Most Saturday mornings this fall, Iโve risen fairly early, brewed a pot of coffee and stepped outside into the morning air. The ground has often been shimmering with dew or icy with frost, and my footsteps leave a trail as I walk from my front door to the backyard to start the ritual of preparing a wood-fired sauna. I grab newspaper, kindling and small splits of dry ash, maple and oak hardwood. I light a wood stove, fill an aluminum bucket with water and lay out towels on the cedar benches. Iโm officially working on a weekend, but it doesnโt feel like work as I sip my coffee and await the morningโs customers.
I was a middle and high school English teacher for 17 years out of college, and Iโm proud of that phase of my professional life. You hope to make an impact โ and if not an impact, a small impression, a meaningful intellectual or ethical nudge in a positive direction. Sometimes, years later, Iโve been tagged by former students with kind words regarding their classroom experience. In my last semester as a classroom teacher, one soon-to-be graduate told me my class was the only one that made him think. Surely a high compliment, but overall I was burned out by what I felt was a low return on investment.
The final years of my teaching journey were filled with frustration as too often I felt disillusioned by many of the issues endemic with modern teaching: the challenge of engaging young minds so drawn to social media, politics infiltrating curricular choices, lack of funding and more. After nearly two decades in the classroom, I craved a simpler, more tangible kind of work and connection. A few experiences as a customer sparked my own desire to create a sauna experience for myself and others to enjoy.
Now Iโm operating a humble and fledgling sauna business from behind our barn in Hopkinton, and itย feelsย so different. Compared to teaching, the creativity and effort I expend is reciprocated by customer appreciation and contentment.ย Laughter and shrieks sometimes spill out as people brave the frigid contrast of the cold shower or plunge tank. Customers relax in a zen-like state of appreciation in Adirondack chairs, facing the forest, gazing at a different milieu depending on the season.ย
As I write this, autumn leaves have mostly fallen to the ground, with a palette of yellows, oranges and reds still clinging to the trees.ย For the first time in my professional life, my efforts are getting consistent, positive and tangible results. And itโs a pretty simple service to provide. A well insulated small room, a steady supply of seasoned firewood and a water source from the operationโs foundation.
Perhaps part of what Iโm discovering, beyond learning many nuances of small-business ownership, is how the sauna reconnects people in ways our modern world often prevents.ย I think a lot about the seeming lack of shared reality that has infected our populace. A few months ago, my wife and I enjoyed drinks and dinner with our wonderful neighbors โ whom we share very little in common with politically. Per usual, we had a nice time, but itโs often a struggle to converse about national affairs as it was obvious we were inhabiting completely different information ecosystems. Maybe we can find a little bit of common ground in the sauna as an antidote to our stress-inducing online lives.
Imagine being perched on a bench in an 180 degrees Fahrenheit room, with strangers or friends alike. No phones or social media feeds to distract or enrage you. Steam โ or lำงyly in Finnish โ misting up the room with an enveloping heat blanket after splashing water on scalding rocks. Stepping outside into the crisp air. If you dare, dousing yourself in a cold shower or plunging into an icy tub. Thereโs something powerful about getting back to the essentials โ the weather, our bodies, being in proximity to one another. This is a shared reality and experience that I donโt take for granted, and I donโt think our customers do either.ย ย
New sauna and public bathing facilities are slowly emerging across New England. Iโm happy for this trend. Weโve got a long way to go to match Finland, where there are an estimated three million saunas โ over one sauna for every two people. For the time being, Iโm glad to help fill the void one sweaty session at a time.
Paul Barnwell lives in Hopkinton with his wife Rebecca, where he operates Morning Dew Sauna Company.