The celadon birch leaves tremble in the warm breeze as I pick my way along the fern-edged path, up a slight incline. The moist, fragrant woods are dappled with sunlight, and I hear the burbling of a nearby stream. Scanning the verdant copse, I spy a delicate amethyst lily with black-spotted leaves in the middle of the path ahead, lit by a solitary beam of sunlight, and stoop to examine it.

Cocking my head, I realize that there is no stream. My senses have been fooled: It’s the trees sighing in the breeze. The path leads to a hilltop picnic table set in a shorn hayfield overlooking the curvaceous slopes of field and forest in central Sweden. My nose is tickled by the musty, dry-grass fragrance released by the warmth of the day, and I tilt my face to the sun, letting its radiance warm my skin.

I’m not on a hike; I’m waiting for a lunching merchant to open his shop so I can peruse his wares. And his shop isn’t in a city; it’s situated at the artist’s home, a hillside timber house rimmed by rose gardens, past Belgian horses grazing in vernal pastures and tidy red wood houses with white-lace curtains at the windows.

At the tourist bureau in the nearby lakeside village of Rättvik, I had found a flyer for Bosse’s Träslöjd — a wooden handicrafts shop where the owner, Bosse, makes his own versions of Sweden’s famed dalahäst (wooden horse).

Björn Majors uses traditional tools and methods to craft his classic wood-strip baskets.

Map by my side, I had ventured into the rolling countryside in my leaf-green rental Volvo, following the well-marked road signs to North Lindberg, a tiny hamlet of no more than a dozen farms. Bosse greeted me and suggested that I might enjoy a stroll while he and his wife had lunch.

“Välkommen tillbaka! (Welcome back)” says Bosse with a warm smile when I emerge from the woods. “What did you think of Semester Väg (holiday path)?” I enthusiastically share with him my lily discovery, and he explains that it’s common in this area.

I follow Bosse uphill to a rustic timber studio, and he unlatches the door and ushers me into the shady space, filled with shelves of dalahäster in mostly pastel colors. The area Bosse lives in, Leksand, is known for its richly colored, shiny red and yellow horses. Yet these horses are creamy pastel confections. An azure horse with gilt mane and a tiny seashell necklace draws my attention.

“That one reminds me of the sea near where I grew up, south of Göteborg,” says Bosse.

A lyrically lovely white mare with golden swirls of paint and a bell tied around its neck is the perfect gift for my 11-year-old horse-loving daughter, Kirsten.

“That one is patterned after my Shetland pony, Blända; she’s grazing in the forest right now.”

We share a conversation about our love of horses, and Bosse tells me about a nearby herd of horses that come from all over Dalarna for a “summer holiday” every year, to learn how to get along with other horses. As I thank him for my purchases, Bosse invites me to join him for a forest walk and picnic the next day at the fäbod (summer farm) where the horses are kept. I promise I will return, bearing sweet, local strawberries.

On the downhill drive back to Rättvik, with my radio blaring Swedish pop tunes and the heady fragrance of wildflowers in hedgerows wafting through the open window, I reflect on how this kind of experience is only possible away from the bustle of the city, where an artist working alone all day in his studio is eager to share his thoughts and his life with visitors.

I’m on a weeklong pilgrimage to Sweden, the home of my ancestors, to see old friends, dance to ancient, soulful fiddle melodies in country halls and experience the wonders of the flora and fauna in Sweden’s folk province. Just as, when at the seashore, I search for rocks with a white ring around them — “lucky stones,” my grandmother called them — I’m here to find treasures in unexpected places.

I’ve circled artisans’ abodes on my map, and plan to explore backwoods studios and lakeside cottages in search of handcrafted works of art that will summon up the scents of summer in Sweden whenever I look at or handle them.

I don’t know which is better … knowing precisely who it is who made the piece of art adorning my home, or the experience of discovery as I drive through some of the most beautiful countryside I’ve ever known.