In what I imagine is common among those who have a sabbatical or study abroad, my sense of time shifted recently; suddenly it seems that even though there are still quite a few weeks left, this adventure has turned a corner. Rather than endlessly unfolding horizons ahead, the path seems to be winding its way back toward the day we’ll be heading to the airport and home. I’ve had mixed feelings about that. There are lots of people I’ll be thrilled to see and hug and talk with when I get home, places I look forward to returning to, a dog I can’t wait to snuggle, a garden I want to get my hands on, even work that I anticipate with enthusiasm. But I also have felt a needling sense of anxiety that I haven’t managed to do everything I planned to do, and we haven’t been able to see enough of Finland. We’ll never get to all the places people have suggested we visit, nor try all the experiences we’d love to. The fact that we are leaving in mid-May, just when so many new things will start to open up –ferry routes, icecream stands, open air museums, water buses, concert series—makes the impending end even more frustrating. I admit that my mind has been churning a bit and I haven’t slept well the past few nights.
When I woke up this morning, it wouldn’t quite be fair to say that spring was “in the air,” because it was still only 30 degrees. But I knew that it would warm up significantly, the sun was supposed to come out, and I just couldn’t accept sitting at a desk. I decided that today was for more “experiential learning” about this place I find myself in, for seeing something new, and for embracing the very Finnish sense that getting outside into the fresh air and nature is important for one’s mental and physical health. Thanks to Google maps and the wonderful public transit system, I jumped on a bus which took me to another bus which took me to Ruissalo Island in just over 30 minutes. Once the hunting grounds of the nearby Turku Castle, today the island still feels “historical,” dotted with 19th-century pastel-colored summer cottages and villas that reminded me of the “gingerbread” houses of Martha’s Vineyard in Massachusetts.
I started my morning at the University of Turku’s glorious botanical gardens. It wasn’t quite the springy morning that I had imagined—the sun shone weak and watery through heavy clouds—and much of the ground was still covered in snow. At first I was filled with a sort of melancholy, realizing how many of the plants in the acres of beds surrounding me will not bloom before I leave Finland, so I will not get to see them. But I decided to focus on the beauty that I could find around me in the still sleepy landscape, and to search for signs of spring, miniscule as they might be. I stood stock still on several occasions, just listening to the wild chorus of birds. I felt as if I should look around and find the conductor; so many voices seemed to share a sense of rhythm, a kind of call and response that felt both ancient and ultra modern in its beautiful cacophony. I peered up close at lichen and moss; knelt down to see the tiny little bell-shaped flowers unfolding in the damp ground; listened to my feet crunching on the gravel paths; marveled at the lacy patterns of leafless trees against gray sky. I sat on an old bench near a garden shed and wrote in my notebook. To warm up I headed in to the large conservatory filled with tropical plants, but after the wide open spaces and quiet beauty of the outdoors, the humidity was too much and the bright flowers felt garish. I stopped in the café for a cup of coffee and then headed back out, wandering away from the botanical gardens and across fields toward water, where I followed a lovely path along the shore. I saw a cluster of middle aged men at the side of the field, watching the sky with their binoculars, waiting for birds to fly by. Retired couples walked their dogs, stopping to chat with others along the route. One man jogged past me. But mostly it was quiet, and I stopped to listen to the sound of water lapping against the rocks, just like summertime in Maine.
After a couple of hours of solitary wandering, I waited by the side of the road for the bus to pick me up and bring me back to Turku, where I had a wonderful meeting with a prominent Finnish medical anthropologist (more on that another time). Whether it was the walking, the fresh air, or the focus with which I was able to “be in the moment” in that lovely place, I can say for sure that the “nature cure” did it’s trick and I’m certain that I’ll sleep well tonight. I hope to return to Ruissalo before I leave and to see the gardens in fuller bloom, but even if I don't, they will remain one of my favorite memories of Finland.