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Before I left for Finland, I attended the Plumville Fire hall's Firemen’s breakfast. Plumville is the very, very small town (pop. 307 according to the 2010 census) where I grew up. Considering that the Stenman clan make up over 10% of the population there (kidding, sort of), my family is known by everyone in the community, and the fire halls really double as social halls. My dad grew up with 8 siblings and mostly everyone and their children still live within two adjacent counties, sprinkled in small towns across Western Pennsylvania. My grandfather was a farmer, and so were his parents, and his mother’s Swedish and Finnish immigrant parents were farmers too, so having such a large brood really came in handy to ensure all the work got done.
Now, I mention Plumville and the Firemen's’ breakfast because, as embarrassing as it is to admit, I witnessed for the first time as an adult just what a close-knit bunch my family is (I moved to an urban area straight out of undergrad). I’ve always FELT a stronger than usual sense of community among us; for instance, if someone needs new shingles tarred to the roof, well, by golly,
a cousin or uncle would be there to give a hand, and the favor will be returned when your car’s brakes need to be replaced. But I didn’t fully appreciate it until my five aunts and uncle were running the kitchen line, plating orders to feed all the hungry people of Plumville and raise money for the fire department.* This place where there is a bright blue bench outside, honoring my grandfather’s service to the community and my grandma served as a cook at the town drug store that used to stand directly across the street for all of my childhood. I’m getting long-winded here, but suffice it to say that while I’ve built an incredible community for myself in the city, I’m recognizing now that I was born into a strong one, and maybe that’s why I’ve always gotten so pissed off when I see a group of people at the bus stop staring at their screens and not talking; the values of community, cooperation and collaboration, and loving and caring for people is in my blood.
So thank you (kiitos in Finnish) for indulging my reflections; I have a lot of free time, disconnected from
the world, to contemplate at Pikkunuppu. When I’m in the field, I think about the farming tips that I bugged my family to give me that morning at the firemen's breakfast. Here they are, as follows:
Aunt Becky: Work hard, but not TOO hard.
Aunt Rhonda: Always water in the evening.
Aunt Ruth: Pull the weeds from the roots.
Aunt Bobbie: Don’t step in shit, and water deep, not wide.
Uncle Rick: Don’t grow a garden; find a neighbor who has one
Dad: *Grunt* then gave me grandpa’s “Lazy Gardener” book
I plan to ask Pjotr and Niina (P & N) theirs as well, and today I was picking Pjotr’s brain on the drive to Joensuu to better understand the strength of community in the Finnish countryside. It’s known to have Sisu, an untranslatable Finnish concept that many take pride in; the best English translation is quiet determination, or courage to overcome obstacles, despite the odds, but Pjotr, who has been a well-known character in the community for decades, fears it’s disappearing. When he moved to village Vaivio in 1985, his family went to each
one of their neighbors to introduce themselves and their intent in moving there--to pioneer the first organic farm in the North Karelian region. His neighbors were skeptical of organic farming methods, but welcomed the Houtbeckers family. Since then he’s built such strong ties that each week in the winter time, the village people (Pjotr’s words) unite their funds and pay the $70 every few days to rent the town sauna, right next to a lake with a drilled hole in the ice for dipping in during sauna--Finns LOVE the hot-cold contrast. We stopped by one of these village people’s homes on the way to town today to drop some excess potato seeds and, when I commented on how strong the handshake was, coming from a man who was built like General Sherman, Pjotr simply said, “It’s because he’s a farmer.”
All of this to get a sense of the old world ways in which I’m currently living are still alive and honored here. It’s one of the most gorgeous displays of human interaction, coming from some of the kindest and heartiest people I’ve ever met, who seem to value community and family above everything else, and using
seeds and food as a mechanism to encourage and preserve this way of living. Each day, I have at least one very emotional moment in the midst of connecting my family's habits and values to the Finnish customs here. No words for how lucky, privileged, and grateful I feel to be here and report this journey back home.
Oh, and when I asked Pjotr his tip for farming in relation to community, he said, “Be a part of it! Stay open and just let people be! Talk to everyone, but don’t gossip, because people are not bad, just different.”
The library is about to close for the day, so with it goes my work space. In each post, I’m going to include a sauna pro-tip, fun fact, random amusement, or piece of history. Basically, whatever strikes my fancy, as long as it involves sauna :-D Today’s as follows:
In the old days of sauna, it was improper to swear, argue, talk religion, mention the name of God, or even sing and speak loudly. These practices carry through till today when swearing is now acceptable, but it is a peaceful place where
it’s taboo if any tension arises.
Kippis! (Finnish cheers!) and Tippis just isn't an actually Finnish word, but makes for a catchy title, eh?
*Symbolically, the town fire hall, particularly in rural areas, are beautiful places of socialization and community building, however, there are events housed there, such as gun raffles that perpetuate dangerous firearm legislation, that I do not support!
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Ruth
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Tippis or Kippis
Loving your blog.