Here, There and Everywhere

What is it about road trips we love so much? The well used map crumpled and torn at the edges and always on hand, the gas station coffee, the detours and side roads to see the never-before-seen. The crumbs of the soggy sandwich ground into the folds of the car seat, the trails of chewing gum wrappers, the bags and books and papers and lunches all piled in the back. Radio stations coming in and out of range, listening to interviews with singers who have passed their popularity but still maintain loyal fans, and a 30 minute program detailing the temperature, wind speed and direction for every city, hamlet, settlement in the country.

I like how the scenery changes - deep gold fields of autumn, first birch leaves now yellow, four white swans in a lake taking on the gray rain. Old yellow and red farm houses, older gray ones with gaps in the wood and leaning into the wind. Cows out to pasture, side of the road picnic stops, and a never ending ocean of trees lining the highways and byways of Finland. Our new favourite passtime in the car, after all our games of years past have been exhausted, is reading to each other. Last road trip we covered the history, geography and natural history of Ghana. This trip it was post WWII social policy and the role of settlment houses. One driving, the other reading; one pair of eyes on the road, another pair illuminating the struggles of social reformers and poverty activists. Makes me crave Toronto, St Christopher House, work.

We find ourselves at Kati's house with my second cousin Jaana and her coworkers Kati and Hassinen (this is the Finnishized version of his Moroccan name). We eat, drink red wine, and talk. The sun outside is setting but none of us has turned the light on yet and we unwrap the conversation in semi-darkness. Immigration, racism, the experiences of non status people in Finland, France, Canada. Government policy, soccer, children, books. Still more on racism, on culture, on the way it is and the way it could be. Lubricated with still more wine, we become beautiful, funny, passionate, and amazingly brilliant. We dance with words.

My father and I sit in the living room of his small parsonage and Chris still sleeps in the other room. We talk about family history, about global politics, of religion, of Eurocentrism. I like this conversation and I realize that with my father, of all my many relatives, I share the most in common in the way that I think and the things I believe. He challenges me to a game of chess and I remember playing as a young girl, against my dad and against my older brothers. He beats me - he's not bad at all - but not before I was able to surprise him and get his queen. We have long dinner conversations too.

We go for a hike not too far from where he lives. The forest is full of red lingonberries, bitter and tart like cranberries but small and growing close to the ground. There are also many varieties of mushrooms, my dad picks them up like some natural historian and explains what they are like, breaks them in two and reveals the small insects inside but also the lily white flesh. We hike the small loop, exporing the old mill and the river along the way. We stop at the empty campsite with a lean-to and fire pit. Chris chops kindling with ease and I start the fire. We grill veggie wieners, drink coffee and eat sandwiches. We talk around the fire. My dad and I go swimming in the deep crag where the water is cold and sweet. Naked in the woods, the three of us with the wind on our cheeks and the day's walk under our soles.

Chris and I spend the afternoon in one of our favourite pass-times: sports. With the now inflated soccer ball, we play three games of 21, take shots on the soccer goal, and run two 400 metre races around the track. We are not too unevenly matched. Chris generally beats me 2-1 in most things but I glow with pride when in our second race, about 40 metres from the finish line, I kick into the next gear and leave him behind and hear him laughing to himelf. He didn't stand a chance.

Yesterday in Jyväskylä at the Art Gallery and the museum of Finnish handcrafts with dad and Chris. The art gallery had a special tea with the artist Anna-Liisa Hakkarainen and she gave a tour of the exhibtion, explaining her inspiration for many of the works. Her stories were simple, not unlike her paintings, yet still somehow appealing and moving.

Finally back on the road and back in Savonlinna. These are our last days here, last days at the cottage before we pack up, clean up and move out. The road ahead calls us by our names.

Love to everyone, as always, Miia