The Inviolable Land: 2nd Entry

The sun has emerged from its dormancy, and the land is encompassed with a scarlet veil. Clinging to the arms of the boreal forest, an ivory frost emits a radiance that will be lost to the advancing day. The embers of a placid fire offer an amiable warmth against the night's lingering severity. Looking upon the forest's floor, one will observe an expanse of deep moss and prolific lingonberries. Nothing is to be heard save the remote echoes of the Capercaillie--Finland's woodgrouse. At this baying, a company awakens from utter tranquility. They rummage about the ground for the equipment that has been regrettably dispersed, and they proceed towards the direction of the outcry. Two huntsmen hasten onwards with a premeditated gait, as the ungainly adolescent brings up the rear with lumbering strides. The object of this expedition is known to all, yet the latter member seems to inadvertently render it unviable: a tempest's thunder was never destined to be heard before the stroke of lightening was to be seen. Nevertheless, the group charges the ever diminishing trail of the quarry until the sun has arisen to its highest apex. Although not even a single plume is ascertained this morning, the excursion has proven rather incomparable.

The former depiction related the events of a hunting trip I spent with Mr. Manninen and Elias in Lalli, Finland. Nestled approximately 50 kilometers northeast of Muhos, this quaint countryside was invigorating beyond any suitable portrayal. Prior to hunting, the rest of the Manninen family and I frequented their 150-year-old summer cottage, and we spent most of seventh through the ninth of September on a transcendent lake shore. Here, Vilma and Melja were impeccably resolute to ensnare a colossal perch from the abyss of the lake, while Jenni preoccupied herself with a Canon she had recently purchased. Aapeli, the fervent thespian of the family, became enraptured with the notion that he could astound gravity and momentum, as he tested the fortitude of a dilapidated bicycle on a rather steep gradient. On the 8th, Mr. Manninen, Elias, and I gathered and split firewood from a shed a few kilometers away from the cottage. The following morning, Vilma, Melja, Aapo, Selja, Jenni, Sonja, and Mrs. Manninen left the remaining males to indulge in an elusive hunt.

In my previous entry, I stated that I would be auditioning for a position in an orchestra. On the twelfth of September, I performed selected pieces of literature amongst a few musicians -- with a clarinet Mrs. Manninen was so gracious to lend me. Pettri, the orchestra's conductor resolved the evening by procuring me with a schedule for the next two months. Thus, every Wednesday and Friday -- and an occasional Thursday -- our group of twenty-two individuals rehearses approximately fifteen compositions. The group is constituted of doctors, students, lawyers, nurses, teachers, social workers, and retirees. Recently, our assembly performed an arrangement of Finnish Tango (rather different than the Argentinean version) in the Muhos Public Library with an opera singer from Oulu. We were received quite admirably by the audience, and the next two weeks have been reserved for our "sabbatical time."

Since the fourth of September, I have been enrolled in a Finnish language course in Oulu. Every Tuesday, I board a bus at 15:00 and arrive in Oulu by 16:20. I then walk a few kilometers north to a high school to begin my class. Within this assembly, there is quite a diverse arrangement of individuals: 1 Indian, 1 Greek, 1 Philippine, 4 Japanese, 1 Russian, 2 Germans, 1 French, 1 Dane, 4 British, 1 Italian, 3 Nigerians, and 4 Rotary Youth Exchange Students! My instructor is in her early twenties, and her abilities to linguistically challenge, yet encourage, are quite balanced. At the conclusion of each lesson, a list of problems from a work-book are assigned for the following week. Thus, I return to the bus stop at 19:00 and attempt to remain cognitive before entering the village of Pӓivӓrinne: missing one's bus stop is never an advisable course to entertain.

In comparison with Michigan's high school educational system, Finland offers a relatively distinct identity apart from the former. The school year is divided into five periods, or "jaksos," and the courses to be taken during these semesters are left to the discretion of the pupil. Of course every student must abide by the compulsory courses prescribed by the nation, but the manner and occasion in which he/she fulfills those requirements is rather accommodating. Additionally, a student's timetable varies with each period, and his/her attendance is dependent upon the quantity and placement of the chosen courses. At the conclusion of each jakso, students take a three-hour examination for each class (except for art, music, and physical education). Preparation for these assessments is reserved for a week of studying (one exam per day). The grading system ranges from 4-10 (instead of the GPA system). Subsequently, the first jakso was recently concluded on the first of October. During this second jakso, I am enrolled within the following courses: Advanced Placement Mathematics, Biology, Media Arts, Music, English (I am tutoring), Physical Education, Geography, and Philosophy.

Pӓivӓrinne is an agrarian hybrid between a village and a suburb. Agriculturally based on harvesting rye, barley, potatoes, and hay, this community is additionally interrupted with robust dwellings and a matrix of bicycle/walking trails. The latter are frequented by Sonja, Jenni, and I during the the evening hours with Halla and by a multitude of other civilians. At the center of the community, there lies an Evangelical Lutheran church, a convenience store, and a primary school for children between the ages of 7-12.

On the 21^st, Mrs. Manninen asked me to prepare an American meal and dessert. At first, I was inclined to concoct a roast with potatoes, carrots, and onions. However, I did not want remain too cohesive to the Manninen's typical and respectable diet. Consequently, I pillaged the freezer for ground beef and ransacked the cabinets for cumin, cayenne pepper, chili powder, garlic, coriander, and onions—Tacos were on the menu! Jenni and Sonja assisted me in pummeling the seasonings into a fine powder, as Selja felled tomatoes and lettuce for the toppings. Standing on a stool, Aapo perched his head over me, as the enlivened vapors pervaded the kitchen. Mrs. Manninen warmed the tortillas and Milja and Vilma gaped through the jalapeno jar in utter bewilderment. Everyone appeared to enjoy the meal, or perhaps I was not catching on to their Finnish courtesy. Elias and Mr. Manninen tested their valor with a heaping pile of exceptionally scorching jalapenos—I believe we went through at least 3 cartons of milk, 2 pitchers of water, 1 pitcher of juice, and 8 oranges that evening. For dessert, I prepared a rather portly rendition of chocolate chip cookies. With flour blanketing the kitchen, Sonja, Jenni, and I devised an immense embankment of cookie dough. We quarried practically baseball sized portions of the hill onto a few cookie sheets. After five minutes had passed, one would think Vilma, Melja, and Aapo were under a hypnotist’s trance, as their eyes seldom left the window of the oven. The cookies turned out to be a wonderful success, and Mr. Manninen appeared to be their greatest admirer.

Out of all of the preceding activities and descriptions, I maintain that reading to Milja and Vilma remains my utmost joy. At least twice a week, they approach me, hand me a short story, and direct me towards the couch in the living room. Here, I read the narratives in Finnish to them as they sit on either side of me. I deliver the lines at a steady rate, and occasionally one or both of my professional tutors will assist me in pronouncing an arduous word. As I conclude a page and advance to the next, Vilma and Milja exclaim in perfect unison, "Weeery good, Matt!" Recently, six drawing are hanging on my bedroom wall from the little duet, and three of my own illustrations now dangle on Milja and Vilma's door.

Sincerely,

Matt Parlette