From Nivala to Zion

The first snowfall came sometime in November, coating the land in a thick, heavy blanket that made our daily walk to school taxi more difficult. The snowplow didn’t always arrive in the mornings, leaving us to trudge through deep snow on a rough gravel logging road that wound through the woods, over hills and valleys- a stark contrast to the flat terrain of Nivala. Locals had warned us- winters here could be brutal. We saw evidence of that everywhere, especially in the birch stumps scattered throughout the forest- six feet tall, remnants of trees chopped down by previous tenants for firewood. Those stumps told a story on their own. Of course, we hoped the winter wouldn’t be too severe, but reality soon settled in. Some days, when we felled trees after snowfall, they became buried beneath the snow. We had to shovel away the thick layers, then chop off branches with an axe and debark the tree by hand, with a peeling iron. The work was grueling, and we could only manage a few hours before heading home exhausted- only to continue our chores there. Yet, looking back, those moments make me feel blessed for everything I have now. My childhood experiences- as difficult as they were- are precious, valuable reminders of what life was like for our parents…and of how it had been even harder for their parents before them.