Let Me Finnish

My breath shimmers in front of my eyes in the crisp Finnish winter air and crystallizes on my eyelashes as I make my way through the pines. My face is wrapped in a thick wool scarf even though I’m only going a few meters behind my cabin. The cold still shocks me every year I make this trip, having fallen harder for the picturesque country than for the Scandinavian woman who brought me to meet her family years ago. Warm boots trudge through soft, fresh snow; I’m heading toward the small wooden sauna, steam curling slowly from the chimney at the top into the night sky.

I push open the door and step into the comforting glow of the coatroom. Shrug off the jacket, the flannel; step out of the boots, the jeans. Underwear off and towel on. I glance at the other clothes hung in the outer room of the sauna; all four sets of black downey jackets and sturdy leather boots give little away about their owners.

I push open the inner door and take a deep breath of cedar-soaked steam. It warms me deep in my lungs, and my eyes close as the humid air creeps into every inch of my skin, drawing all of the tension out of my body to dew on the surface. I’ve been here many times before, and I close my eyes and relish in the curls of steam filling the room. I hear the hiss of water evaporating against the hot...