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.

Roe deer is widespread in the forest areas; the graceful animals come to the villages at night, especially in winter, and therefore they are a quite familiar presence. Nevertheless, it is not common to spot them: in general you must be pleased to find their footprints left in the snowy gardens. People here make hay and specific feed (sold in the town) available to help them overcoming the coldest times, but I'm beginning to think that it doesn't only depend on the generosity and love for animals typical of Swedes, but also on the attempt to protect those who, in a few months, will become desired game animals. As much as it may seem strange, especially to a vegetarian like me, here the two things go hand in hand.