Text: Sal­la Pät­si

Trans­la­ti­on: Sirk­ka-Lii­sa Lei­no­nen

I pul­led up the last leeks and pars­nips when the soil was al­re­a­dy hard from sub­ze­ro tem­pe­ra­tu­res. I like the ex­ci­te­ment of gro­wing new and dif­fe­rent ve­ge­tab­le spe­cies and not kno­wing when exact­ly to har­vest them, or even kno­wing what I will find in my ve­ge­tab­le patch. I do not mind long and mild fal­ls like the one we have had. I can take my time won­de­ring if I should pull up the ve­ge­tab­les to­day or to­mor­row.

My kids are wai­ting for the calm, cold nights that will turn our lake in­to a ska­ting rink. We have not had good ska­ting ice for ye­ars. There has al­wa­ys been too much wind and snow. The ice that de­ve­lops in that kind of we­at­her is lum­py and co­ve­red by snow.

We re­al­ly have had unu­su­al­ly warm fall we­at­her on sun­ny days. On one calm day, when I felt so hot I had to take off my jac­ket, I al­re­a­dy won­de­red if I was get­ting in­to me­no­pau­se with hot flus­hes. Wit­hin our fa­mi­ly, at le­ast, I am known for overd­res­sing. I usu­al­ly dress more warm­ly than ne­ces­sa­ry. But the good thing is that I then have an ext­ra gar­ment that I can give to those who are fee­ling cold!

I was won­de­ring how pe­op­le who live from so­lar ener­gy will sur­vi­ve through the dark fall and win­ter. As days grow dar­ker and coo­ler, my mind is fil­led with me­lanc­ho­ly thoughts, es­pe­ci­al­ly as cons­tant pain ma­kes me doubt my own re­sour­ces. I can­not re­mem­ber a mor­ning when I would have wo­ken up ac­ti­ve and pain­less. The last of those mor­nings was so long. Or were there any ever? I just feel I do not ac­comp­lish anyt­hing, though I keep doing things all the time. But there is no joy in that ac­ti­vi­ty. I just do things be­cau­se I have to.

Then, all of a sud­den, you face is lit by a me­a­ning­ful smile when you look at me.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Just that yo­ur friz­zy hair looks so be­au­ti­ful when the sun shi­nes on it!”

– –

“It is enough for the joy of the day

to have an ey­e­ful of so­met­hing be­au­ti­ful.

Or even such a me­mo­ry.

The ec­ho of a tune still pla­ying.”

(poem by Maa­ria Lei­no­nen)