Yesterday we travelled back to Heybeliada. All credit to the kiddos that a taxi, two planes, a coach, two boats and a ride in a horse and cart (fayton) passed without incident, and even included some laughter. The worst bit about a journey is facing me now (literally) in the two big suitcases to unpack and laundry to get through. And why is the apartment no cleaner than I left it? But there is serious excitement in the air: Ruskin is coming home today!

Coming to Finland from Istanbul is incredibly refreshing. We got on the plane sweaty, unwilling to make any unnecessary movements, and by Riga we were delighted to find that we really should be wearing jumpers. The rain that has fallen on and off since we arrived is more than welcome. The other relieving thing is that suddenly views are panoramic, green and simple. I am shocked, again, by the feeling of space. The children are more energetic and play for hours in the evening, confused by the light that fades a little around midnight and is back by three. Playing in the drizzle is of no note here and I love walking Neve to sleep while tiny, light drops find her nose and eyelids. With less than a week to go before we return to the heat and claustrophobia of a city of well over 15 million, my thoughts turn to it more and more. I know that I am steeling myself, that the place I call home challenges me. These pictures will be a reminder to me of a fortifying gulp of breath, because I am more than up for the challenge, though right now I could cry about returning to the dust and misunderstanding. Recently I thought about how completely I fell in love with the Yorkshire Dales, and the decade I spent there was largely to make shared parenting of Ruskin with my ex-husband possible. I cannot gloss over the amount of tears shed over being a part-time mother, but I did everything possible to be as much of a mother as I could be. And part of that was making Yorkshire my home. Then I met Ville, and to enable him to do for Matti what I did for Ruskin, I have moved to Istanbul. There is no doubt that two more love affairs have begun: one with a city and one with a boy who just turned eight (wow, four years already!). In the meantime I take a deep breath of cool air, soak in the green and smell the pines.

My Dad once told me that in moments of anxiety or boredom he recalled walks he loved step by step. This suggestion has got me through some very tricky experiences and, living in the Yorkshire Dales, I was able to add to my interior playlists of steps and views most weekends. When I first came to visit Ville's parents in their summer house in the Finnish countryside I knew that I would be walking its paths and reliving its vistas hundreds of times in my life.

The house here has the same feeling as a tent. Its not that the structure is insubstantial or not beautiful, just that  it's the garden that really matters. Not having running water adds to that feeling as you have to stumble outside to wee in the night, and the toilet is a dry one in the barn. Washing up is done outside. The garden itself is the perfect balance of wild and tame. Much of it is given over to the abundance of wild-flowers with narrow mown paths just wide enough to walk easily, while retaining the feeling of being in a meadow. In the history of gardens there was a time of conquering nature, of giving the organic straight lines, but here what comes naturally, comes first.

Last year when I came to this garden I had just found out I was pregnant, and I felt very sick. Today only a year later I am walking its paths whispering my love to my daughter. Neve has just turned 4 months, all my hopes have been realised. All fears about birth, and whether I could really be blessed with another healthy child, have been turned to joys. This year, thanks to ideal conditions, has yielded the most plentiful flowers I have ever seen here, and I am able to show them to Neve. Even in the rain I wrap us both with waterproofs and tread the paths that last year I felt too lethargic to enjoy.

I daydream, and wonder if she will one day come to this place when she needs to mend her heart or think clearly. Will the annual renewal help her find courage? Will she bring a lover here one day and absent mindedly make garlands of these flowers while she shares her hopes? Will she, like this garden, find the right balance in herself of spirit and convention?

Next year when we come here, there is every chance that she will be taking steps. Ville and I may be watching her toddle using the mass of grasses and flowers for balance. I look forward to the sight with pleasure, knowing I will also treasure every day in between.

I spot the Scandinavians in the departure lounge. It's not their blond hair, but the shorts they are wearing, covering only half their buttocks. The thing that sets them apart is that they look utterly at ease in their bodies. We might as well have been in their sitting rooms. It's interesting, though, that despite me living amongst women who are on the whole conservatively dressed, these young women do not come across to me as oozing sexuality, but merely following the codes of their countries. Beauty and the possibility of possessing it can be spoken as clearly with only the eyes as with a bare midriff (though men may be prone to much confusion about this). But it is liberating to see a woman's entire skin and there be no fear of what may be caused by it. Better this than the feeling that men's passions can be ignited by the fall of a scarf or the sight of a leg, rather than this being taken for granted, and women differentiated by wit and wisdom. Passion should be ignited in either sex from an equal starting point. Boys and girls swimming together can focus on deeper mysteries than what hides behind clothes. Ville's extended family all went swimming together on their island, and in Finland people use public saunas nude. These are examples of a relaxed attitude to nudity, but also an attitude which does not necessarily associate nudity with sex. This is quite different from the UK which is relaxed, but not that relaxed, and still finds nudity something of a joke. When Ruskin first went to use a sauna here, he was really shocked to find naked men (and came out immediately!).

I would find it harder to talk about dress codes if I hadn't myself followed strict (Jewish) rules of dress for some time. I attended Yeshiva in Israel and I followed these rules with my mind as well as my attire. I realised that it is much easier to follow physical rules of modesty than to be modest of mouth. Giving up gossip was so hard! I don't think this phase was ever likely to last long, but it answered many questions that seemed extraordinarily pressing to my late teen self. This is also very hard to say because Turkey's divisions are manifested in dress codes and too many people judge books by their cover.

Yesterday Ville and I had a sauna with the children. We all sat hot and naked, sweating and then cooling off outside on the grass under trees dripping from earlier rain, before going in again. In winter, the cooling can be sped up by rolling in snow or swimming in a hole in the ice. When everyone had sweated enough, we washed outside with big bowls of water and ladles. It is wonderful for everybody to be naked in such a beautiful setting. After a sauna you walk back naked through the garden to the house.

Part of me hopes that we will always do this, that the children won't become embarrassed and will embrace the decline of our bodies with ease. As I'm finding out it's much harder to pick and choose from the various cultures we live in, but a relaxed attitude to nudity is one I'm hoping will stick.

Anton running to the sauna.

Matti emerges to cool down.

Matti and Ville outside the sauna.

Pink and  perfect!

Me and the little kiddos spent the last few days in Wells in Somerset. I have loved this tiny city since I made regular visits when I was at university in Bath when Ruskin was a little nipper. He actually took some of his first steps in the Cathedral Chapter house. For the last few years Wells has been home to my sister's growing family (they have 4 boys now) and so I have had good reason for regular visits. Hellen gathers as many Cooke Kids as can make it to a relaxing weekend party every summer, and this year she timed it for my visit. So I got to see the newly wedded Andreas and Martha, and Stefan's boyfriend Jake. And my Mum was a total heroine (as ever) travelling down by train to pick up three of Hellen's boys on Thursday and dropping them back on Monday, so that Hellen could relax a little at least. Hellen and I managed to have Anton and Sonny 5 weeks apart and then our next babies Pepi and Neve 12 weeks apart, so you could say we are quite close! Here are a few pictures of Wells and my siblings: