Vaxjo is the nearest town, about 18 miles to the north, but you will catch him there only on mornings when he takes to the court again, coaching some of the juniors at the tennis centre that once produced Mats Wilander. Edberg, the double Wimbledon champion, has slipped back home, almost unnoticed, which is just fine by him.
In the mornings he takes his children, Emily and Christopher, to the local school (total pupils: 60). He might spend a morning checking the stock markets, where he has always been a shrewd investor; lunch at midday, then paperwork for his charitable foundation or the tennis project he has helped set up in Vaxjo. Some evenings he plays squash.
His farm has a swimming pool but no tennis court. "Too much maintenance," he smiles. The Lawn Tennis Association asked him to name his own job description, the Swedish Tennis Federation wants him to be Davis Cup captain, but Edberg is happiest suiting himself.
In an artificial world, he was always the most normal of champions, but almost half his life has been shaped by the constricting routines of a wearying professionalism, and since his retirement in 1996, what he has craved for himself and his family, above all, has been the normality of real life.
"The first night when I'd finished playing, I couldn't sleep because I had so many things I wanted to do, so many plans," he says. "You feel freedom, freedom for the first time in your life."
Yet Edberg knows his responsibilities, too. His racket, the trusty old Wilson that served him through an era of radical technology, is not gathering dust in the cupboard. Last Wednesday, the joggers and dog-walkers stopping by court five at the Vaxjo centre were transported back to a different time by the familiar rhythms of the 37-year-old's tennis.
Edberg is due back on court next weekend to play Boris Becker in an exhibition match at Queen's Club, the highlight of the celebrations to mark the 25th anniversary of the Stella Artois championships. So he is exploring the corners of his game today, checking that all the parts are in working order, against two of the more promising pupils at the tennis school.
The outlines of Edberg's artistry are still intact, the wicked kicking serve, puffing up the red clay dust, the volley, as clinical and gentle as a stiletto thrust, the backhand cross-court, cross- court again, then with a mere twitch of the shoulder, down the line. His coach, Tony Pickard, always judged his man's wellbeing by that stroke, and the ghost of a smile that accompanied it. And that old creaky forehand, a genuine park-court forehand, yet serviceable enough to win six Grand Slam titles.
"I'm still playing pretty good tennis," he says later, "but only for a set or two.
Physically, I know I could have played for a few more years, but not mentally. I was in the top five in the world for nine straight years. Not many have done that.
Lendl, Connors, McEnroe, maybe. But it takes a lot of work and you have to be hungry. It was like going to bed and wanting the next morning to come quickly because you so badly wanted to go and play. That was not the case in the end. You would wake up and say, 'Oh good, it's a nice day, I don't have to play today'. At that point, you know something is missing."
For a moment, Edberg stops to talk through a technical point with the boy. Later, drawing a line in the clay parallel with his body and another a metre in front, he explains how he wants the kid to move forward into the ball, not to wait for it.
It is a matter of basic balance and footwork. Privately, he wonders that such simple techniques are being ignored. The boys at Vaxjo, he points out, are 16, a year younger than Becker when he first won Wimbledon.
"I went down to a coaching clinic recently with 50 to 60 of the best young juniors in the country. All play western forehand grip, all have double-handed backhands.
Not one single-handed backhand out of 55 kids. All hit the ball very hard, all play the same way. It looked as if they had come out of the same factory."
Edberg, too, from the little town of Vastervik two hours to the northeast, could have been another product of the post-Bjorn Borg generation. But deep in that conservative soul lies the strong rebellious streak that made him one of the court's most formidable competitors. Where all his peers were patrolling the baseline, apeing Borg and Wilander, Edberg was playing serve and volley; he switched to a single-handed backhand when he was 14, pretty well on his own. He wants to see some of the new generation have the courage to go their own way too.
But he's not losing sleep about it, nor - bar a brief lament for the lost characters of his prime - about the uniformity of style that is in danger of draining all colour from modern tennis. "Serve and volley is a dying art, and that's been a trend for some time now. That's sad, because you need a variation to make the game attractive. If I were starting my career now, I couldn't play like I did. I served and volleyed first and second serves. It was hard work, but with the new rackets so much more powerful and the return of serve so much better now, I would have had to mix it up more."
If there is a whiff of nostalgia in the air here, there will be whole lungfuls of it over the centre court at Queen's next Sunday. With the addition of Andre Agassi to a field that includes defending champion and world No1 Lleyton Hewitt, the tournament needs no artificial injection of quality from yesterday, but the sight of Becker and Edberg taking to the grass again is bound to stir the odd memory. In total, they played each other 35 times, with the more powerful Becker holding the balance 25-10, not always when it really mattered. Edberg won two of their three successive Wimbledon finals.
"Even if it's fun, just an exhibition, I want to beat Boris," says Edberg. "That's just the way it is. It'll be the same for him. It will bring back some memories for us, hopefully for the people too. The only thing I worry about is that I won't play well enough to give the crowd what they want."
Like all the best rivalries, their careers were defined by the presence of the other, not to the same extent as Borg and John McEnroe - their styles were too similar for that - but in the way they stretched and explored each other's limits. Becker won Wimbledon at the age of 17, in 1985; later that year, Edberg, a former junior world champion, won the Australian Open, his first Grand Slam.
Edberg went to No 1 in the world rankings in August, 1990; Becker followed four months later. For all the apparent fragility of his game, the Swede spent a total of 72 weeks as world No1 in his career, 60 more than Becker. Becker won the US Open in 1989, Edberg won the first of his two US titles two years later.
"Boris has been very good for my tennis and I hope I have been good for his," says Edberg. "We've challenged each other. He won Queen's and then Wimbledon, and it made me realise I could do that too, because we'd already played together in the juniors. In 1983 we played the first round of junior Wimbledon, out on court seven or eight. I don't think either of us thought it would be the start of something.
All I remember was that he had a big serve.
"I wouldn't want to change places with Boris, not for a second. There'd not been a German tennis player for years and then this big star comes from nowhere, from a country hungry for success. That happens maybe once in 50 or 100 years. His life changed in a second. I was lucky. Even today, Borg is the big star, Mats and I are on a different level. So when I won my first Grand Slam, it was almost expected."
Playing an exhibition in Aarhus recently, they found themselves able to enjoy each other's company for almost the first time. "Boris is Boris," laughs Edberg, with just a hint of affection. "I don't know what he's up to - he hasn't been too much in the press recently - but we can look each other in the eye and know we've given our best.
"I know Boris's tennis well enough, but we kept our distance once the rivalry began. He was in his corner, I was in mine. He had 10 people around him and I had Tony (Pickard). In some ways, I've been able to sneak in the back door because of Boris. He was the big star, I wasn't. But that suits me. Even in Sweden now, the kids don't realise what sort of a player I was in the past. When they ask for an autograph now, it's usually for their mum or dad."
Edberg missed Wimbledon for the first time in 20 years last season. He watched a bit on television, wondered what an Argentine was doing in the final, and marvelled at the energy of the new champion, Hewitt. It's always a daft game, mixing generations, but looking at the draw for the main event at Queen's, with Hewitt, a player still relatively inexperienced on grass, aiming for a record fourth consecutive title, Edberg would surely fancy his chances of reaching, say, the third round. Becker too.
More than ever, in a game now dominated by the clay-courters from South America and the Mediterranean, the grasscourt season has become an afterthought, a sunlit pasture for memories to graze. That is a problem for tennis, not Edberg.
"I've had my time," he says. "I don't miss tennis that much, to be honest." You can be sure the feeling will not be mutual when the old warriors resume their rightful places on court next Sunday afternoon.