We are back in Sweden for Benji’s winter break, staying in Lindesberg, about two and a half hours west of Stockholm. I grew up here, and in many ways it still feels like home.
On the day we arrive, the temperature is a modest minus six degrees, with light snowfall drifting through the air. Mum tells us they have endured temperatures around minus fifteen for several weeks, which is quite unusual, even for this part of Sweden.
She suggests a short trip to nearby Ramsberg to see some extraordinary ice formations. I am not entirely sure what to expect. When we arrive, we discover an area beside the local hydroelectric power station completely encased in ice. And not just a little of it. From what we can tell, some of the water pipes have cracked, creating tiny sprays that shoot out in different directions.
Over the past few weeks, these fine jets of water have built layer upon layer of frozen shapes. Icicles stretch and twist into curious forms, almost sculptural, like something carefully crafted by hand rather than formed by chance. The structures feel otherworldly, as though we have landed on Krypton. There is something alien about it, crystalline and dramatic, beautiful in a slightly unsettling way.
Benji snaps off small pieces of ice and throws them, laughing as they shatter with sharp cracking sounds across the frozen ground.
Here at TBS, we usually write about who creates what, when and where, and what it means to me as the observer. In this case, I am not entirely sure who the creator is. Perhaps we can say it is Mother Nature, with a touch of inspiration from Andy Goldsworthy. Whatever the explanation, it is a fascinating sight and one I would recommend seeing soon. Very soon.
