In Sweden (my grandparent’s home) there is a word, “smultronstallet”. Translated literally it is “the place of wild strawberries,” but it means much more than that: it is a secret place, discovered, treasured, shared with friends. (The wild strawberries are only implicit; they suggest themselves because of their rarity and beauty.)

Smultronstallet is any personal wonderland that has somehow singled itself out from ordinariness and become free from the bewilderment of the outside world. It is filled with meaning, with compelling humor and gentleness.

Some vital spirit has been uncovered; somehow here the way of the universe has been apprehended and given actuality. “Magic is afoot, God is alive.” Familiar forms take on new aspects, evoke new resonance. Everywhere there is a delightful purposelessness, undiscovered secrets.

An affectionate bond (Thoreau called it “an infinite and unaccountable friendliness”) grows between person and place. One embraces and is embraced. Life is affirmed. It is to be celebrated.

Ann Nelson