Why? Here are the first three reasons that come to mind:
1) Swedish summers are short, highly unpredictable and often too rainy.
2) Sweden's countryside is sprinkled with over 97,500 beautiful lakes
3) Stockholm sits just inside a magnificent 24,000-island archipelago
On the days when the weather is nice and sunny, we rush out - like ravenous bears coming out of hibernation - to suck in every sweet, precious second of it. We eat every meal of the day outside and we drink our five-or-so daily cups of coffee outside. We work in our gardens at home, we go to our summer places in the country, and we take our boats out on lakes and into the sea. And, for a while, for a moment in the sun, everything is well in the world.
I was lucky enough to spend over two weeks in Sweden this summer and every day, except two or three in the middle, the weather was absolutely gorgeous: mid-70s (Fahrenheit, that is, ~25 degrees Celsius) and the sun was beaming. Traveling from a climate where it's sunny 300-330 days and the temperatures are very pleasant about nine months of the year, you'd think I wouldn't be so excited, but I could feel the energy in the air. The energy of nine million suncraving Swedes simultaneously getting their fix.
And, this leads us to two Swedish time-honored traditions: kräftskiva and kolonistuga. Let's start with the crayfish party (kräftskiva). Traditionally, Swedish crayfish harvesting was legally limited to not begin before August, and to prevent early harvesting it was illegal to sell crayfish earlier in the year. Each year in early August, Swedes would arrange outdoor kräftskivor to celebrate the start of the crayfish season. By the 1990s, much of the crayfish eaten was imported (frequently from Turkey, China or Louisiana) and now you can legally sell crayfish all year around.
Many Swedes, however, continue the tradition and don't eat any crayfish before August. Crayfish in Sweden are boiled in salted water, seasoned with crown dill and then served cold with bread, cheese, new potatoes, pickled herring, beer and aquavit flavored with herbs such as dill, St. John's Wort (Johannesört), and wormwood (malört). The flavored aquavit - or brännvin (literally "burnwine") - is an important part of Swedish summer celebrations (well, winter celebrations too, really) with a whole host of their own traditions. Depending on the occasion and the company, there may be singing, speeches and special names associated with each drink. Trust me on this. I'm not making it up.
As you may have guessed by now, we skirted tradition and we held our kräftskiva in early July. July 4th, as a matter of fact. And, we did it at my sister Karin's kolonistuga, which she and her boyfriend Fredrik bought earlier this summer. I had to look this up, and learned that the English translation is Allotment Garden. The concept began in Sweden during the late 19th century (earlier elsewhere in Europe.) At the time, the supply of fruits and vegetables to the cities was poor, and allotment gardens made it possible for city folk to have a small garden where they could both get away from the hustle and bustle and grow fruit and vegetables inexpensively. The land is either owned by the town or an allotment association, and each gardener rents an allotment.
Over time, people added gardening shacks and eventually small houses on their lots, and nowadays they are frequently as much used as small summer houses as gardens. Karin's kolonistuga doesn't have electricity, you get fresh water from a hose and there are shared bathrooms and showers, so it's quite primitive, but the lot is large and beautiful, and it's located adjacent to a nature reserve for bird watchers. Many people visit their kolonistugor during the day and go home at night, but Karin often spends the night in their 225 sq.ft. (25 sq.m.) 2-room house. Needless to say, I enjoyed our kräftskiva with brännvin in the kolonistuga very much.
Oh, but I haven't talked about the magical light of Swedish summer nights yet. That'll have to wait until next time.
