The stone called to me

When we rode the bus from the Vantaa airport to the main train station in Helsinki, I was taken with the huge, dark rock outcroppings everywhere. It was a revelation to me, this bedrock; this black stone reaching out of the ground. I loved the wildness of it. It was reminiscent of ancient monuments being uncovered. Of mountain troll kings roaming their halls to the music of Edvard Grieg. It felt so old. I loved that feeling of age.

Age is a compelling concept for someone who lives in a place with maybe 300 years of real history behind it. Our country is so young. Even our mountains are young in comparison.

Some of the bedrock in Norway (near Karasjok in Finnmark) is 2.9 billion years old. In contrast, our Rocky Mountains are maybe 80 million years old.

Here, the mountains are full of layers; some diagonal, a few vertical thanks to plate tectonics and ancient earthquakes. They are beautiful and impressive, but craggy and weathered. Mostly sandstone and shale, they crumble at the touch. They don’t feel strong and protective. They feel fragile and broken. 

I love the huge, mighty boulders and bedrock in the Nordic area; the images of ridiculously tall and thin mountains near the fjords. I believe surroundings have an effect on people. Being surrounded by ancient, tough stone made me feel different. I felt safe, grounded, confident in my steps.

Perhaps this is where the concept of Sisu originated. That “Finnish concept described [by Wikipedia] as stoic determination, tenacity of purpose, grit, bravery, resilience, and hardiness.”

It seems if I lived among such ancient stone, and had to scrape a living out of the meager soil that covered it, in the cold dark North, I might have such a strength of will as well.

What did I learn from this?

Quiet strength is a mighty foundation.