Paeonia Suffruticosa, I love you!

Reminiscing of a time that was easy and celebrating peony season

May 12, 2025

I have picked every dream of mine in small handfuls, alongside Mormor and her crazy red hair. And Mom, a lioness resting alongside rivers of silver. Mormor sat us on a train to Abisko, where she had found her purpose, peace in the birches and orange suns between mountains, Mom stripped some wood of its bark to craft me a walking pole. About a meter in height with an arctic fox carved into the handle. She made hair pins out of juniper. We drank blueberry soup around an open fire and Mormor spoke of ancient stories and ancestral secrets. She held my curiousity like the moon holds the ocean. Everything she spoke, I let the words salivate until I swallowed it all, belly warm of pouring her view of the world right down my throat. We woke up early, while the sun was pink and the forest was light green, and we drank the morning dew as if an offering. We went on our way to find our next spot for the night.

I remember feeling deeply connected to the green terrain of Fjällen, the mountains covered in billion shades of moss, reindeer running amok, wolverine tracks I desperetely wanted to follow. At this point, I might have been the very same size as one, but my fascination grew tenfold, it did not matter if it wanted to bring my limbs to her cubs. Knowing myself, I would jump at the opportunity to save her life, even if it did cost me mine. The true mindset of an adventurer, I thought to myself with my walking pole in hand, my backpack filled with socks, lingonberries and cinnamonrolls. Mom never hindred my curiousity and Mormor ignited its flames. Three generations of forest wanderers, mushroom hunters and blueberry eaters. Some would joke that we are closer related to the brown bear than to man, somewhere, truth rings in the valves of that statement.

As I sit here in modern day, I feel like I have taken my childhood for granted. The magic that only happens to children, for children, I mistook it for certainty. I can feel it being threatened, suffocated. What I would do to go back to a time where I could be small again. Allknowing in a sense of what I felt; anger, sadness and happiness. And what I wanted to eat for dinner. Pancakes or spaghetti or lasagna or heart shaped potatoes. Knowing animals footprint in the dirt, their calls in the night, their feathers lost in the grass. Knowing my favourite colour was green and pink, and my favourite flower differs from the season but the one that reigns supreme is the bright fuschia peony. There must be a way to connect to that again, right? I feel like whenever I reflect of nature, of Mormor, of Skansen and its many wonders, I recognize the reflection from a time where I was wholeheartedly aligned with myself. Exploring those interests, actually making the time and effort to indulge what really offers my soul peace, reconnecting with my inner child, I feel accomplished. Like I have been witholding the gentle pleasures…for something. I did not know I had sprung the nonsense notion of growing up and acting my age, because I cannot recall one single time I have ever acted my age. I have always acted something else, something grown. Now that I am grown, I grieve what I might have grown out of. Reminiscing what made me happy as a child makes me wonder if we ever really grow out of our childlike wonder. Or if it is something we abandon along the way. I fear the fault is mine either way.

On another note; I bought peonies today, my favourite flower all around. They will not last long, they rarely do, but at least the magic they create for this short while will bring me endless amounts of happiness. My mother used to grow them in her garden and that big bulb of pink petals used to fabricate all of my dreams. Whenever it was peony season, life was magical again. That short breath between spring and summer, when the breeze is cold while the sun is almost scorching. Where everything grows in that lovely shade of green. Weeks away from warm evenings at my parents house, holding my lovers hand, swimming in the baltic sea. I cannot wait.

I do not know what this is, I am slurring my words talking about the forest and animals and peonies and Mormor. What else is new! Happy peony season!