In the Night Kitchen

Maurice Sendak’s book “In the Night Kitchen” was one of our read-aloud favorites when my children were small. We delighted in the idea of falling into a big bowl of cake batter, of flying a bread plane, and of crowing like a rooster at dawn when the cake was finished. Its message, as I remember it now, is that all kinds of odd things happen during the night, strange and good, before ‘normal’ morning comes again.

There’s something like that here in Finland at the darkest point of the year. It feels like it’s almost always night. There are a few hours of daylight, but it’s subdued and the light is diffuse. (The few times I’ve seen the sun, it’s felt like a holiday or like dawn; it’s been so close to the horizon and all light, no heat.) And there are strange and good things happening in the winter, some of which I’ll talk about here.

But unlike Mickey, I can’t run around Joensuu in the altogether. I now understand more of the reasons behind the huge variety of winter clothing items. I know why people wear mittens rather than gloves and I’ve grown less hostile towards turtlenecks. I realize that knitting is not just something to keep your hands busy while you listen to someone. I understand that scarves are essential, not decorative, and I get why there are so many kinds of boots. Dressing is serious business when the thermometer can reach as low as 35 below. Frostbite is a real concern, not something that only afflicts mountain climbers. I’ve been biking along feeling my thumbs go numb and my thighs sting under three layers of clothing. You have to plan out what to wear so that you not only have the right kind of warm material, but so you also trap air (which provides more warmth) and make sure you don’t sweat so much that you chill. It’s a new process to me, one that takes a lot of time, and one that has made me very crabby on more than one occasion, especially when there’s a social function on the radar that will require getting into and out of these clothes more than once because said function is not in my building at school.

Winter ninja

But I’m over whining about clothing. I’m grateful for every piece I have, whether I brought it over from Oregon, acquired it at a second-hand store, or splurged on the advice of Finnish friends. I don’t even mind that these items spill out all over the place near my front door and take considerable time to get into and out of, because they help me feel more confident about venturing out when it’s really cold. I’ve made a few wardrobe adjustments that make life easier (a fleece-lined cap with ear flaps, wool-silk thermals and a puffy coat), and I’ve decided to store my bike until it’s not as cold and the snow isn’t as deep.

Rather than whine about clothing, let me tell you a little bit about the good things from the “Night Kitchen”. A new network of friends is slowly taking shape, and I keep meeting new people. I can’t possibly replace my friends at home, but I am no longer lonely here. Today, for example, I met a friend at the weaving studio in town and through her met a few more people. We had coffee and shared a shamefully rich chocolate truffle, and I am now scheming about making rag rugs for my summer cabin. My cell phone rings more often now with calls from two particularly close friends and the occasional text message from others. I see that I haven’t scared away my students – several of my classes next term are already nearly full. I’m looking at the pictures of Finnish Facebook friends and seeing all kinds of winter delights – long-distance ice skating on lakes, ice fishing, “spark” riding. Now that I know how to dress, it might actually be fun to be active outdoors rather than coo at the pretty snow from behind triple-glazed windows.

My bus stop

And during the Christmas season, people here create loveliness out of the dark. Shops have luminaria or simple fat candles planted in the snow outside their doors. Light garlands stretch across the streets downtown. The shop windows are bright and inviting. And yesterday I went to a Christmas market. I met   Santa Claus (joulupukki), saw ponies visiting with children dressed like the Michelin man, and envied adults carrying steaming beverages in their mittened hands. It wasn’t terribly crowded, but the wooden stands and the hand-made items for sale made me feel like I had dropped into the 1700s. 

Christmas market, 3 p.m.

I know I’ll crow the first time the sun is still up when I come home from work and rejoice when I can put all the winter gear away, but for now, I’m content to live, and maybe even thrive, in this wintry night kitchen.