I arrived in Savo, more precisely in Leppävirta, in 1985. I had briefly gone and been born in Sweden, from where I made my way to the heart of Savo by way of the Helsinki metropolitan area. I started school in rather grand surroundings, in the rooms of an old manor house, in 1988.
Savonian-ness hit me straight away, as my schoolmates had already got to know one another in the small village’s day clubs, daycare places and other social circles. The speech was fascinating, the wordplay was different and the general presence of it all had a character of its own.
I was received well. Of course, the newcomer’s speech differed a little from the natives’ way with words, and during the first weeks my Swedish background also came up, which was then wondered at for a while. Was I Swedish, a hurri or a refugee? That was never quite established.
School days, however, were for the most part a fine and unforgettable time, and they will always have a place in my heart. The same goes for the summers in Savo, in breathtaking surroundings in the middle of nature, and for the urban pulse of Kuopio City beating just an hour’s drive away, where you always put on something a little better. When comprehensive school ended in the spring of ’98, the feeling was undeniably wistful. The journey continued back to Helsinki, into new circles.
> Another thing that felt strange at first was the exceptional interest in other people’s affairs, as Sihvoska’s house deal, Rummukainen’s car changes and Kirjavainen’s building projects were dissected by the slot machines at Sokos.
The stereotypes of Savonian people, their easy-going nature and strong ability to circle and sidestep, I can easily confirm from my own experience. Another thing that felt strange at first was the exceptional interest in other people’s affairs, as Sihvoska’s house deal, Rummukainen’s car changes and Kirjavainen’s building projects were dissected by the slot machines at Sokos. Back then, I wondered where on earth it came from. Now I have come to understand that this interest is the Savonian way of caring, of loving one’s neighbour and one’s community.
A friend was helped if there was trouble. “He lives on our road” was enough for someone to be taken along to the games and counted as one of “us”. People from Varkaus were regarded with caution, and one’s own were looked after, whether it was football matches or other communal activities.
Even now, the lingering vapours of a Savonian accent in my speech have brought smiles and warm encounters around Finland, as people have recognised something of their own, something familiar and safe. That is Savonian-ness at its best. Hold on to it.
All in all, those eleven fine years in Northern Savo have left their mark in an extremely positive sense. I still feel, on some level, that I am going home when Varkauden Portti, the Unnukka advertisements and Puijo Tower come into view along Highway 5. The dialect may not change at the press of a button, but the tongue may loosen ever so slightly, and the manner of speech may take on a more relaxed rhythm as the pulse drops closer to peace of mind and a resting heart rate. Savonian-ness, then, is still strongly present in my life.
Jarkko Saarikoski
The writer is a rootless wanderer with a love of wordcraft and writing, producing honest streams of thought on Threads and Instagram under the name Tulivaanmieleen.fi.