It was day four of my summer vacation. I had already left the Åland Islands behind and was now zigzaging smaller and smaller roads to collect all municipalities in Finland. I had slept at a parking lot and been so tired, that I hadn’t woken up, when a truck had parked its trailer right behind my car and some road paving work started right next to me.
It was now almost eight am and the roads were getting smaller and dirtier, when I noticed something of interest.
A former cow shed. Or what remains of a former cow shed. But where there’s a shed, there usually has also been a house.
Bingo! A very old farm house, which had been enlarged at some point. Again judging by the style in the 1950’s or 1960’s.
Probably not in active residential use, as the yard was completely overgrown, the stairs were growing moss and all the windows were missing.
The wall panels were in a very good shape, the floor was worn out and the living room was full of lumber. Didn’t see this coming.
In fact I could only access the hall, as there was lumber everywhere. It looked once again like somebody had started renovations and then just given up.
One final look at the place before I returned to my car and went on towards new adventures. This exploration took me around six minutes.
Perhaps the most extraordinary discovery I’ve made in a deserted house is an astonishing collection of books. I recall a particular instance when I ventured into an abandoned farmhouse adorned with shelves from floor to ceiling on every wall, each brimming with thousands of books. Sadly, vandals had depleted these shelves, leaving me to navigate through rooms submerged in knee-deep layers of paperback books as I explored and captured the remnants of what once was. The sight was a poignant reminder of the untold stories and forgotten knowledge left to decay, each book a relic of someone’s world, abandoned and forsaken in the ruins of the past.