Pure Baltic by Birgit Itse 

My feet are cold. Very cold.

It’s not like I’m outside. No. I’m in my bedroom.

My feet look purple-ish.

“Colder than a freezer,” compares my son.

I’m ready to go to bed, and I put my Grandma’s hand-knitted socks on. Right now, they’re still on my radiator. Red and white. The last ones she knitted in her long life. I got them for my birthday and four days later, she became a rainbow. It was 12 years ago.

I wear these socks only when I’m in bed. No walking. They are too valuable for this.

“Why are you wearing these socks?” my son asks.

“Because these are red, and red is a warm colour. So it’s warming colour.”

“What is blue?”

“Blue is a cold colour.”

“So it’s cooling.”

“Yes.”

“So that’s why your skin is blue when you’re cold, and when you’re hot, it’s red?”

“I’ve never thought of it, but there’s some truth in it.”

“The socks are warm now,” he says, and we exchange socks to the tea mug.

“Thanks,” I reply as I curl under the blanket.

He stays for a bit, just to cuddle.

“Good night, Mum”

“Nighty night.”

“See you in the morning.”

“See you in the morning.”

It’s really difficult to fall asleep with freezing feet. Often, the coldness travels to the other parts of my body.

It’s the chilly season again. So, I’m kind of used to it. As much as you can get used to being cold.

I still go out. I like fresh air. Especially frosty mornings. Even the snow is nice. For a bit.

Not a fan of shovelling it for 6 months in a year. Or even four. Like it used to be back in Estonia.

Then again, I look at the pictures of the ice plates in the sea, the cold candles on the fields raising to the sky. I see the images where the flakes are dancing in the golden sun shining through the clouds, or ice skating videos on the frozen lakes of the Estonian bogs, and something inside me gives me a nudge. Don’t you miss this?

A little bit. I remember trees covered by thick snow caps, low midday sun peaking through the sparkly branches, and I can hear snow crystals squeaking under my feet.

There’s something calming about the smoke from the chimneys, lazily raising towards the sky.

And when the sun has set, I can see how the air I breathe is forming shiny ice crystals in front of my face. I’m breathing diamonds, I think, and smile.

Very fairy-like idea. Scotland is a land of fairies, fairy-tales and unique unicorns. I like the idea that I fit in to this story.

Pure Baltic, I hear locals describe wildish wintry days. I always tend to giggle inside then. In the Baltic countries, of which Estonia is the northernmost, a couple of minus degrees is called a mild winter.

Minus 20 is not very rare. Every winter, there are a couple of nights, and mornings when the temperature is below 30 minus degrees.

Minus 35 is rare, but happens almost yearly.

I know that these temperatures are not comparable because of the level of the humidity.

Still, I find the expression pure Baltic amusing.

Northern Scotland and Southern Estonia are in about the same latitude. And except a bit of Sweden, there’s nothing but two seas between them – The North Sea, and the Baltic Sea.

Heavy snowfalls, sleet, and ice rains that cover your car within minutes with a thick ice, also streets and roads. Thick, deep snow covering the fields, blizzards covering your road to home within less than 30 minutes, snow falling from the roofs covering the windows – I’ve seen it all. I’ve survived it all. And I’m grateful that I don’t have to experience it. And if I do want some snow and skiing – the Cairngorms are close enough.

Although, I joked that Scotland is not the place to move for a weather, for me, it was a bit. I couldn’t handle the weekly minus 25’s. I felt like there’s nowhere I can feel warm. Like the blood inside me froze.

The cold that went through every layer of clothing and returned quickly after I left the steam room of a hot sauna.

My son loves snow. And he’s rarely cold.

Already when he was little, we had our joke how I was the canary bird, and he’s the penguin.

Sometimes, we still use it.

Doing a bit of research for this story, I found out that Scots have 400 expressions to describe the snow. That was surprising. As I’ve understood, snowy winters are more common in the Highlands, and not so much in the coastal areas or in the Lowlands.

Last winter, the snow visited Aberdeen twice. It first came on a Christmas Eve, stayed for the time of holidays and then again closer to the spring for more than ten days. I even built some snowmen for the little girl next door. It was impossible to do our laundry for days because the pipes froze, and the laundry is done in the garage.

As much as I like everything being green all the time, seeing roses and gorse blooming even in November, December, and January. As much as I get excited seeing daffodils showing their leaves in February, I enjoy that swirling, twirling dance of snowfall, the feeling of flakes melting on my face. I enjoy going to the nearest forest, and shaking the branches, so the snow falls on me. If I had an opportunity, I’d surprise someone else like that, too. Just to see their reaction.

Luckily, my son is as playful as I am, so during these walks, we have loads of fun.

Unleashing my inner pure Baltic.

And after that, it’s time for a hot chocolate, and freshly made apple pie, my Mums recipe. And a good book. So I fold the felted tartan plaid around my feet, wriggle my toes in the hand-knitted socks, this time, these are from my Mum, admire marshmallow pink puffs in a darkening blue sky, smile, and open the page. I can totally survive this.