Somewhere between the “Hej” (hello) and “Hej då” (goodbye) called to me by a farmer at a flower farm on the west coast of Sweden, I realized I wasn't cottaging in Canada anymore. Although I've lived in Stockholm for seven years now, this trip to visit my friend on the island of Klädesholmen (just outside of Gothenburg) was my first taste of cottaging in Scandinavia. And the cut-your-own flower farm was just the right thing to whet my appetite. A regular customer, my friend, Linda Sandberg, equipped herself with a pair of ancient pruning shears and a bucket, and soon had amassed an unruly bouquet. As the charming farmer bundled the flowers neatly in that day's morning paper, he also managed to sell us a colourful medley of fresh vegetables from his wife's garden.
Cottaging in Sweden is a very low-key, rustic, communal affair, largely due to an age-old law called “allemansrätten,” which discourages the privatization of property and makes it possible, for example, for a person to camp anywhere for one night. Summer holidays here reflect that. They are refreshingly family oriented, spent playing games, picnicking and crab fishing, and where a weekly event might be the seaside bicycle trip into a nearby town for ice cream. There is no talk of work or anything outside of this bubble, and during these relaxed days, no other reality exists. So, you might say, the Swedes take their summers pretty seriously.
In fact, there are nearly as many summer houses as there are lakes in Sweden, and compared to Canadian cottages, Swedish “Fritidshus” (free-time houses) or “Stugor” (cottages) are smaller and simpler. Those built in fishing villages centuries ago, as is the case with Linda's house, often consist of a simple stone structure meant to shelter fishermen and their families. Linda's house was very much a reflection of her-small, cute, happy and practical. Born here but based in Stockholm, she and her husband, Uffe, had bought the home six years ago and have since renovated it together.
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