sample copy (PDF) - New World Finn

Lumi ja Kaamos
Outside the snow fell, thick and soft. It already covered the steps and hung
heavily from the roofs and eaves..... The clocks stopped ticking one by one.
Winter had come.—Tove Jansson
One epically dark February winter night (or was it day, in Rovaniemi, Finland, it
can be difficult to discern), I sat in some bleachers drinking “Reindeer Milk”
(a heated slurry of something alcoholic mixed with something else alcoholic)
and watched reindeer racing down the city streets. It was a Northern Lights Festival and
this reindeer race was an event not seen in Rovaniemi for almost thirty years. The whole
crowd gazed on in silence as the first of the reindeer made their way past the stands.
It soon became clear, this was not an easy task. You try informing a reindeer that its
purpose for the evening is to make its way through the capitol of Finnish Lapland, past
Renaults and Ladas, past teenagers on cell phones, past hotels and bars, and anteeksi,
please do so at a high speed with a bunch of your friends. Oh, and by the way, the winner
will become tomorrow’s dinner.
They sauntered, they stumbled, some seemed to be taking in the sights. Some were
coaxed, others were dragged. A few folks sitting in the cold went to find more “Milk”
for fortification.
Like so many events, especially those inter-species ones we humans like to invent, it
began with hiccups and giggles, but after a bit it took a turn. Reindeer began running,
darting, sprinting and ripping through the night,. Some came as fast as canon shot. Several
were so quick it left doubts as to whether they had ever passed, except for the new tracks
left in the snow. There was an odd thrill as each new racer flew by. You wanted all of
them to just keep running, lose their handlers, join the forest, search for lichen, sleep
with just the wind and the moon in the trees, unencumbered by man and his appetites.
An urban landscape wouldn’t be my first choice to observe reindeer. I kind of doubt
the reindeer found it much to their liking either. But to watch them bolt with amazing
bullet speed from the city out into the black night was like watching a strange dream. No
logic asked for or needed. Just a winter night filled with red faces, some polite yelling
and the powerful burst of reindeer hooves.
When I was a young child my dad would silently wake me early on a Saturday
morning in the dead of winter. He would bundle me in extra layers, drive me out
to a park and strap bindings onto my red rubber boots. Teeth chattering uncontrollably,
the snowy wind wiping my sleepy face, I stood next to my father who felt speech
wholly extraneous and unneccesary. And off he went down the hill. So began my skiing
lesson.
In the beginning it was all despair and humiliation. Staying vertical with long, narrow
sticks on my feet while sliding down a slick hill seemed, I don’t know. counter intuitive.
I fell so many times that I stopped listening to my dad’s quietly spoken “You can do
it,” and internally adopted my version of a Finnish aphorism, “This is impossible.”
Eventually, I didn’t fall, I snowplowed with agonizing speed. A nice Hemingway novel
could be read before I made it down one hill.
My father never asked me if I would like to learn to ski. It was understood that this
is what you do in winter. You come out to where the sky and snow convene and move
Jingo Viitala Vachon recounting stories from her life
in the documentary Amerikan Jenny
Seasons of the Year
with Diane Jarvenpa
© Diane Jarvenpa, 2008-09
Besides being a songwriter/singer, Diane has published her poetry
in numerous journals, including Milkweed Editions, Exit 13, Water-
Stone, and Poet’s On. Diane was a winner of the Minnesota Voices
Project for her book of poetry Divining the Landscape in 1996,
and is the winner in 2007 for her book, The Tender Wild Things.
your body through it. You angle yourself to point at the horizon, pitch your wooden tips
down, feel the pull of gravity. And become a whip of shadow, a small, sleek brush upon
the frozen ground, a tracery of life on a barren, white hill.
Our family was split about winter’s charms. My brothers and my dad thought the
whole idea of winter was to embrace it, incorporate, it and prevail. Snow was inevitable,
a plentitude, an augmentation. Though none of them semed to like to shovel the stuff.
Eino Leino said, “Life is always a struggle with eternal forces.’ And for me winter is
often just that. A driving force of weather sytems, arctic fronts and hostile takeovers. As
a child it was easy for me to stay inside, to do as my mother did in winter. Read. Read
and wait for the snow to melt.
Jukka Vieno said,’You saw white everywhere, found no lily in the snow.” My father
found many hyperboreal lilies in the snow. They were silence, the icy thorns of branches,
the slow pace of evening as darkness came over the hill. We found them when we skiied
together in parks, ski resorts and around the neighborhood. During the day he was a
fast skiier, as though he were trying to line himelf up for flight. When it grew dark, he
switchbacked in great swooping S’s and I would follow. Often he would disappear into
the night and I would race to catch up, listening for his deliberate push through the snow.
He taught me that, yes, it’s cold as hell, but there is a dreamwork going on in winter,
don’t be stupid, always be careful, but don’t be afraid. Enjoy the dream.
You watch the snow
as it’s science invents new ground,
a silent thrust of ice dust.
When noon sky is blackest
and days beat slowly,
you take up this light into your hands,
its great thick ocean hush
of diamonds and glacial grit
and let it fall, let it melt,
let yourself kneel
in this cold heaven.
For some of us, this season is a bitter, cold one, for all of us, in certain ways, our clocks
stop or slow down a bit. In spite of my druthers, I will attempt to find some strange dreams
and lilies hidden before me in the snow and deepest dark. May you find some too.
YLE Continues to Show Series of North American Finn Documentaries
TV watchers in Finland have had many opportunities in the last few years to get to
know a few of their unique and extraordinary “cousins” in North America.
Through the camera work of YLE film documentarian Erkki Määttänen, the stories
of numerous Finnish American and Finnish Canadians have been brought to life on
Finnish television.
Two documentaries most recently seen have featured Michigan’s Jingo Viitala Vachon,
and Thunder Bay’s Urho “Jänkä” Blomberg.
The story of Blomberg (filmed when he was 81 years old) titled Jänkä’s Dream,
affectionately traces his journey from his birthplace near Rovaniemi to his current home
in Northwest Ontario. Using animated maps and historic film, Määttänen shows how
Jänkä began his long journey at the end of the 1940s around the world to many ports of
call – throughout the Mid-East, South East Asia, Australia, the Mediterranean, Alaska,
Urho “Jänkä” Blomberg entertains on his accordion
outside the Hoito Restaurant in Thunder Bay
Mexico, and eventually Canada.
The film titled Amerikan Jenny features Jingo Viitala Vachon, one of Upper Michigan’s
prized Finnish-American celebrities. In this video, Määttänen captures the wonderful
humor and story of 91 year old Jingo. She talks about her life both in Michigan where
she grew up, and later when she lived in the South West with her husband. Numerous
photos and films from the past, plus recordings of her playing guitar and singing.
There is one thing in common between the Jänkä and Jingo: both are fluent in 3
languages – Spanish, English, and Finnish.
The YLE series of Finnish Americans now numbers nearly a dozen documentaries
including stories about other Upper Michigan Finns (the Haapala brothers for example),
younger Minnesota Finns (Diane Jarvenpa, Jim Johnson, Kip Peltoniemi, Mimmu
Salmela), and Manhattan-based Finnish singers Jaana Kantola and Paula Jaakkola.
JANUARY - FEBRUARY - MARCH • 2010 WINTER NEW WORLD FINN
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