Sweden Ride -- Day One -- Abundant Gratitude for Scarcity

9:00 AM in Northern Sweden

Abundance has become one of those massively overused words.  People manifest abundance – what the hell does that even mean?  Personally, I think abundance is overrated. Abundance breeds apathy -- It’s easy to undervalue things easily obtained.  In contrast, scarcity fuels awareness.  And, awareness, in turn, is the key to gratitude.

 So, what does all this discussion of abundance, scarcity, and gratitude have to do with a winter riding adventure in Sweden?  Simply put – it’s all about the light.

In time, I will dive deep into the joys of riding Icelandic horses through the snowy taiga forest.  But before I can truly turn my attention to these lovely creatures, with their massive hearts and wooly, cuddly, wonderfulness, I have to talk about the winter light here in Northern Sweden.

When you are in a place where the sun rises at 9:30 and sets at 1:45, the scarcity of day quickly makes you a sunlight connoisseur.  Let me walk you through the multi-course meal that is sunlight in the North.

Most of the time, there is utter darkness.  But then, there is a slight thinning of the blank nothing that has persisted for 16 hours. Black slowly turns to midnight blue and then to lapis. It’s actually exciting, that gradual dilution of the dark.  Still, that excitement, that knowing something special is about to happen fails to prepare you for the dawn.  It comes on strong – the rim of the sky suddenly is magenta against the snow.  Slowly, ruby red softens to rose and mixes with ginger swirling into the colors of the popsicles that were a highlight of my childhood summers.  And then… it is day.  You can’t say where the sun is – it has clearly risen but is also oddly absent.  It must be somewhere out there, up there, back there. You know this because now everything sparkles in crystalline perfection.

For a few hours, you go about life like this is normal – things to do, people to see, horses to ride.  But, if you are lucky, as we were on our first ride, in the midst of that normal if very abbreviated day, you get another reminder that this is not home.  And, above your head polar stratospheric clouds filled with crystalized water vapor reflect a kaleidoscope of pink, blue, and violet.  It’s like you are surfing snow waves inside a massive seashell. 

And then without warning, it is sunset.  You look to the west, but there is no sun.  Still, at your feet, for an instant, the snow glows like honey before it returns to its icy blue.  Shadows paint the ground and your companion’s faces glow with a warm light.  And, then it is gone and you ride through the dim forest, your horse’s breath rising in puffy white clouds.  Warm lights glow from farmhouse windows as you come home for another very long night.  It’ is 4:00 PM and feels like time for bed.

I came here in the hopes of riding under the northern lights.  That is not actually likely to happen.  But I am satisfied, because at the end of day one, I have found is an abundance of gratitude for light.

Polar Stratospheric clouds just before sunset at 1:45PM.