A day in the life at a Finnish summer cottage

A beam of light slips through the wooden slats of the old granary that I have awoken in, bouncing off my pillow and slowly heating up my cheek.

Built to protect grain and other seeds from weather, temperature, and pests, aitta were the perfect buildings to convert to lodgings as they are the darkest and coolest place in the endless sun of Finnish summer.

Jordan ducks under the low-hanging door ahead of me, reminding me to watch my head at the same moment I hit it against the wooden doorframe.

It’s a small price to pay for the best granary on the block, as I step into the forest and take a deep breath of clean air; birch and pine mingling with the tannins of the lake that glints through the trees.

We’re spending an idyllic midsummer’s week at a traditional Finnish summer cottage on the forested shores of Seinajarvi.

Seinajarvi is on the western side of the Finnish Lakeland district, about an hour away from nearest city Seinajoki. With 188,000 lakes that make up 10 per cent of the country’s surface area, the Finnish summer cottage culture is deeply dependant on these bodies of water.

Mokki (the Finnish word for summer cottage) are traditionally small wooden cottages built in rural areas as an escape from city life. The land that they are built on is often shared between families, and over time, more cottages will be built on the same land to host loved ones in the summer.

But the most important aspect of a mokki? The non-negotiable lakeside sauna with an accessible dock, perfect for evening hours spent basking in the heat of the sauna before seeking the refreshing reprieve of the rippling tides.

The bathroom at a traditional summer cottage is an outhouse. With no plumbed sewerage systems available in the middle of the forest, sawdust acts as the flush of the toilet, and a small water tank hangs on the outside of the building for brushing teeth and washing hands.

We wander towards the main cottage for breakfast, collecting members of the extended group of friends and family that are staying in the variety of surrounding lodgings. As early risers at home, an 11am breakfast is foreign but during midsummer, when bedtimes are prolonged due to the never-setting sun providing hours of light for sauna and celebratory meals, the days start and end later.

Breakfasts vary depending on who is cooking and when the last time a main town was visited for groceries. Sometimes a continental spread is called for, other times it is simply toast, or porridge with brown sugar.

On this morning, we create an Australian-Finnish fusion, eating karjalanpiirakka — a rye pastry stuffed with savoury rice porridge, spread with Vegemite I had brought from home. It is a crowd pleaser with the Vegemite being well received by the Finnish palate that favours bitter and salty creations like the nationally favoured salmiakki, an astringent salty liquorice.

After our morning meal, we decide to swim around the headland that separates one side of the lake from the other.

Since the same families tend to own much of the land within an area, everyone roams freely between properties when they are on holidays over this midsummer period, by rowing boats, swimming or kayaking.

The water is always cold here, constantly freezing and thawing between seasons, but when a 23C day is considered a scorcher, you follow the local traditions and head for the water. A group of us make the swim, followed on land by a pair of anxious rough collies who bark their support from the shore and wait eagerly on the dock for our safe return.

Upon reaching the jetty, I’m met with fur in my face and the smell of wood burning in the sauna that has been pre-warmed for our arrival. The old couple who own the mokki on this side of the lake act as grandparents to everyone, and I’m instantly wrapped in a towel and ushered toward the sauna.

It is important to note that sauna time is sacred, and there are some unwritten rules to follow.

First, Finns are very comfortable with nudity, and it is most common practice to sauna without coverage. When groups of family and friends are staying at the mokki and sharing one sauna, it can become a single-gendered social event for both men and women.

While this might seem obvious to some, I wouldn’t want anyone to be caught off guard as Jordan blindly agreed to a male-only sauna session and was scarred for life.

Second, leaving the sauna door open is a cardinal sin, and will be treated as such. You will be served with many phrases akin to an Australian mother asking if you were raised in a barn due to leaving the flyscreen open in summer.

Loyly is the humid steam released from pouring water onto the hot rocks and is embraced as the spirit of the sauna which can escape when cool air sneaks inside, so it is important to protect.

Furthermore, a sauna drink is popular while socialising with beer and “long drinks” (canned gin and soda) the preferred options, though water is fine too.

You might also see birch leaves bunched together and left upside down in a bucket of water. These birch whisks are vihta, or vasta in eastern areas, and are used for improving circulation by slapping or “whisking” the skin to draw blood to the surface. It also doubles as aromatherapy when the leaves heat up and release oils that intertwine with the loyly of the hot house.

Finally, the proper way to sauna is over a long period of time to achieve the full benefits. Yes, it is a bathing house but it is also a time for mindfulness and internal invigoration. My favourite part of the sauna is when the heat becomes stifling and I can dive into the glassy lake, steam pouring off my skin and my heart rate dropping.

It is a moment of stillness where all I can feel is my body’s placement in the water, from my toes that disappear into the mossy lakebed to my hair that suspends around my face as I drop below the surface.

When the body’s temperature regulates and the water becomes too cold, you head back to the sauna’s warm embrace and repeat the process.

After sunning ourselves post swim and sauna, we gather for a late lunch of smoked salmon, artfully prepared in the grillkota. A peculiarly geometric-shaped building that is often found in the sprawling grounds of a summer cottage, the “grill house” is made for social connection, with bench seats that surround a central fire pit of wood or charcoal.

I have fond childhood memories of cooking pancakes inside the yellow hexagonal walls, so my family refers to the outdoor kitchen as “the Pancake House” .

The salmon is prepared traditionally by being pegged to wooden planks and rested on an angle over the open wood fire, resulting in a crisp salted skin and tender meat. Paired with blueberry juice and buttered rye bread and eaten under the warmth of the afternoon sun, the experience is quintessentially Finnish.

Soon I am tucking my pants into borrowed red rainboots and cramming myself into a full sedan. We jostle down gravel paths and dodge potholes on untouched roads until we reach a rickety wooden gate that opens to a lane only wide enough for one car.

I’m suddenly concerned that a bear hunt may be occurring as we clamber through a ditch and push apart new forest growth to emerge in a swamp.

But we are hunting for something much smaller but equally exciting to the Finns — cloudberries. These berries can only be picked for a short time every year, the whereabouts of the natural bogs they grow in requiring insider knowledge. They are known as “Arctic gold” due to the ripe sunset hues that make them gleam like lucky pennies against the mud that they thrive in.

While I am excellent at locating the berries due to my magpie-like ability of spotting all things bright and beautiful, we are early in the season and most of the berries aren’t yet ripe. The ones that are ready get eaten on the spot, straight from mud to mouth.

We return home and light a fire by the lake, another meal about to commence. Conversation flows amongst the tendrils of gentle smoke, English, Finnish and universal joyful laughter. The sun is softer now in the evening but still the light has not dimmed.

Grillimakkara, Finnish sausages, are speared onto metal rods and held over the open flame to pop and char. “Finnish sausages have so little meat in them that they have to be classed as pastries, you know,” we are told by a friend. I squeeze more mustard out of the bottle.

Conversation eventually turns back to the second sauna of the day, and the group disperses to light their respective saunas at mokki around the lake. People come and go over hours, reading, chatting, eating, drinking, emerging from saunas with washed hair wrapped in towels.

We get called inside for a “second dinner” at the main cottage, a light supper that is often consumed when everyone is staying up late. The table is adorned with warmed leipajuusto, a unique Finnish cheese made from cow colostrum which gives it a bouncy texture and the nickname “squeaky cheese.”

And, to heighten the spirits following our earlier lacklustre harvest, jars of homemade cloudberry jam derived from last year’s bounty have been opened. The cheese and cloudberry dessert is a common summertime concoction, the tartness of the berries melting into the milky cheese and becoming reminiscent of a fruit smoothie as you chew.

We are fed until we are overfull before meandering down the shared lakeside road to our side of the forest, the sun now in line with the treetops. The sauna is warm and the lake is calling as a lone swan floats out of the reeds and drifts into our field of vision.

He is the same swan who returns to this lake every year, his life-partner having passed away some time ago, thereby destining him to a life of solitude.

Through the sauna window I watch him, ducking gracefully for dinner. He isn’t disturbed as I descend the ladder into the lake and the surface ripples towards him. He’s used to laughter bouncing off the trees, people roaming the forests at all hours of the day, the summer sun that never sets.

We watch the swan for hours, until the golden orb of midnight sun dips below the horizon and is swallowed by the surface of the water.

It disappears for only a moment, the white cast of twilight glow still evident in the sky, before slowly reappearing and beginning its ascension. The night transitions to morning in a matter of minutes as the echo of conversation and bird song finally settles to a contended silence, sending the swan homeward at the call of a new day.