I wrote to my friend Barbie about my upbringing and she suggested that this type of history might interest others. So here goes:

My last name? It is Finnish. I grew up in Astoria Oregon, the oldest settlement west of The Rocky Mountains! It has so much history that other places that claim history or try to build that up make me chuckle. My father spoke fluent Finnish..and it was settled by Finns mainly..but also Swedes etc. Growing up I was surrounded by Finns but because it was so normal to me, I didn’t really notice it. I also realize now that there is a regional accent there from the Scandinavian influence. When I was a child I thought the world was filled with these people who spoke another language and/or looked Scandinavian or had names like Saarheim, Jylha, Lahti, Takkonein. etc. There were dances at Suomi Hall. Never realized until years into my adulthood that Suomi means Finland in Finnish. I was surrounded by cultural roots I did not even realize were part of my center.

My father was a man with a lot of opinions and was freely willing to share them. In that way, I am very much like him (be quiet peanut gallery!). One time I heard him talking on the radio about gun control. It was the oddest thing. I had known and heard this man all of my life and had never heard his accent before. The radio brought it out. Of course, his first language was Finnish. Now, if you know someone who learned English as a second language, even as a very small child, notice that underneath there is the hint of the original language.

The regional dialect in Astoria is somewhat like Marge in Fargo. But, not so strong. And it had a class element to it. Loggers were more likely to talk about “gettin in the truck now” with each word overly emphasized. Finnish emphasizes each word exactly the same. Hard to comprehend but it is true. So imagine that phrase with the emphasis equally on each word, and you have the idea of the regional accent in Astoria.

I miss Astoria. I left in my 20s to go to school in Portland. And I loved the city life. I still do. But there will always be something in me that remembers what it was like to know and be known by everyone. To see even the “oddballs” be included as part of the community. For example, there was what now would easily be recognized as a gay man named Robbie. Robbie was part of the community. People did not speculate about him. People didn’t go after him. He just was feminine and had mainly girl friends. Instead of hatred for this defiance of the masculine ideal..or charges of “queer”… he was just “Robbie”.  A little different but a person first. An individual. We grew up with him. We knew him. He was not part of a class of people. Robbie moved to Portland and was murdered years ago.

I miss the biographical aspects of growing up in a small town. The fact that you watch others history and they yours, throughout your life. There is a long biography that others all know about you and you of them. You are observed. You are observed throughout your life and it gives your life meaning….that others know your history. That they know your marriage is finally to the right person…that your buying a house has been your life long dream. Nearly everyone knows.

I took it so for granted. I look back and go wow…my best friends were a Swede and a Finn. (Parenthetically I met the brilliant young 16-year-old das auto/rev rand because he lived in  Astoria for awhile and found me on here because of that) He is one of the friend’s I cherish the most on myspace.

Out of 4 cheerleaders in the ninth grade THREE were Finns and the other was Norwegian. Last names were Takko (shortened from Takkonein), Saarheim, Savel, and Johnson.

If you watched the logging documentary on The History Channel, you will have seen Jay Browning. I went to school with Jay. He was best friends with my Swedish best friend’s brother. His father was our family eye doctor.

There are so many negative stereotypes about small towns. But small towns also celebrate, much better than large places, what it is to grow up and have a life that has meaning…just as others’ lives have meaning. It is called community. Something we sorely lack these days.