On a sunny summer day, a drone lifted off from the calm waters of Osbysjön and slowly made its way inland, over reeds and treetops, towards a small, forested spot by the lake. Seen from above, it already felt obvious: this is where the house should be. Close enough to the water to smell the lake in the morning, but tucked away just far enough to feel private. At that moment, the future holiday house still existed only as an idea, a flight path, and a fair amount of optimism.
Fast forward to November 2023. Same place, very different mood. The lake was quieter, the colours more restrained, and the forest had that serious late-autumn look—as if it wanted to be clear that building a house here would require proper planning and no shortcuts. This was the day we met our groundworks contractor, the person who knows everything about what lies beneath the moss, roots, and rocks, and who would ultimately decide whether our ideas were brilliant or wildly naïve.
Standing at the edge of the neighbouring field, you see the contrast we like so much: open landscape on one side, dense forest on the other. It’s the kind of place where you can watch mist rise over the field in the morning and disappear into the trees by lunchtime. Our future house will sit right at this meeting point—where views open up, but the forest still wraps around you like a protective jacket.
The other photos dive deeper into the forest itself. Moss-covered ground, tall trees, and that unmistakable feeling of quiet that only appears when there’s no traffic, no neighbours, and no hurry. Here, we talked foundations, drainage, and ground conditions—very practical topics—while mentally picturing hammocks, coffee cups, and children running barefoot between the trees. Discussing concrete while dreaming of holidays.
