First time I met them it was 40 years ago, in the pages of an illustrated book for kids, whose cover said "Watch and discover the animals of the Arctic." Drawings that fascinated me with stories of strange and exotic wildlife, which are still there in the man I am today, since the memory is there, fresh as the excitement and awe in all the encounters with animals which, ever since, happened in my life. The lemming, the only exclusive animal for the Scandinavian fauna, so known but for the wrong reasons, so misunderstood by the most superficial popularization... I see it for the first time three years ago, here on the slopes of Mount Fulufjället, my “backyard” national park. An individual quickly disappeared, the vision of a moment, but a moment to remember, the realization of a dream started long time ago. What I always missed, so far, was the mythical "year of the lemming", when happens one of those population explosions typical for many species of rodents; for the lemming it has become what defines the species itself in the popular knowledge. Multiplied beyond the capacity of their environment to sustain them (it can litter up to 6 times a year, with up to 13 cubs which are sexually mature after one month), the animals crowd the tundra and migrate to the valleys and forests in search of food, invading areas that aren't their, and crossing, or trying to do so, any obstacle in their path. Rivers and lakes included, if necessary (and it certainly is, in the North). From these migrations the myth was born - that's what it is, since there are no direct observations of the phenomenon reported in literature – about thousands of lemmings which knowingly and in lovely synchrony are killing themselves diving into the sea. A myth fed by an old Disney documentary, artificial and misleading as they were many in the early 60s. And we are nowadays at a point where "lemming" became synonym for conformist, individual with no personality, even a bit stupid. The lemmings, the true ones, are quite different: individualistic, hyperactive and quick (as much as a vole can be), so aggressive for self-defence to threaten men and even cars gnashing their teeth and hissing angrily. And it's true: they die in thousands, but under the tyres of those very cars.
I still have that book, now that I can just step through my door and meet in person "animals of the Arctic.", now that I finally met a lemming year. It is the only volume that I've kept for so long; I'm not particularly attached to the memories or to the past, but those pages are like a thread that connects the kid I was to my present time here in Scandinavia. The omen of a fate to come, or, more likely, a part of what helped to shape it. The first cranes have been spotted here in Northern Dalarna, and I'm now waiting for them here in Särna. Just off the town a narrow strip of land stretches into the frozen lake, towards an area where the water is freeing itself sooner than elsewhere. There, some pairs of cranes regularly stop every year right in the middle of April, before to scatter into the surrounding marshes to breed. I thought the whooper swans were the sign of spring, and as a matter of fact they are the first birds to return from the winter migration. Nevertheless, I discovered that in Sweden that role is taken by cranes, which are acting as local "swallows" (the swallows will come too, but in late May), and are also considered to bring good luck, to the point that the first spring observation is usually a news on local media. The picture here has been taken last week at Lake Hornborga in southern Sweden, where every year the cranes make a stop over during their trip to north: along three weeks up to 18,000 cranes stop to rest and feed, before the final leap to the nesting quarters. The sight is extraordinary for the birds amount and confidence along with the passion and respect from thousands of people who go watching them: that took a chapter in my last book, and will be the subject of a future portfolio on Exuvia. I went back there for a couple of days, this as almost every year in a sort of sentimental pilgrimage; each time it's fascinating to think that I'll meet later here in Särna some among the cranes I see there. Yet I'll never know which ones they are. |
All site contents are: © Vitantonio Dell'Orto, all rights reserved worldwide. The Chronicles of Särna, and other stories from the North.
I live in Sweden, in Särna (Dalarna). The Chronicles are a photo diary about the nature (but not just) here around and from all the Scandinavian areas where my photo job takes me.
My book: "My Sweden - Tales from an Italian photographer in the North" is available in the bookstores and by the publisher.
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