This story starts late last year on a snowy November week. Waking up to see the whole village and the surrounding forest covered in crystal-white goodness felt good. At that point, our family had been in Åland for just over two months, and we were still trying to find our footing, find out more about this exotic new home and try to establish connections. One front we were pretty active early on was connecting with the local nature through various leisure hikes and foraging expeditions.
By fall’s end, though, it was getting pretty cold and wet, and we were all hoping for winter to really start. On that snowy morning, late in November, we finally got our wish, and my daughter spent hours out playing in the snow at daycare. As for me, I had various tasks to attend to, so I bid my time and waited for the weekend to really get into gear. A couple of days and a few inches of additional snow later, Saturday finally came. Once we were done with brunch, I tell my daughter to get her woolens and snowsuit ready: she and daddy are going on an adventure.
While she dresses herself, I head down to the basement, take out my old skis and assorted footwear before summoning the girl and handing her the little pink sled we got for her last winter. We are finally ready to step out into the great white unknown. Our destination: the football (soccer) field on the other side of the village. I had heard from some locals that this hefty field is sometimes turned into an ice-skating rink later in the winter, but when we get there, the only thing we see is half a foot of solid snow.
Before putting my skis on, I put a reindeer skin on the sled, and attach the rope to my belt. In less time than it takes for a ski jumper to soar and slam down to earth, we are out and going. The crunchy snow is not exactly the easiest to tread through, and the sled is a bit unstable, but my daughter and I are having fun. It is a bit basic compared to the amazing tracks in Northern Norway and Finnish Lapland, but hey, I am skiing, in November, a hundred yards from my doorstep; I am not gonna complain.
The forest path towards the stone. (photo by the author)
After completing half a dozen circumvolutions around the field, we manage to shape a decent-looking track, and I begin thinking about calling it quits sooner than later. This is when I start hearing the sound of motors rapidly closing in. I turn my head only to see two people, one on a snow-scooter and one on a dirt bike, racing through the edge of the field and continuing towards the farmland beyond. This gives me an idea: if snow is good enough for motorized teenage boys, it must be good enough for my rickety old skis; and so I turn around to follow in their wake.
The machines’ tracks take me towards a little dirt path covered in just enough snow for me and my daughter to glide throughout. A few minutes later, the tracks diverge and I turn away from the engine noise to investigate both the snow conditions and the scenery a bit further afield.
At first glance, the area is quite bare: just trees, snowed-in grassy acres and a few stone walls a couple feet high; but as we go, we start noticing more and more: a pile of rusty farm equipment over there, a half collapsed farm here, an impressive stony root cellar by the forest, all covered in snow and ice. At one point, we hit a fork in the road, with one path continuing by the farms and one pointing towards the woods. I ask my daughter if she wants to take the latter, and she says yes.
As we enter the forest, the ground starts to rise up, and soon I am left soldiering uphill, pulling the full weight of an overdressed little girl behind me. After a few minutes, the rope detaches itself, leaving both me and my daughter tumbling in the snow.
That is a sign, I feel, that we should be heading back. I get up, pick my spawn from the ditch and jerryrig the rope back in some sort of place. But just as I am ready to turn back, I feel the urge to go deeper into the woods, just for a minute or two, to see what’s there. So I go back to pulling upwards, and then, not two minutes later, I spot it, by the edge of the path:
A stone.
This. This is what I was looking for.
A massive boulder, more than 4 meters (13 feet) long and two meters (6.5 feet) high, with jagged edges, covered in moss, snow and ice. It is likely a glacial erratic which slowly traveled hundreds of kilometers during the last age, only to be deposited here, in the middle of Åland. Still, even knowing the scientific background of this massive rock, looking at it, I cannot help but being enthralled. It just radiates a peculiar energy and I stand there in the snow for a good minute or two doing nothing but glaring at it and taking it all in.
This is, after all, the first time I cross path with what Finns call a hiidenkivi (“cult stone”) and the Swedes a jättekast (“giant’s throw”) and for a little while longer my mind meanders, thinking about the ancient stories that were more than likely told about this place in ages past.
The stone in all of its glory (photo by the author)
At the end of the day, though, I had to cut the date short and skied all the way back home with my daughter in tow. After change of clothes and a cup of hot chocolate, I started looking for information about this stone. I find a couple blog posts alluding to its name (“the animal’s stone”) and not much else. Later research at the local library and questioning of locals did not reveal anything more. Sadly, it might be that if there indeed were legends about the stone, they might not have survived the passage of time.
Still, this made me just all the more resolute to return to the stone. Since relocating, I had been craving to find a spot where my family and I could gather to celebrate the holy days, some place out in nature but still not too far from our home. Although I originally hoped to find some ancient archeological site for that purpose, that stone in the wood just fit the bill too well; I could just not ignore its pull, I just had to go back there.
Fast-forward to the end of December: most of the snow has melted, and the whole family is enjoying some well-deserved together time as everything slows down. We make use of the extra free time to take more stuff out of the moving boxes, the altar finally takes shape, things begin to feel cozy and, to boot, the sun even shows up once in a while. Things just fall in place, this new life feels peaceful, hopeful, and grateful, so on one of these mild, almost bright days, we boil a cup of local oats, cut a few slices of local carrots and head out to the stone.
“Can I pour the oats and the carrot mum?” our daughter asks. “Yes sweetie, of course you can,” she hears in return.
Without the snow (and the sled), walking to the stone takes no time at all. Fifteen minutes at best. Our daughter is happily chattering all the way to the woods, jumping in puddles and asking my wife theological questions related to the presence of the gods and the best way to present offerings.
The offering. (photo by the author)
When we finally get to the stone, my wife is nearly as impressed as I was the first time I laid my eyes on it. As for my daughter, she has already disappeared on the other side of the rock, excited to be reunited with her mineral friend. For the first time I can actually take some time observing the stone, making rounds around it to find a spot for the offering.
Following me, my daughter points towards a short yet wide gap under one side of the stone: there we discover more than half a dozen decades-old vodka bottles, most of which too deep to reach, so I grab those I can and make a mental note to be back in the spring with some cleaning supplies. We would not want the soon-to-be consecrated offer stone to be left filthy, would we?
So we get up, my daughter grabs the bowl in which the porridge and the vegetables were kept, and carefully pour them unto a smaller rocky outcrop, right under the stone. We all take a deep breath and express of gratitude towards the land, its nature, and its spirits for the good times behind us, and for those ahead.
With that out of the way, we head back home, enjoying the singing of birds and the humming of the child as we walk over the frosty ground. There is still work to do back home: gifts to wrap, a turkey to defrost, but, more than anything, there is light, and goodness to look forward to, and many more adventures to come, gods willing.
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