Is there summer left after solstice?
Thinking about my Midsummer Blues
About this post: I know Midsummer is bygones by now… But I want to share my letter with you. Maybe one of you can identify with how I feel. 😊 Please, let me know in the comments!
Dear Friends, near and far
Midsummer is here, and so are we. "Here" means at my in-laws, who live in the countryside, an hour's drive from us. We came here to celebrate Midsummer, and so far, it’s going well: no mosquitos, no snow, and I think we don’t have to run to the store... once more.
We just finished our late, light lunch out at the pavilion. Of course, it’s not that light if you end up eating too much (Who? Me?). We had several dishes of fish and new potatoes, along with some salads, olives, and home-baked Karelian pasties, which remind me of my childhood with my Karelian (maternal) grandparents. My choice of drink was a non-alcoholic French wheat beer called Blanc – my favorite at the moment.
It’s a treat to eat outdoors. A treat just to sit outside and feel the warmth on the skin after such a long winter. So, after lunch, I grabbed my notebook and decided to stay put and write to you.
Midsummer is the one moment during summer when I don’t think about the upcoming autumn or the shortening days. Before the celebration, I dread the festivities that seem to cut the summer in two, like Moses with his staff. And afterwards, I can only think of how quickly summer passes and how swiftly we arrive at autumn.
But today I don’t think about that.
Today, summer is in full swing, and so am I. Even though it seems we skipped spring this year, I’m not dwelling on the flowers that have already bloomed. Midsummer is here, and so are we. During these two days (Finns begin celebrating Midsummer and Christmas on the eves), I feel like a 3-year-old without a sense of time. Summer feels endless.
However, that is only today.
This year, I’ve felt waves of melancholy hitting the shore since our front door Spiraea 'Grefsheim' wilted in early June… Or was it still May? I tried to fight it, but I couldn’t help thinking about the crisp September mornings when you finally realize that the last wave of warmth never came and you haven’t worn short sleeves in weeks.
This is interesting to me because I don’t oppose the seasons. No, I love the crisp mornings and the snow, and as a photographer, even the greyest, coldest, wettest sleet intrigues me. Typically, I cherish whichever season I find myself in.
I don’t think I’m experiencing SAD, a seasonal affective disorder, either. I suspect my feelings stem from short Finnish summers—brief, and occasionally even briefer if the weather is anything but summery.
But my melancholy, my Midsummer Blues, didn’t start this year, or last year, or the year before that. I’ve felt it for a long time. I vividly remember the moment, perhaps when I was around 10 years old, when I learned that the days would only get shorter from now on. Suddenly, it didn’t feel like summer would last forever anymore. I became afraid that it might slip away if I blinked.
My Midsummer Blues is infused with worry. Will I enjoy this summer enough? Will I find the time to sit in the garden, wander aimlessly in the woods, or swim in the lakes so many times that I lose count? Of course not. Dreams are based on ideals, they are made of perfection, and reality... well, it’s just that: real life.
As a counter to my Midsummer Blues, I’ve decided to start my summers earlier. I begin when it's warm enough to sit outdoors reading, drafting, and drinking coffee. This way, I get to enjoy the summer season long before Midsummer kicks in.
When I was still doing more portrait work, or even wedding photography 10 years ago, summer flew by, and I couldn’t get a grip on it. Maybe things are a bit better now, as I don’t have to work as hard during summer. I try to enjoy myself in the best company possible, as I'd love to pass on the endlessness of childhood summers to my kid instead of my restlessness.
As I’m writing this now, on a Midsummer’s Eve, it’s close to midnight. Lots of things have happened between the light lunch and this moment. The sauna happened. The drive arounds in a tractor happened. The blueberry picking and the wading pool happened. It was a good day.
Now the dusk holds me, but I can still see the sun on the horizon. The night is still beautiful, even though we don’t get to experience the true nightless night this far south. One time, we spent Midsummer night in Lapland, on a fjeld. I didn’t know what to expect, but certainly not full sunshine in the middle of the night. Spectacular.
I grab my beige woolen shirt jacket, thrifted for 7 euros, and head outdoors. I don’t wear shoes, and after navigating the sharp pebbles, the grass feels soft and cold between my toes. I notice some white flowers, which give a nice contrast to the soft darkness of the Midsummer night.
The greenhouse calls me, and I answer.
Three years ago, I did a photo essay of the said greenhouse during Midsummer night. I’m not doing the same now and I don’t know what to photograph, but as usual, I want to take a look. So I walk down the back, and from there I see the sauna building—where I came from—through the glass. There are some basil plants close to the glass, and I focus on them. The light from the sauna blurs and it looks like a sun in the background. The basil forms a jungle.
I start to think about my Midsummer Blues and the moments when I don’t feel it. It’s in moments like this, when I create, that I’m fully present. And then I remember what James Clear wrote in his newsletter on June 13th:
Guilt lives in the past.
Worry lives in the future.
Peace lives in the present.
It’s time to call it a day.
I take one more photo before reaching the door. I decide to write and read for a bit before closing my eyes. I grab Bo Carpelan’s Against the Night (sorry, only available in Finnish and Swedish) and for one fleeting moment, I feel like a 3-year-old self in the endless summer.
Hope you’re enjoying the season you’re in!
If you can relate or have similar experiences, feel free to share your thoughts in the comments—whether in English or Finnish—on Substack!
Until next time, friends near and far
-Nani
Hieno kuvaus juhannuksen tunnelmista, Nani! Sekä kirjoitus että valokuvasi.
Vaikka kevään paikan ottanut alkukesä tapahtui tänä vuonna hengästyttävällä vauhdilla, koitan ajatella, että se oli vasta oikean kesän ennakkonäytös tai ”dress rehearsal”. Kesän hidastamiseen yritän käyttää samoja keinoja kuin elämän hidastamiseen ylipäätään: pysähtymistä, haahuilua ja estetiikan tietoista löytämistä ympärilläni olevista asioista.
Kun kesä sitten jossain kohtaa on muisto vain, yritän samalla menetelmällä imeä itseeni syksyn kirpeyden, vihmovat sateet ja pimenevät illat. Haikeinta on, kun tajuaa eräänä päivänä, että pääskyjen kirkuna on ohi, ja yli lentää aura joutsenia kohti etelää.
Vaikka maalaaminen ja kirjoittaminen (ja mika vain muu luova tekeminen) saavat helposti menettämään ajantajun, ne samalla lisäävät tunteja päivään, oletko huomannut?
Olen palannut tähän tekstiin monta kertaa (myös tarkistamaan, jo(s)ko täältä löytyisi voiceover, sillä haluaisin kuulla tämän myös sun lukemana <3). Haikeus kesän lyhyyden edessä vaihtelee itselläni vuosittain, ja vaikka tämä kesä alkoi säiden puolesta rytinällä jo toukokuussa, on haikeuskin jostain syystä tapissaan. Ehkä viime talvi oli niin tositosi pitkä... ja olihan se, termisellä mittapuullakin.
Joka tapauksessa, aivan valloittava teksti, ihanat kuvat. Erityisesti herkistyin pitsiverhokuvalle, mikään ei voita vanhoja käsintehtyjä pitsiverhoja kuluneita ikkunankarmeja vasten. Mutta silti ehkä kuva karjalanpiirakoista oli suosikkini. Koska ruoka ja erityisesti karjalanpiirakat.