The term ‘Old ladies’ summer’ is a direct translation for what is commonly known in English as ‘Indian summer.’ This period of warm weather in early autumn has various folkloric explanations—some offered by men, others by women, with cynics and romantics alike weighing in. Regardless of the rationale, the experience is undeniably delightful.
This year, “old ladies’ summer” commenced promptly with the onset of autumn. We eagerly stowed our gloves, scarves, and umbrellas, seizing the opportunity to bask outdoors and soak up a healthy dose of vitamin D.
The sunshine works its magic on Estonians: our typically solemn nods of acknowledgment were replaced by light-hearted banter about the weather. One might even catch a glimpse of a smile flickering across our faces!
However, after enjoying several days of sunshine, my mother began to lament the overly dry conditions, unfavorable for mushroom growth—a minor grievance, perhaps.
In Estonia, venturing into the forest to forage for mushrooms and berries in late summer and early autumn is a cherished tradition. Despite our urbanization and modernity, we preserve the innate gatherer within. To ignore the bounty offered by Mother Earth (Emake Maa) or Father Sky (Taevaisa) is almost sacrilegious. It’s a ritual embedded in our cultural DNA.
The yield of berries and mushrooms relies heavily on precipitation, leading us to identify a particular type of rain as most conducive to a fruitful harvest. We affectionately refer to it as ‘mushroom rain’ (seenevihm)—not a downpour of actual mushrooms, but a gentle, consistent drizzle that caresses the skin like velvet. Such rains inevitably stir a longing to venture into the forest.
Following a wet August, one would expect the forests to be teeming with mushrooms. Yet, an hour’s foray into my mother’s preferred woodland yielded but a solitary edible mushroom and a tick, which I fortuitously discovered upon returning home.
Nonetheless, the forest’s tranquility was enchanting—serene, soothing, and invitingly cozy. As I delved deeper among the trees, my concerns dissipated, and I became wholly absorbed in the present moment. It was a session of mindfulness meditation, uniquely Estonian in essence.