge of the field, there were many beautiful winter stalks covered in frost. I believe this is fireweed. After the feathery seeds leave in late summer, delicate curls remain, and the frost, together with the sun, gives them a natural sparkling finish.
I filmed a short video — hopefully it captures at least a bit of that sparkle. ⭒₊˚.

After crossing the field, we arrived at a rock slope where the forest begins. My son rode it on a snowboard. The youngest one went down on sleds.

The rock has been a popular sledding spot in our village in the past, and my own grandfather even did ski jumps there. Back then, they built a ski jump tower at the top of the rock, and about halfway down the slope there was a wooden jump. I wouldn’t join in such wild activities myself!

This time, my 5yo and I left the rest of the family to sled down the hill — my partner leading the charge — and slipped away, just the two of us, to explore the edge of the forest. She’s a true little nature lover. She adores plants, mushrooms, and all those tiny details in nature that I also love to examine up close. She’s always happy to head outdoors with me, no matter where we go or how long we stay.

I like this stage when there’s plenty of snow, but it doesn’t yet cover all the vegetation. We explored animal tracks. It was fun to notice the mouse and hare tracks crossing each other. 5yo, of course, thought they had walked there at the same time, probably greeting each other.

We saw the bracket fungi we had seen before in this familiar forest, now covered in snow. They were delightful sight, and looked good enough to eat. Like little cakes. Especially this one was funny in 5yo’s eyes, with its little holes on the underside.

We crossed the frozen ditch and came upon the swing. This swing is mysterious— perhaps forest spirits left it here. Sometimes it sways gently as we approach, as if an elf had just been playing on it, then vanished at the sound of our footsteps. We thought we glimpsed tiny tracks on the ground, and after swinging for a while, we quietly followed them into the forest.

The forest looked enchanting. The blueberry sprigs still stood upright and fresh in the snow, delicate against the frost. Sunlight filtered through the trees, making the snow sparkle, and everywhere seemed bathed in warmth.

Snow clung to the branches, outlining every twig and creating tiny crystalline patterns that caught the light like miniature jewels.

Time felt suspended here — each step on the soft snow echoed in the quiet, and the distant, faint laughter of the others seemed to belong to another world, far away. The forest felt both alive and timeless, a place where even the bitterest cold could not take away its magic.

We reached a large rock where a puddle forms on top. 5yo climbed up to check if the puddle had frozen — and sure enough, it had!

Between the rocks, soft moss grew on stone wall, and frost had spun tiny, delicate icy feathers across it. Or perhaps an icy little bird had flitted its wings there so furiously that it left traces of its sparkling plumage behind.

Then it was time to head back home. The sledders were already ready to leave, and I told 5yo that we needed to return to the others and go home. She said she didn’t want to. “I want to stay here in the forest with you forever, Mom.” My heart, though a little frosted in this bitter cold, melted. I promised we would come back again soon. I took this photo of our hands to keep this moment with me forever. ♥

The frost-covered winter stalks stood along the edge of the field, welcoming the first sunrise of the year wrapped in their icy coats. The streets were empty. It felt like we were the only people awake. The snow creaked under our feet. Even the ditch that usually flows fast had frozen completely solid. The world had frozen still.

The frost had formed tiny feather-like crystals. I photographed them with numb fingers. Year after year, the same thing amazes me: how nature can be so beautiful and ever-changing, full of surprises.

Even in the coldest mornings, even under layers of ice and snow, there is always something new to notice. Even still, I sometimes forget, and I don’t feel like going outside. This year, I want to pay more attention to those small wonders. To let the quiet moments shape my days, and find joy in the simple rhythm of the world around me.

My new year won’t include promises or lifestyle changes. It will arrive quietly, the way light does on a frozen morning. One day following another, almost unnoticed. The cycle of the year is far more essential than artificial calendar periods.

I hope this year takes us slowly, gently, and closer to what truly matters — to quiet mornings, to walks in frost-covered fields, to noticing the small wonders that often go unseen.
May it remind us to pause, to breathe, and to appreciate the world as it is. ♡

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As I approached the river, the first thing I saw was this frozen ditch, shown in the first image, and I crouched down to admire it up close. While looking at the dark water surface and the fresh green leaves, something bubbled up under the ice. I heard the words: ‘Bring my secret sculptures to light.’ So here I am, sharing with you these amazing artworks of Mr. Ice!

This one is my favourite, and its name is Feather of the Ice Garden. Can you see the feather-like shape on the left? It has imprisoned this still-green plant. It’s incredible how nature can create shapes like this, as if someone had painted them with a brush.

This one is named Frosted Ripples. It was in a ditch, yet still close to the river. In Finnish, we have the phrase ‘karun kaunis’, which means something roughly beautiful, and this is definitely one of those.

Whispers of the Reeds is the name of this artwork, located in the riverbed. There is air trapped under the ice, and when the bubbles are released, you can hear sounds of summer moments: the calls of ducklings, the rustle of the reeds, or a frog’s croak.

This abstract pattern is inspired by the hidden world beneath the ice, where dancing air creates large, airy shapes. Its name is Ghosts under the River’s Ice. Can you feel the chills while watching it? Is it because of the ice or because of the ghosts? That’s a question no one really knows the answer to.

This one is Veil of the Frost’s Desire and it depicts a hooded figure leaning against a moss-covered rock. The figure is pondering life’s big questions (for example, when winter will finally arrive). In the lower left, you can see a shape that resembles a question mark.

This one is Trapped in Ice and it reflects the power of the ice. You can almost feel how strong and unyielding it is, holding everything in its frozen grasp. The green tries to emerge from beneath it, but it does not give in. It is invincible!

Now it’s time to present the most stunning, sculptural artwork we saw. It was quite hidden, tucked inside a small, bushy thicket, out of sight. Yet it truly deserves a place somewhere much more visible, don’t you think?

Hair ice forms on decaying broadleaf wood during calm, freezing weather. It gets its name from its hair-like structure, created by ice filaments only a hundredth of a millimetre thick. They are therefore about the same thickness as human hair. These “hairs” can grow surprisingly long if the place is sheltered. In such conditions, they even become curly, believe it or not.

Hair ice does not form due to frost alone; it also requires the help of a fungus called Exidiopsis effusa. When decaying wood freezes, internal pressure builds up, forcing excess moisture out through the fungus’s fine filaments. As this moisture is pushed to the surface of the wood, it freezes into hair-like formations.

What is particularly interesting is that only about ten years ago was the role of the fungus Exidiopsis effusa in the formation of hair ice fully understood. This makes one wonder how many things fungi influence behind the scenes, without us even realizing it yet.

Hope you enjoy this little ice show! I’d love to hear which one was your favourite! If you like my blog, please feel free to share it with your friends!

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Psst. Read more about hair ice and other interesting nature finds in my Wildest Treasures section.

Hair frost is a very interesting phenomenon, which I came across for the first time this year in December.

Hair ice forms on decaying broadleaf wood during calm, freezing weather. It gets its name from its hair-like structure, created by ice filaments only a hundredth of a millimetre thick. They are therefore about the same thickness as human hair. These “hairs” can grow surprisingly long if the place is sheltered. In such conditions, they even become curly, believe it or not.

Hair ice does not form due to frost alone; it also requires the help of a fungus called Exidiopsis effusa. When decaying wood freezes, internal pressure builds up, forcing excess moisture out through the fungus’s fine filaments. As this moisture is pushed to the surface of the wood, it freezes into hair-like formations.

What is particularly interesting is that only about ten years ago was the role of the fungus Exidiopsis effusa in the formation of hair ice fully understood. This makes one wonder how many things fungi influence behind the scenes, without us even realizing it yet.

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Finland’s forests, hills, fells, and waters are home to many mysterious beings. For thousands of years, various spirits, elves, giants, mountain trolls, goblins, and water demons have wandered through Finnish folklore. Long ago, at a time when even the stones were soft beneath the feet of wanderers, these beings moved through the land, shaping stories and imagination alike.

They arose from people’s need to explain natural phenomena, warn of dangers, and understand the events of their surroundings. I’m sharing a glimpse of some old mystical lore and forgotten tales.

If you enjoy this post and want to read more like it in the future, I hope you’ll hit the “like” button before you go. Now, let’s dig in to Finnish mythology!

Näkki

When you see water splashing, bubbling, or foaming, it is usually the work of the Näkki. It is a freshwater spirit whose favorite pastime is tricking people into the water. It can lurk in the shade of lily pads, waiting for a swimmer’s foot to get caught in the submerged stems.

Sometimes it can be seen on a rock, combing its long hair. The Näkki was believed to be able to change its shape, for example into a stone or a log. To protect children going swimming, the words “Näkki to the land, I to the water” were said before entering the water. Talking about the Näkki was meant to make children cautious around water.

Metsänpeitto - forest’s cover

Metsänpeitto, forest’s cover is a state that a person can end up in while walking in the forest. It is believed to be caused by an earth elf.

Those who fall under forest’s cover feel strange and unfamiliar. The forest falls silent, birdsong fades away. The once-familiar forest becomes odd, upside-down, or bizarre.

Other people can no longer see the person — they may become invisible, or appear as a stump or a rock to others, even though the person themselves feels unchanged.

Some manage to escape forest’s cover through tricks or by chance, but some never return.

Becoming a bear

Long ago, it was believed that humans were descended from bears. Bears were respected, and they were thought to be able to read human thoughts and understand human speech. Many similarities were seen between humans and bears: a bear’s paw like a human hand, a bear’s snout like a human face, and bears were also capable of walking on two legs.

Some people in the North were also believed to be able to transform into a bear. They would go into the forest, find a suitable tree leaning toward the north, and then crawl three times under it. Finally, they would emerge as a bear.

Tapio, King of the Forest

Tapio is an ancient Finnish forest god, ruler of animals and hunting. People honored him with offerings, like the first catch of a hunt, to ensure good fortune and share in the forest’s resources. His beard is made of moss, and he has horns on his head. According to some stories, Tapio’s beard was made of wood, and his eyes were like two bottomless lakes.

Tree stumps have been called “Tapio’s tables,” and offerings have been left on them. Mielikki, Tapio’s wife, is the gentle goddess of the forest. She protects animals and plants, oversees the forest’s resources, and is skilled in healing with herbs and natural remedies.

Hiisi

The most terrifying being among the mountain folk is Hiisi. Hiisi dwells in its fortress, deep within the darkest crevices of the mountain. Its head is an ice boulder or a rock, and its mouth gapes like a kettlehole. Its beard is frosty, and its breath is freezing.

The mountain inhabited by Hiisi can be recognized by a weeping rock — a cliff that is always wet, where a stone has split in a cross shape. On the northern slope, which is always in shadow, the mouth of a cave may be found. Step inside… if you dare.

Do you have an old tale or folk story that has left an impression on you? Share it in the comments! ✨

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The sun illuminated the treetops, turning them a bright, deep green. A dusting of powdery snow adorned the spruce branches. Everything was silent, as if the world had stopped when the snow arrived—like someone had pressed pause on everything.

But our family was far from quiet. We brought the sounds of life into this silent, deserted forest. The children immediately discovered animal tracks. They were able to identify at least a mouse, a hare, and a squirrel.

Old massive trees were standing majestic. Some trees had fallen in the storm and their roots were torn from forest soil. Forest floor was partly covered with dusty snow. The leaves of the blueberry plants have already fallen, but lingonberry keeps them over the winter. This lingonberry was standing on the top of this mossy hummock, and sun touched it so beautifully that it looked like the queen of this forest.

We were heading to the point, surrounded by the lake on all sides. We knew there was a lean-to-shelter and campfire site. Through the trees, we saw the lake steaming in the morning light.

Sky was clear. It has been cloudy and grey all this week, so this couldn’t have been better weather for our hiking day.

This photo above shows on the left the point where the campsite is locates. First we noticed that there were no fire woods, and we had not brought our own. My partner somehow found left over fire woods around the lean-to-shelter, so we were able to make small fire.

I poured the first steaming cups of coffee from the thermos while my partner was still whittling kindling. We wondered how we could do an overnight trip here in the winter, either just the two of us or with the children.

It was at this point that I also realized the lake we were looking at wasn’t Päijänne, on whose shore our cottage sits, but Lake Ruotsalainen, literally ‘Swedish Lake’.

The lake got its name because in the 1800s, a man of Swedish origin owned lands along its shores. Consequently, the lake began to be called “Sweden’s Water.”

My 8-year-old son found self-made fishing rod and started to fish with it. The little sisters built a play campfire and gathered frosty mushrooms to play with. My partner tended and stoked the fire while I excitedly photographed the spot and admired the scenery.

The contrast between the sunny tip and the dark, frosty forest was huge. The sun had melted the ground and the trees where its rays reached, but the areas untouched by sunlight remained completely frosty. Walking through that cold forest to reach the sunny point created a unique, almost magical atmosphere.

Steam on the lake moved slowly and it seemed to swirl over the lake. Here’s short video of it. [Zoom the screen to make it full screen.]

Despite the sun, the day was cold. I warmed up my fingers above the fire. We grilled Karelian pastries and cheese, and children had hot chocolate. My partner and I had another cups of coffee and the world felt just right. Everything was perfectly in place.

Then it was time to head back to the cottage. While we returned through the cold and frosty forest, 5yo found winter chanterelles. They were entirely icy. Excitedly, she collected them all into two thermos cups.

This is how our lovely trip ended. We returned to the cottage to light the fireplace and worked on a big Moomin puzzle. In the evening, the children still wanted to go outside, and while playing by the cottage shore, they discovered frosty frogs.

This is such a wonderful time of year. It’s worth remembering that the cycle of the year isn’t just four seasons: there are many combinations, many different phases and conditions in between. Nature is full of wonders every single day of the year.

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I’m glad we went. The island was truly beautiful. The snow had partially covered the moss, but it didn’t seem to mind. It looked as if it was simply enjoying the fresh white blanket, becoming even greener and more full of life.

Pour yourself a cup of coffee and come with me to explore this island, which isn’t quite sure yet whether autumn has already turned into winter. The moss is waiting for us to play hide-and-seek beneath the ice. I’ll show you all three tips of this island.

The island has a few old, thick pines, along with some young pines and birches. The island is only about 20 meters from shore to shore, yet it has its own little “places”, like this tip of the island, where there is a sharp rock ledge. The rock forms a kind of bench where we’ve had snacks many times, watched the sunset, and wondered about the world. There is also a large water-surrounded rock, which is easy to climb and stand on.

At the other end of the island, the side facing Mother’s Day Island, is the second tip. It’s also a ledge, but not as sharp or long. Someone has once made a simple fire pit there. The first time we visited the island, our whole family was squeezed onto two paddleboards. We had gone out wearing only shorts and T-shirts. We lifted the children onto that rock when a strong, cold wind suddenly began. It felt as if a storm was about to start, even though just moments earlier it had been hot and summer-warm. We hurried to start the trip back.

Then this island has one more tip, which is reedy and has no continuous shoreline rock. To reach it, you have to bend down slightly, because a thicket of young trees grows there. It is a birds’ area: In the spring, geese nested there. After the nesting time ended, we found many feathers and eggshells on the ground. Now I found a sturdy mushroom there, bravely standing despite the frost.

In the end comes some lovely, fresh photos of details I captured while walking on the island. Enjoy!

Thanks for joining me. If you liked this, please hit the like button. Which of the three corners was your favorite? Let me know in the comments! ♡

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📌 Want to see how this island looked on a summer night? Read more:

Once we arrived, we noticed that many others had also thought a Father’s Day outing was a good idea. Even though the parking lot was full of cars, you hardly noticed it on the forest trail.

The path here is like something out of a fairy tale. It winds, rises and falls, and tall trees grow right along the trail, creating a mesmerizing atmosphere.

The children ran ahead immediately, so far that my partner and I couldn’t even see them anymore. We could only hear their voices from within the forest: shrieks and joyful shouts. That’s one way to get a little bit of time together! We eventually caught up with the children and continued our walk all together.

At this time of year, the forest may at first glance look quite bare and colorless, but if you look closely, you notice all sorts of interesting things. There are still some mushrooms, though quite few. Bracket fungi adorn the decaying trunks, and the moss is still green and vibrant. Pines, spruces, and junipers are now the only trees with any green. I love the cold green shade of the spruces. The reddish trunks of the pines and their richly green crowns make a stunning combination.

The path wound its way among withered ferns. The ground was very damp, but today there was no rain at all. Each of the children found something they liked: the 8yo found a stick that looked like a spear, the 5yo a glittering, bright stone chipped from the rock, and the 3yo a puffball mushroom.

We came to the slippery boardwalks that led across the wetland. Just as we reached the rocky cliff where the campfire site and the lake view were, I saw a great spotted woodpecker. I’ve been seeing them all the time lately — almost everywhere I go in nature. I stopped to listen to its tapping while the others hurried to the fire.

The campfire was already burning. The Father’s Day crowd was especially noticeable there — several other groups were present. Fortunately, there were two fire pits, and everyone seemed to fit around them nicely. Others made room for us too, and we started grilling our food.

The children had fun running around on the rocks and boulders. They started playing a lava game, where the lava rises and falls, and the rocks are safe spots to climb onto whenever someone shouts, “the lava is rising!” We adults also got completely caught up in the game.

After we had eaten our grilled food, the children started toasting marshmallows. First, of course, they looked for suitable sticks. The cleverest ones picked a forked stick so they could hold two marshmallows at once.

For the celebration, I made campfire coffee instead of the usual instant coffee. It’s made by heating water in a pan over the fire, then adding coarsely ground coffee and letting it come to a boil. The coffee is then “shocked” by tapping the pan — this makes the grounds settle to the bottom so they don’t pour out with the coffee.

We had also planned an easy Swiss roll cake that could be assembled right on the plates in the forest.

Then it was time to continue our walk. We visited a small pier beneath the rocks, reached by steep, slippery stairs. A little bit of excitement for the day!

As we walked back along the trail, we settled into a wonderfully unhurried mood, and everyone clearly enjoyed being in the forest in their own way. I was photographing mushrooms and moss, my partner was whittling sticks, and the children’s imaginations ran wild. At the same time, we chatted and marveled together at the wonders of the forest.

We found tiny mushrooms under a spruce branch that looked like little fairy umbrellas. I love exploring nature up close like this. The atmosphere is completely different than higher up. I feel grounded, present and more part of earth.

The moss was deliciously green. Some of it was still ‘blooming’ with spore capsules. Drops of water made it look like a work of art. We also found rose moss (Rhodobryum roseum), which looked more like a succulent than moss.

Then evening began to fall. Here in Finland, the sun sets at 4 p.m. this time of year. After four hours of outdoor activity, it felt nice to relax at home and enjoy a long evening with the family.

This Father’s Day was really wonderful, and the best part was hearing from my partner that he thought it was just perfect.

PS: If you want to see place where we spent Mother’s Day in the spring, check out the post below.

🫶🏼 Read more:

This weird fungus has many descriptive names: strawberries and cream, the bleeding tooth fungus, the red-juice tooth and the Devil’s tooth. These names comes from it’s behaviour. In damp conditions, it exudes bright red droplets on its surface.

It forms ectomycorrhizal relationships with conifer roots. It’s found mainly in North America and Europe. It’s not poisonous, but not edible either — it tastes very bitter. It has been used in natural dyeing.

This fungus produces atromentin, a compound with blood-thinning and antibacterial properties. Its cap is young and velvety, with a pale brown flesh and brown spore print, and the underside is covered in short, dense spines.

When I first saw this fungus a few years ago, I was truly amazed. I had never seen anything so extraordinary. Often this fungus is pale or brown, without those droplets. Then it is easily overlooked. So you have probably come across this fungus too, even if you haven’t seen it in this dripping outfit.

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That sounds impressive, doesn’t it? Yet doctors still rarely prescribe nature as a treatment for mental health issues or other illnesses. Nature is a truly significant contributor to well-being. The topic has been widely studied, and it is known, for example, that the more trees, vegetation, and bodies of water preserved in a residential area, the healthier the people living there tend to be.

The forest is a place where the boundary between life and death feels thinner. Everything feels a little magical. Even in a familiar forest, there’s always something new to discover. Worries fade, and problems start to seem smaller than before entering the forest — as if you gain some distance from them. Your ability to solve problems improves. So next time you encounter a problem you can’t solve, take a short walk in nature and then look at it again.

The forest speaks. It nourishes all the senses deeply. Spending time in nature helps restore attention, especially during mental fatigue, because the environment offers things that do not require constant focus. Nature gives the brain a break from the effort of concentrating, which is valuable in today’s overstimulating environment.

For children, the forest is the perfect place. It’s a safe environment to test their limits, explore, and learn. The mind calms and restlessness decreases. Especially for a child with ADHD, spending time in the forest several times a week clearly benefits everyday life.

I have designed a nature trail guide based on factual information, which I have used during guided nature activities. I recommend that everyone give it a try: stop at five different places in the forest, read the prompts in this post mindfully, and complete the tasks.

They may seem simple, but in reality, being aware and performing the exercises consciously has a huge impact. Even if you walk through the forest daily, consciously noticing certain things can further enhance the well-being benefits it provides. Save this post (three dots → “save”) and pull it up in the forest or any other nature spot.

So let’s get into it!

✔ 5 steps to get more benefits from nature

🍀 1. Nature restores

Did you know that just fifteen minutes in nature can reduce stress, lower blood pressure, and improve your mood? Your ability to focus also improves as your attention naturally settles on your surroundings. You notice the wind moving through the trees, a bird flying overhead, or a squirrel climbing up a spruce.

The more often you spend time in nature, the more those visits support your mental and physical well-being in the long run.

👣 2. Mindful walking

Walking on uneven ground improves balance, and just fifteen minutes barefoot can enhance working memory.
A winding path stimulates the mind and boosts creativity.
Walking in nature activates the brain in ways that make finding solutions easier.
Moving in nature combines the benefits of both nature and physical activity, making it exceptionally beneficial.

🦠 3. Immunity from nature

The human body needs diverse microbial exposure to develop a strong immune system.
The skin, mucous membranes, and gut regularly need contact with beneficial microbes that the forest naturally provides.

💧 4. Water calms

The water element has been shown to boost mood and self-esteem. Being near water helps ease restlessness, irritability, anxiety, and tension. The sound of water is also a powerful enhancer of well-being. Find a river, rapids, stream, or pond for this exercise.

🔍 5. Nature details

The forest is a constantly changing treasure trove. Vegetation, trees, and fungi create shifting patterns of light, shadow, and color. Nature never stands still — changes happen continuously. The forest is a journey into the new: the old dies, the new is born. Nutrients are absorbed, broken down, and returned to the cycle.

Observing these changes is a delight. Visit the same tree stump every time you go to the forest. You might witness a fungus emerging seemingly from nowhere, reaching full bloom, then withering, decaying, and eventually being washed back into the moss by the rain.

I’d love to hear how this felt and whether you learned anything new. What kind of well-being have you noticed nature gives you? ♡

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