Looking for a mountain ash in the fell fireplace

The Kesänkijoki River meanders slowly; eutrophic water grass grows and in places the river seems almost dry. The lazy current ripples the grass and you forget to stare at that movement in the same way as you do at the flickering of flames in a forest campfire. Thoughts conveniently drift to the sidelines of the here and now moment. Sometimes that water was clearer.

It is hard to believe that sometime in the early 1960s, a boat crew passed under this bridge, which had sunk close to the river surface. In addition to myself, there were two other slightly older boys and two adult men. From the little boy's perspective, going under the bridge was an exciting event, the bridge deck was high and the sounds sounded different. I have a few details from the trip that I remember.

Passing Kruununmaja and the place where the little girl had drowned in the river, while the rest of the family was working on hay on the shore. As the father recounted the incident, he felt depressed for a long time, which gradually disappeared as he approached Kesänkijärvi.

The men paddled the winding river against a weak countercurrent, the scenery slowly changing. First the river banks opened up as a grassy expanse, then Lake Kesänkijärvi and the fells on either side of it, which I had previously only seen from the village. Up close, they seemed almost threatening.

The poles were replaced by oars. A walking tour began on the opposite bank, of which I have no special memories, but I suspect that the barramts and itikas made sure that it was not too pleasant.

The thatched hut had been built on the edge of an elongated slope. Below the slope opened up the hayfields of Lalvavuoma. The hayfields of Kaulanen's houses had been located in these open spaces. The former hayfields were now overgrown with willows, but the hut was still used for berry picking and forest trips.

The area around the hut was an exciting environment for us boys. I remember the swinging top of the tree that we were shaking. The adults warned us about the swinging top that could fall on our heads.

All I remember about the actual rasping is that it was just as boring and boring as it always was as a child. Struggling with the barbs, falling into water holes, and the few rasps that were found, going into the mouth. Otherwise, the rasping catch was poor even for adults.

I have often thought that one of the reasons why I have always been a heavy coffee consumer is the atmosphere when I woke up from the ground floor of the hut covered with pine needles to the mixed smell of bubbling coffee and burning tar.