Saila-Mari bought a 200-year-old log house—charming textiles, furniture and tableware included: “It felt like I was truly meant for this house”

In the summer of 2021, I went to see the fateful house. The location felt far too out of the way, so I just peered in through the windows and figured I’d forget the whole thing. In passing, I thought what a funny coincidence it was that my favorite book when I was young is set right here in the same Finnish village.

After that, my sister and I biked to the Himanka cemetery, where I found myself, as if guided by fate, walking up to the graves of the former residents of that house. I studied the names and years for a long time.

I returned to my hometown, Kannus, where I spent the night at a guesthouse called Kirjurintupa, Finnish for “clerk’s cottage”. The house I had just gone to see is also officially named Kirjurintupa, because the man who once lived there, Matti Kuru was a clerk. That evening I browsed the guesthouse’s bookshelf and, at random, opened a book about local history. On the spread was a story about Matti Kuru.

After the summer, life brought all kinds of heavy things, and I simply had to put the house out of my mind.

The following spring, at home in Helsinki, I looked at a stack of books that included one by my grandmother, Anni Kohtala about the Himanka region. I had never even leafed through it. I opened the book at random—and perhaps you can guess—there was yet another story about Matti Kuru. The house had been waiting for me.

I immediately called Matti, the grandson of Matti Kuru. The house was still in the family, but no one had lived there permanently since the 1970s. At the end of our call, Matti said he had a small painting by my grandmother and would bring it to me as a gift.

We met at the house on a beautiful summer day. Along with the painting, Matti brought a photo of his grandfather, Matti Kuru, and his wife Anna. “That woman looks like you,” remarked the friend who had come along.

There were more than enough signs from the universe. I bought the house.

From the very first days, my soul truly rested. It felt like I was truly meant for this house. Around the same time I also went freelance as a writer, so there wasn’t much money for renovations. What luck—that many of my first-year plans now seem downright silly. I’ve even grown attached to the picturesquely worn wallpaper in my bedroom.

The first summer was mostly about ferocious clearing and cleaning, where my sister Titta was an enormous help.

I love decorating by happy accident, so I made use of all the charming textiles, furniture, and tableware that came with the house. I bought very little—and most of that from flea markets and Tori (Finland’s online marketplace).

A composting outhouse was the very first major purchase. Summer water was connected to the house, but the electrical system had to be redone. A couple of suspended ceilings had to be fixed too, but otherwise the house is in astonishingly good condition. It stands squarely on a sturdy stone foundation. There’s no smell of mold or damp anywhere. The house isn’t plumbed, and I don’t intend to add plumbing.

Life in an old house is full of stories. Read Saila-Mari Kohtala’s columns here! [in Finnish]

An air-source heat pump is being installed in the main room. Next on the priority list is replacing the roof and cleaning out the chimneys, which hold jackdaw nests built up over as much as 40 years. I’ll also need water for winter, so I’m planning to build a small heated, plumbed washroom in the yard’s outbuilding.

It would be good to add insulation for winter as well, but I’m proceeding very carefully—on the house’s terms. I don’t want any earth-shattering renovations, and I couldn’t afford them anyway.

Sometimes in the evenings I do think about all the things I’d do to my house if my books sold in the millions. But nothing is urgent, and the house is heavenly as is. I approach my life at the house with a calm fatalism. It does my restlessly fluttering soul good.