The old year has survived its darkest days, and now the earth turns toward light. We get the first glimpses in Tammikuu, Turning Month, JANUARY. Now the days lengthen in the tiniest of fractions. Snowstorms come and go, never failing to catch our attention with their feathery beauty, in spite of the work they bring with them. Tammikuu stretches out interminably. Will its 31 days ever end? But then we notice the evening light holding out just a little longer each day. And finally January 15 arrives. We are on the downward side of what is quite possibly the year’s longest month. Spring will come once again.
Then the earth bridges the darkness with Helmikuu, Pearl month. It’s FEBRUARY. I might have come up with a more somber word, perhaps “Slop month” or “ Long Underwear month”. But there is the Finns’ choice– Pearl Month. So I’m looking for pearls. Then I wake up one morning to diffused light streaming in through the window, cascading through tree branches silhouetted against an achingly blue sky. Sunlight, hazed and opalescent, steals the darkness. You would think the sun would have given up by now. Yesterday’s raindrops were captured on tree limbs last night as the temperature plummeted and the wind finally calmed. Snowbanks shimmer in late winter light; trees catch tiny pearls of ice and the forest is bejeweled. Naked branches reach for the sky, endless filigree of lace inscribed on pearly opalescence. Diamonds and pearls dangling from every branch. Oh, I see. Helmikuu.
It’s Maalaskuu, “Earth Month”. MARCH, so long awaited, is here!. The sun peels back layers of white to reveal the rich, dark earth. Slowly, imperceptively, the snowcover loses its battle with the emerging ground. Heavy rains fall, the brooks brim and spill over. You can hear the sound of water tumbling as snowmelt nourishes the soil. Foolishly hopeful, I wander around, scrutinizing the tips of branches for signs of life. There it is – the tiniest of buds on the lilac bush, no bigger than a minute. But still it is swelling and greening. The ground is spongy under my feet, covered in last fall’s leaves but ready to spring into action. Evening light lingers as our half of the world leans into the sun. Willows green up and birdsong gathers momentum. Earth Month. Hope Month. All is poised and ready for the coming show. Not yet, but soon.
Then comes Huhtikuu, APRIL, Clearing Month. The spring rains soak in and tiny green shoots pop up from the earth. Preparation for planting, plans for the harvest. A small towheaded Finnish boy clad in overalls leaves the warmth of his mother’s kitchen and treks down the hill toward the river at the bottom of this northern Minnesota farm. He’s wielding a feed bag with precious cargo, the morning coffee for his father and grandfather, who are clearing land on the other side of the river. Time to make room for the new planting of oats and hay. He crosses the little stream to the far side, carefully stepping on each of the stones his father has placed. Safety and solid ground, and nothing dropped or broken. He hears the ring of the axes.
“Over here, Son!”
They’ve been at it for a good part of the morning, and the woodpile grows. The huge steaming horses almost shake the earth as they strain under the load of logs on the sled.. The sharp scent of freshly cut jackpine permeates the chill April air as sun and clouds battle in a pale spring sky. The boy rests the bag on the cold ground and gingerly places the Mason jar and tin cups on a stump. The men pause and stretch, pouring the steaming fresh creaminess into their cups, popping a sugar lump in to sweeten it. The aroma of the freshly brewed coffee mingles with the wood and forest fragrances. The boy’s heart swells with pride. He’s part of the team.
Here comes the merry month of MAY. And it is a merry time indeed, perhaps the most hopeful time of the year. The Finns call it Tokukuu, Digging Month. The earth, nourished by winter’s snowfall, is ready to be seeded with new life. We are pulled to the soil to plant gardens. Every day the twilights stretch out longer and longer as the earth is released from darkness. Red buds glow on branch tips as baby leaves are born, then morph into delicate pink flowers that will soon turn the brightest green. Against a deep blue sky, they can make your heart ache with their beauty. The evocative fragrances of lilacs and lilies of the valley drift on the wind, catching us with surprise. We who live in northern climes are at the peak of the year.
Kesakuu follows, Summer month. JUNE. Days conquer nights and it seems that the darkness will never again win. But the summer solstice arrives. The earth inevitably tilts away from the sun once more. So hurry – grab every precious moment. So hurry – grab it all. Primary colors abound – bluest of skies, yellow buttercups cheerfully volunteering their hues, ruby red strawberries. We watch for the fireflies in the moonlight and are appropriately enchanted. Rhubarb pie, watermelon, as many picnics and barbecues as we can squeeze in. These are the gifts of Kesakuu.
Hot and humid, JULY. Heinakuu, Hay month. The fields ripple golden in the warmth of the sun, ripening for harvest. It’s time to get out to Uncle’s farm and help the crew to bring in the hay. The work is intense. First a huge breakfast, then out to the fields until 10 AM for a much needed coffee break, complete with cinnamon rolls. Somewhere around 1 PM everyone stops for dinner, the heaviest meal of the day. The table groans with a feast for the hungry crew. Then back to the fields till midafternoon coffee, and then out again to finish up the day’s work. The women keep the food coming and the men push through, falling into a deep sleep to prepare for the next day’s labor. For these brief weeks, they are in sync with the rhythm of the earth.
Elokuu, Life month, Harvest month follows. The month of AUGUST. The reapers toil, sweating in late summer heat, knowing what lies ahead, racing with time. We might complain about the heat and humidity, or we might soak it up for those frigid days that are coming all too soon. This is the time to gorge on peaches from the farmstand, ripened to perfection. This is the time to pick juicy raspberries from the field, or to hunt for blueberries. The joys of foraging are plentiful in August.
Here at last is Syyskuu, SEPTEMBER. Summer light slants and narrows into Autumn Month. What’s that change in the air, that subtle tang that wasn’t there last week? Oh, I see, it’s time to flip the calendar. Syyskuu is upon us. I feel a twinge of regret as I view Elokuu’s page for the last time. Fruits ripen in flamboyance, Syyskuu’s gift of beauty. The summer days have gone by, iridescent pearls slipping off the string of time one by one. A wave of nostalgia hits me, a poignant longing for endless twilights and the smell of bright roses in bloom. No summers are ever quite alike; this one will never return.
And yet, here comes the school bus. A sense of order and normalcy returns after the last flambuoyant months. Kids collect and chatter, then file on board. Faint tinges of color creep into the trees as crisp mornings greet us. Ice cream stands post their closing dates. Oh, I’d better get up to the one by the lake to grab my last cone of Lemon Berry Shortcake. The orchards offer their fresh, ripe peaches for a brief window of time. Dunkin’ Donuts brings back pumpkin lattes and apple muffins. Welcome, Syyskuu! Did I catch the scent of a snowflake already? Let’s not think about that yet.
Then OCTOBER. Lokakuu, Mud month. Gunshot rings through the early morning mist as deer hunters perch in tree stands for hours, patiently waiting for the perfect target. The trees erupt in a blaze of color that will just barely stretch into November. Flaming maples, golden birches, dark rusty oaks, their tops glowing with the last of the sun’s rays. Rocked back and forth in the warm wind of this late October afternoon, I watch the leaves tumbling and swirling down in a random dance of death, each fragment of gold caught for a moment, only a moment, in the light. I’m trying desperately to grasp this extravaganza but it’s slipping away. The wind and the leaves and the swirling dance are all liars. How can all of this glory ever fade? But it will. For now the earth must face the truth, and so must we. Rain and snow fall. The earth turns wet and useless. Finally all is covered in the first heavy snowfall.
A kind of foreboding settles in as we slide into Marraskuu, Death month. NOVEMBER. The name sends a shiver up the spine. There is nothing we can do. The magic of summer is only a memory – sparkling blue lakes, skies to match, fragrant fields of ripening hay, endless twilight evenings. The year has run its course. Harvest is past and the fields lie sere and spent, tufts of the first snowfall caught in their stubble. Silently chilling, they brace for the coming cold. Their work is done for the year. Halfhearted sunlight, thin and watery, spreads over the land. Abandoned farms dot the countryside, artifacts from the past, their greying barns weathered to softness. Farm buildings lean into each other, crumbling inexorably into the earth. Farmhouses once brimming with life now sit silent, gathering dust, their windows covered in cobwebs. The families that lived there are long gone, who knows where, taking their memories with them. No lamplight will shine from those windows through the dark winter nights. The relentless flatness of the prairie gives little protection from the cold and piercing winds. We are helpless before the coming winter.
But someone is baking Christmas cookies. And anticipation quickens for Joulukuu, Yule month, a pagan holiday co-opted by the Christians in the 600’s. DECEMBER. The dead of winter is subsumed into the joy of the holiday. Songs, stories, gatherings around coffee and Pulla bread. Somehow the world sings. The Co-op is bustling with Christmas shoppers. The town gathers for the annual Christmas program in the one room schoolhouse and old cherished carols ring out into the night. And Joulo Ukko faithfully climbs in through the window on Christmas Eve, delivering his magic to the children. Let those winter winds blow, let the snow blanket the earth with white. All is safe and warm. Soon the earth will turn again into the light.