It’s my first tipi summer.
What began as a dream has become reality. While sowing my tipi throughout the winter, it was hard to imagine a big mound of heavy canvas fabric transform into my summer home. Having never laid my hands on a sowing machine before, sowing my first tipi took a lot of patience. After much work, and many mistakes, I finally saw my project through to the end.
Travelling by train, my tipi and I made for quite an interesting sight as we headed south for the summer. Now she stands on a meadow overlooking a small lake on the grounds of Mundekulla. Saga the Tipi. She is white and new, with a large sun painted on her head and her feet painted earthy brown and red.
Most people I meet don’t understand why someone would want to live in a tipi. Some understand completely. The reactions and questions I get about the tipi are many and still continue to surprise me. “Isn’t it cold?” “Are you a medicine woman?” “Did you really make it by yourself?”
I love the questions. I love how the tipi opens people’s eyes to new possibilities and ways of living. I also love how people open my eyes. It wasn’t until recently that I really began to appreciate my tipi journey. So many people, when seeing the tipi and learning that I made it by hand, are completely mesmerized. Seeing their fascination for my tipi has helped me to really appreciate the life I am living.
Now I lie in my secret sanctuary. The summer sun is warming. The breeze cooling. Looking up I see a roof of leaves, lying under one of my favourite trees. I am not entirely alone. Horses graze in the meadow. Two foals are curious about me, sometimes daring to approach and nuzzle my hand.
I love this life. I have everything I need out here on the meadow. Shelter, home and comfort I find in my tipi. Fresh, cleansing water I find in the lake. Friends come and go like the wind, and in between their visits I enjoy time alone.
At night we come alive – Saga the tipi and I. The fire, burning, glowing and warming, fills my home with light. In the firelight I drum, sing and tell stories late into the night. In a circle, we all sit close to the fire, and everyone has a story to share.
People often ask me where I come from, and my answers vary from day to day. Now I can say that my home is my tipi, at least until the end of summer. I have been living in Sweden for seven years, moving all over the country from north to south.
Today I stand with one foot on either side of the globe. My Swedish and English are fluent and yet they both bear the stamp of the nomad life. People never quite know where to place my accent.
My journey back to Sweden, the land of my ancestors, has been a whirlwind of adventures and insights.
Above all – it has taken me deeper into the wild.