Inspiration From the Strangest Places

Photo by Tomi Tapio

 

There, on a pile of dirt beside an open grave stood the magpie. It was watching her. She was sure of it as the rumpus stopped and it turned its head to gaze at her. The top half of its beak was gone.

                                                                    - From THE BERRY PICKERS

A fellow student of a writing workshop once asked how I could create such an awful image; a bird with half a beak. Gross, she said. The truth is I didn’t make it up. There actually was a magpie with a broken beak that lived at my house in Finland for the three years I did. He was eloquently dubbed Half-Beak.

He arrived shortly after the installation of a bird feeder outside the kitchen window. I faithfully tromped through rain and snow and sunshine with a bucket of sunflower seeds to fill the contraption when nature’s offerings turned stingy. Given that I was somewhat bored (and in another life would have been an ethologist) I spent way too much time watching the visitors outside the glass.

Pecking order is very real. Bullies win. Some birds eat only from the feeder while others plunder the ground beneath, but the magpie shows preference for wherever the food is. And Half-Beak, with his tenacious survival skills, was a fountain of resourcefulness. While his colleagues scoured the lawn and garden with their intact mouths, he scooped insects and spiders from the window frames. When I threw out stale bread, he was first on the scene staking his claim. As others arrived, he spread his wings and danced and screamed them away. During the brief reprieve before they returned, he grabbed pieces of food and hoarded them under the wild rose bush. Then he hopped back and pecked at the leavings in the open like nothing was amiss. He may have been gross, but how could I not love a bird like that?

For centuries, magpies have been considered omens in the realm of superstition. They can signal anything from death and sorrow to good fortune. Since the characters in The Berry Pickers live in a rural setting where people hold tight to traditions and wives tales, I couldn’t resist writing in a little Half-Beak to add to the tension of the scene.

Where is the weirdest (or most mundane) place you’ve gathered inspiration?

A Taste of Spring

Photo by Ari Helminen

Wake up, Earth, from thy deep slumber,
From thy sleep, thou Lord's own meadow!
Let the seeds grow in the clearing
And the stalks rise tall and slender;
Let the yield be in the thousands,
Reproduce by many hundreds
From my ploughing and my sowing
As reward for all my labor.

             - from The Kalevala, Tales of Magic and Adventure

The Churches of Finland: A Sampling

Most places have their shrines to a higher power and Finland is no exception. Helsinki boasts the Tuomiokirkko, a Lutheran Church originally built in honor of Czar Nicholas of Russia, and the Orthodox Church, Uspenski.

Tuomiokirkko, Helsinki

Uspenski Cathedral, Helsinki

Of course, they are beautiful, but it’s the wooden churches in the countryside that capture my interest. This one was found on a side trip into Pomarkku, a small town in the Satakunta region in the southwest of the country.

Wooden Church, Pomarkku

The red and gold building colors are common throughout Finland. Red and yellow ochre paint was made with a mixture of linseed oil, rye flour, iron sulfate and water cooked over a fire. It is still considered a durable, environmentally friendly option for painting the outside of buildings. The shingles on the roof of this structure are made of wood. The footprint is in the shape of a cross, like many early churches.

The grounds surrounding the church are clogged with graves. You have to walk through them to reach the door. One stone announces the loss of two children in the same family within a few years. The marker is larger than others, a possible demonstration of extreme sorrow or wealth. Pitifully, neither of which could insulate the family from the inevitable. It’s quiet now, but there’s still a ghost of anguish. And in the middle of it all, that enormous symbol of hope. The desire for comfort and calming of our fears.

This is the kind of church I see my Talvikki running from; in a countryside filled with wives tales and superstition as well as religion, afraid that a bird has come as an omen of death. A young mother grieving on a mound of raw earth, trying to understand something that makes no sense. Believing, but finding no reprieve.

The Case of an American Bob*tale* in Finland

Bobby, height: 13" weight: 13 lbs

While I'm busy working on The Berry Pickers, here's an oldie - just because. Cheers.

This morning, I opened the door on the decapitated remains of Bocky the bird. It seemed evident the actual crime of rage had taken place elsewhere and the body had been moved. Perhaps the perp had glory issues and wanted to show off her kill.

The main suspect, an American Bobtail cat known as Bobby, looked on showing no apparent remorse. Bobby, an American immigrant, has been residing in the country for one year. Sources say, although usually mild mannered she has had numerous run-ins with the locals and seems content to "just lay around all day."

But the question is: was it murder or self defense? You see, Bocky had been making quite a nuisance of himself. He and the wife had moved into the neighborhood a short while ago and set up nest about 30 feet up a sturdy pine around the side of the house. She was the quiet type, so we can only assume there were eggs involved. Call it fatherly protection or too much testosterone, but Bocky started harassing anyone who came within 40 feet of his tree. It started with verbal abuse and as he got bolder, progressed to physical violence. I would look out the window to find him bullying other birds that were trolling for worms on the lawn, tail feathers all puffed out. He made a habit of dive bombing the cat, even when she was far away and headed in the opposite direction. He once attacked her while I was letting her inside.

We wondered why she seemed to tolerate it so well, to take it in stride. But we all knew it was only a matter of time before she'd snap. So I ask, how much is any self-respecting cat expected to take?

Eyes on the Sky

Photo Viisi Sodan Vuotta Werner Soderstrom Osakeytio 1963

A lookout shouted and the call was picked up by others.

“Planes from the east! Take cover!”

Refugees cried out and scurried into the trees. The soldiers dispersed through the underbrush, pointing their weapons toward the sky. Helena grabbed Paavo and crouched behind the cow; pressing him into the rough bark of a trunk.

“It’s ok,” she said. “We’ll be alright.”

Back in the woods, men pushed and pulled an enormous gun from hiding. When it was set in place, a spotter peered though the branches as another turned a crank, causing the gun to look upwards.

                                                                         - From THE BERRY PICKERS

When I Grow Up

Photo Suomen Sotavaki Werner Soderstrom Osakeyhtio 1936

PURGE by Sofi Oksanen

Sofi Oksanen is a celebrity in Finland. Purple streaked dreadlocks and red painted lips make her hard to miss. She commands attention. And so does her book, Purge. The novel, originally published in Finland, has earned Oksanen the Finlandia Award, the European Book Prize, and other tributes. The English translation is available in paperback in the US. 

Purge is the story of Aliide Truu. It opens with an aged Aliide, living in the poor and all but forgotten region of Läänemaa, in a newly liberated Estonia. There was nothing but UFO’s, old men, and dim-witted hooligans around here anymore, she laments. She doesn’t know that destruction, or salvation, has been dumped on her step during the night; a victim of a Russian mafia sex trafficker, named Zara. A girl with a connection to Aliide’s past.

The narrative winds through time, retelling the stories of both women. Aliide yearns for Hans Pekk, whose obsessive desire for her sister Ingel drives her mad. Zara is seduced by lies and pursues work in the west to earn money for medical school, where she is dragged into a world of prostitution and murder. Together, they find a tremulous comfort built on distrust and deception. From German occupation in WWII, to the breakdown of Soviet power in the 1990s, Oksanen draws the reader into the quiet Estonian countryside and the fear and anger peeking from behind closed curtains. A life lived at the mercy of others.

The book, like so many before, culminates in redemption of sorts, but believe me when I say it isn’t what you expect. An unrepentant Aliide will leave you wondering how she evokes such pity. Definitely worth a read.