What touched me even more deeply was the closeness of nature.
In Finland, nature does not feel distant. It is not something you simply admire through a window or visit for an afternoon. It feels open, shared and woven into everyday life.
And with every season, it becomes a different world.
In spring, Finland slowly begins to wake.
The snow retreats, the days grow longer, and the first green appears again between forest and water. Birds return, sunlight stretches further into the evening, and in the north, winter may still linger beneath an increasingly bright spring sky.
There is something beautiful about this gradual awakening — as if the whole country is quietly breathing again.
Then comes summer, luminous and almost endless.
The lakes become part of everyday life. You swim, fish, step into a small boat and move quietly across the water. Wooden cabins sit between forest and lake, firewood stacked beside them, while somewhere nearby a sauna is slowly warming.
The evenings seem reluctant to end. In the north, the light can remain in the sky almost through the night.
You eat outside, walk through the forest, sit beside the water and begin to understand how little is actually needed to feel completely present.
From late summer into autumn, the forest begins to give back.
Blueberries spread across the ground beneath your feet. Mushrooms appear between moss, roots and trees, sometimes so plentiful that a simple walk through the forest becomes a small treasure hunt. As the season turns, red lingonberries appear too.
People go into the forest with baskets and return with what the landscape has given them.
Then comes ruska — the Finnish autumn — when the forests turn gold, copper and red, and the evenings begin to darken again.
There is something deeply comforting about this season: the smell of wet earth and wood, the richness of the forest, the first cool evenings, and the feeling that nature is preparing itself for winter.
And then winter transforms everything.
Snow deepens, lakes freeze, and the landscape turns white and luminous, wrapped in that blue hush of the northern winter.
You can ski through snowy forests or on carefully prepared slopes, follow a team of huskies across the snow, meet reindeer in Lapland, try ice fishing on a frozen lake, or experience the extraordinary feeling of travelling through frozen northern waters on an icebreaker.
In Lapland, winter seems especially close to childhood imagination.
There is Santa Claus, reindeer moving quietly through the snow, long blue twilight, warm wooden cabins, fires burning inside, and skies that may suddenly open into the Northern Lights.
And after the cold, there is always the warmth of sauna.
You sit beside the fire, feel the heat return to your body, and then step outside again into the sharp winter air.
Winter in Finland is not something to hide from.
It is something people go out into.
Perhaps that is what we love most.
Nature never really closes.
It simply changes its invitation.
Spring asks you to watch it awaken.
Summer invites you into the water.
Autumn sends you into the forest with a basket.
Winter calls you out into the snow.
For us, this is one of the most beautiful things about Finland:
nature is not only a landscape around you. It becomes part of the way you live.