A Local Call

It rained for two days from Thursday night till Saturday noon. The rain clouds hung low and it reminded me of this joke about the region where I live.

An architect was writing a book about Finnish churches and was traveling around the country to visit them all. Soon he noticed that in every church there was a golden phone half hidden in some corned of the church hall with a note next to it reading ’100€ per minute.’ He wondered about them and especially about the charge, but it took some time before he mustered the nerve to ask what the phone was for.

‘It’s a direct line to God,’ answered the priest in a church in Tampere, ‘You just pick up the phone and God will be at the other end of it.’ The architect thought that not many sinners had the money to pay for such call, but did not comment on the matter.

Where ever in Finland he went, there was the golden phone in every church, and in every church the charge was 100€ per minute. In time his travels took him to Pohjanmaa where land is flat and the sky is vast. In the first church he visited, just as expected, he found a golden phone but here the note read ’5€ per minute.’ The architect turned to the local priest who was acting as his guide and asked: ‘I know that this phone is a direct line to God and that there is one in every church in Finland, but how come you are charging only 5€ per minute when everyone else is charging 100€?’

‘Oh,’ said the priest, ‘We are so close to Heaven here that it’s a local call.’

Two thirds of the view here is sky. On a sunny day the sky dome swells far above the land, but when the wind blows the clouds fast and down over the landscape the sky hangs low like a ceiling. It definitely is a local call then.

Second Wave

The main force of the common redpolls stayed for two days. Then they were gone, as quickly as they appeared. Some stayed behind for a few days. There is one in the picture left from centre.

Two days of quiet followed. Then the second wave of northward migratory birds entered the are, and this time is was the bramblings, Fringilla montifringilla (järripeippo). Their flocks formed one bigger ‘super flock’; a friend of mine living about 40 km west from me told that a flock of bramblings appeared to her garden that same day. Apparently during the winter they can form flocks that may have even millions of birds. I’m not sure if I have ever seen bramblings before though I think a may have seen one 15 years ago, but this was something else. That’s odd though, they are one of the most common species  here in Finland. By the way, their Finnish name, järripeippo, comes from the calling sound they make, ‘järr, järr’. You can listen to their calls here.

Few bullfinches, Pyrrhula pyrrhula, (punatulkku) visited also while the bramblings were here. They are so beautifull, regal somehow. While the bramblings were very nervous, jumping around nervously taking flight if anything even seemed to happen, the bullfinches had more nerve. It is rare to see them in the part of town where we live. Bullfinches usually stick to those feeders that are closer to forests and woodlands, and it is really rare to see them after the snow is gone. What a treat!

Now there are only common pigeons visiting us. They often land first on our roof and what a noise that makes! You would not think that landing birds could cause such a rumble as they walk around before they deem it safe to actually land.

Spring Invasion

Our bird feeder didn’t see much action this winter. Last winter, 2010-2011, the various birds that visited our buffet consumed two and half sacks of oats, but this winter one was enough. During the January 2011 there were days when I filled the feeder up to four times a day, this year one fill could last several days. Something has happened during the last year that has taken its toll on small wintering birds. This winter we saw mostly yellowhammers, Emberiza citrinella (keltasirkku), and some house sparrows, Passer domesticus (varpunen).  House sparrows used to be the dominant species but now their numbers have plummeted. There used to be hundreds of them in our neighbourhood, the hedges were absolutely full of them! Now, almost total silence instead of constant, overwhelming chirping. I know that most of the greenfinches, Carduelis chloris (vihervarpunen), were wiped out three years ago by a disease and their numbers are still low. But what has happened to sparrows? Birds of the Paridae- family, however, are still doing fine. Great tits, Parus major (talitiainen) and blue tits, Parus caureleus (sinitiainen) especially have been regulars.

But a few days ago things changed. It snowed heavily last Tuesday, and all the ground that had been revealed was once again covered under a span of snow. An army of common redpolls, Carduellis flammea (urpiainen) invaded our backyard. At one point today there were about 100-130 of them feeding on the ground. They are small and grey, but the males are like blood stained soldiers in their courting coat with deep red caps on their foreheads and deep red breasts. If I remember correctly, the size of the red patch on the chest is a direct indication of the bird’s status: the larger the stain, the more dominant status.

It has been so much fun to see them in such numbers, and their presence has encouraged other species to join in. Today there were 5-7 chaffinches, Fringilla coelebs (peippo, peipponen) mingling with the redpolls, but it did take them several days before they got comfortable enough to join the horde of the hyperactive redpolls. I bought a special seed mix that contains seeds more suited to their beaks. Maybe that helped.

The Kleenex Man

This one is about ten years old, but I still remember the moment I saw him in a tissue paper I had used to blow by nose. There he was, a stranger, sipping something from his palms; quiet, calm, untroubled. I’m not sure where he came from but for some reason I imagined a tough, rough place. A desert, perhaps, or some windswept mountain plains like the Tibetan Plateau.

I kept the used tissue for days because it felt too sad to just throw him away. He also reminds me of Larry Niven’s essay on Superman, ‘Man of Steel, Woman of Kleenex’. Yes, I freely admit it, I am sci-fi nerd.

This is not the North Pole

Yesterday we went to see the sea ice around the wee island of Ohtakari in Lohtaja. The sea ice had broken up and the wind and the waves had pushed it landward into pack ice. On the westward shoreline of Ohtakari it felt like being on the Arctic sea ice or at the North Pole. My brother had been there a few days ago and then the pack ice had been moving, but yesterday the sea was still and quiet. Too bad. It would have been nice to hear the sound of the ice, the creaks and the wailing, how the ice moans as the ice floats press against each other. Maybe we’ll catch that next year.

But we did get to hear the sea last Saturday. Then we were at the harbour in Himanka. There the sea ice was still fast ice though not safe enough to walk on anymore. The sun had just set and the western sky was in blaze. The stars appeared on the dark blue deepness, Venus being the brightest with Jupiter closer to the horizon. Occasionally the ice moaned and creaked when it moved along the rifts that run across it. But the more interesting, more haunting, and bizarre sound was the sound the sea itself made as it moved beneath the fast ice. It sounded like a massive bowels of a monstrous beast, bubbling and squelching in a low pitch. At first we didn’t realise it was the sea, but though that the sound came from the cooling systems of the storage buildings for the fish. It took a while before we were sure it was the sea and not the machinery. What a strange soundscape it was: the deep, unseen, belching sea under the wast silence of the stars. I could have stayed there for hours just listening for the next groan.

The Square of Peacemaking

Memory of this encounter popped up recently. I visited Beijing two years ago with our group of tai ji (or tai chi alternatively) practitioners. One day we went to see Tiananmen Square, of course. Our shifu or master, who was born and raised in Beijing, had told us stories about how he and his family used to go to fly a kite there then when his was just a wee boy. And it is a strangely alluring place with the guards, the monuments, its contradictory history as the space of power and of Sunday fun; the gates of the Forbidden City on one side and the Chairman Mao Memorial Hall, seen here in the background, on the opposite side.

We wanted to have a group photograph and these high school kids stopped to help us. After one of them had taken a picture of us Westerners they spontaneously grouped around each of us for more pictures. We had such fun even if we had only a few common words to exchange. Of all the magnificent things I got to experience during this trip (the Great Wall, Forbidden City, the food, ah!) this turned out to be the most affecting one.

I wish I knew their names and where they came from. I so much would like to send this picture to them.

Tiananmen, the Gate of Heavenly Peace, is actually the gate leading to the palatial complex of the Forbidden City. But this translation of the gate’s name is not an accurate one. A more appropriate translation would be the ‘Gate of Heavenly Peacemaking’, the counter part of the gate on the south side of the square, Dianmen, the ‘Gate of Earthly Peacemaking.’ In between these two gates now exists an open square, a space, a void.

We filled it up for a moment. And every day the people, the ordinary and the power wielding, share that space with each other.

Revolutions

I found these saprophytic fungi growing on a dead but still standing birch tree one autumn few years ago. The tree was full of them, proving for new growth in its death. Today the snow is melting fast and great tits are collecting materials for new nests. The world turns and life regenerates – endlessly.

Disappearing Twins

I suddenly remembered these two photographs that I took last year. There was an interesting wee story about perhaps the most famous Siamese twins, Chang & Eng Bunker, in the monthly supplement of Helsingin Sanomat (a Finnish newspaper). I wanted to save the story in my scrapbook, so I cut out their portrait from the magazine. I put the cut-out on top of the magazine and got ready to glue it into my scrapbook. Then it happened.

There was an other story in the magazine about a man from Philippines or somewhere around there (not that important here) who had come to Finland to work as a berry picker for a summer. One day, on their way back from the forest, he had disappeared without a trace. He was found after a long, long time – dead. The story was about the mysterious circumstances surrounding his dead and it was the cover story of the month. You can see the title behind the twins: Kohtalokas matka – A Fateful Journey.

I turned the cut-out around to spread the glue on its backside, but…

The twins disappeared too. The last page and the last picture of the Fateful Journey was on their backside. The lighter part is a portrait picture of the berry picker placed on the spot in forest where his body was found.

This is accidental art.

Weirdest Christmas Card Ever

I found this card last week at a flea market and I just had to get it. What a strange picture! The card is roughly 100 years old and clearly Jugendstil (German Art Nouveau). Not only is the motif peculiar – even for Jugendstil – but is was posted as a Christmas card of all things! To miss Miina Kuusiniemi from J.J. Had she broken the sender’s heart?

The Merse near Caerlaveroc Castle

Quinn’s mention about the clouds in the previous post got me thinking about this place, the Merse near Caerlaveroc Castle in Dumfries and Galloway, Scotland. The Merse is a vast salt marsh between the castle and the sea (merse is actually a Scottish word for salt marsh). The Merse is divided in to two parts, the tidal estuary and the dry high march.

The actual tidal estuary, that during the low tide turns into mud flats, continues here for miles, literally. That part of the Merse is dangerous. First of all it is has bottomless pits of quicksand all over the place. There are guided walks to the mud flats but you really should not go there by yourself without a good guide. Secondly, when the high tide comes in, it comes in fast. And I mean it. We watched the tide coming in from a small hill top and it was rushing! Not like at any ordinary seaside where the water level rises rather slowly, here it formed small rivers that flowed towards the shore line and within minutes dry sand was covered with deep water. If you were out the on the flats when the tides comes in, you’d have no chance.

The high marsh here is a long strip of grassland between the mud flats and the forest. The boundary between the two areas is sharp, an actual step down to the mud. The high marsh was used as a pasture but the part we visited was a part of a conservation are. The grass was short and harsh but beautiful and perfect for picnic!

But what made the tone of the place were the wast skies and the clouds moving over our heads towards the sea and Ireland. I am always mesmerized by clouds no matter what kind they are. Blue skies are lovely and beautiful, but clouds, oh my. There is nothing quite like them.