Els(52)

I've been breeding Friesian horses for twenty-five years. In Maastricht I had a small stable with four horses on two hectares of leased land. The rent increased every year, regulations got stricter and space smaller. When I met a Swedish breeder at a horse market in Denmark who told me about opportunities in Skåne, I started researching.

Skåne is southern Sweden — the mildest climate in the country, comparable to South Limburg. The landscape is rolling with rapeseed fields, old stone cottages and endless pastures. I bought a gård (farm) with twenty hectares of land, a house and three stables for 3.5 million SEK — about 300,000 euros. In Limburg the land alone would cost twice as much.

Registration with Jordbruksverket (the Swedish agricultural agency) was needed for keeping horses. As an EU citizen that was no problem, but the horse passport had to be converted to a Swedish version through Hästpass. Folkbokföring at Skatteverket took five weeks. My personnummer opened the door to agricultural subsidies through Jordbruksverket — Sweden actively subsidizes small-scale livestock farming.

The Swedish countryside is surprisingly well organized. Roads are excellent, even the smallest country lanes are cleared of snow in winter. Veterinary care is high quality — the local hästklinik in Flyinge is one of the best in Scandinavia. And the Swedish horse community is large: Sweden has the highest number of horses per capita in Europe.

My Friesian horses attract a lot of attention here. Swedes don't know the breed well, and the black beauties stand out among Swedish warmbloods and Icelandics. I now sell foals to Swedish and Norwegian buyers, and give clinics on Friesian horse breeding. Income is modest but growing, and costs are a fraction of the Netherlands.

Social life in the Skåne countryside is warm. The neighbors came by on the first day with welcome pastries and help unloading. Every month there's a byhöst (village party) and in June Midsommar is celebrated grandly with dancing, sill and nubbe. I sometimes miss Maastricht — the carnival, the Vrijthof, the vlaai — but when I see my horses galloping across twenty hectares of Swedish grassland, I know I've come home.