Mu Eadni / Mother of Mine

It’s a scary time. 

International law? Unenforceable. Convicted felon for president? Probable. Rollback of women’s rights? Happening.

As fascism bares its teeth, we must not take for granted the freedoms we’ve gained. They can be lost in one election. 

Those are my thoughts as I listen on repeat to this beautiful song by Mari Boine. I feel my heart slow. It is good medicine for those of us with a mother wound, recent or ancient, which is, I suppose, all of us.

In the introduction (below), Mari explains that her mother was a Laestadian Christian. For those yet unfamiliar, the faith is named for its 19th century Swedish Sámi founder, Lars Levi Laestadius, who finally succeeded in Christianizing the Sámi, or so it is said, after hundreds of years of failed missions. But it was not so simple.

Long before “woke” meant “aware of historical oppressions,” Laestadians referred to themselves as “the awakened”: aware of an embodied, transformative experience of the Divine not available through performative religion. Colonial power dynamics remained, however, shifting from male priests to male lay preachers, while principles like simplicity and moderation hardened into performative taboos. My own Laestadian mother, who died in 2021, never wore makeup or jewelry (other than a wedding band), never had her hair cut or styled, never saw a film, concert, or ball game, never played an instrument, never tasted wine, never heard a woman preach, never had her own bank account. Married at 17, she had nine children, and when her daughters chose different paths, she was profoundly hurt. I l often wished that I could free her, like a bird from a cage, and I suspect she felt the same about her mom, whose life was even more restricted.

Would Mari’s mom have attended her concerts had she been able to do so in disguise, without her Laestadian community punishing her for it?

Perhaps, in a way, she is at every performance, as transported as the rest of the audience, free to be carried away by beauty. It’s a lovely thought, and while I’m at it, I’ll place my mom, her distant relative, alongside, smiling and swaying.

Bravi tutti, Mari Boine and band, Knut Bry for the videography, Vojta Drnek for the editing, and Outi Pieski for the amazing art. Great work. (I am chuffed that my translation is captioned.)

Introduction

Mu eadni / Mother of Mine is a song of love and lament for the woman who gave me life, and for all women who suffer under systems that shame and subordinate them. As a Laestadian Christian, my eadni was bound by strict gender roles, and that insidious association of the feminine with sin. She was taught to be self-denying: that her highest purpose as a woman was obedience. (To males, naturally, all the way down.)

When her daughters resisted, she felt it was a personal failure. And yet, she was Sáami, with echoes and stirrings from a much older worldview, one that celebrated the feminine, that found purpose in reciprocity, not hierarchies. Sometimes, I feel her with us, free from shame, sharing our freedom. Smoothing our fringe. Adjusting our belts. Asking us to twirl.

Mari Boine

Mu Eadni 

You were not permitted to preen

Not for you the silken liidni

Nor were you allowed to dream

Of glamour, or vainglorious gákti

Feminine desire you had to condemn 

You could not defend even your own daughters

For pleasures of the flesh

Could open the soul to sin

O mother of mine, mother of mine

If I could draw you close again

I would swathe you in silk and pearls

Ribbon you in silver and gold 

Adorn you and adore you

So we three daughters, free

Could recall you to unshamed joy

You were not permitted to preen

For pleasures of the flesh

Could open the soul to sin

My mother, O my mother

Our mother, O our mother



			

Gaski on Sámi Fire Traditions

My friend Harald Gaski, the widely-known and respected Sámi scholar, author, and professor who has written extensively about Sámi language and traditions (and to whom I am forever grateful for his advice on the anthem and other projects!), was awarded an honorary doctorate this week by Umeå University. The fact that “inspiring others” was part of the rationale for this honor speaks to his generosity; it is one thing to do good work and another to encourage it in others.

Ollu lihkku, Harald.

Chatting with Harald Gaski in Tromsø, 2022

No stranger to Seattle, Harald has lectured here several times, and has had a less visible hand in many events. Recently his translation of poems by Áillohaš were read at Mary Sara’s rematriation, and his script for Juoiggás was enjoyed at the National Nordic Museum. Harald has generously sought contributions to Sámi literature by Americans; in 2021, I was delighted to introduce him to Gary Anderson and Vivian Faith Prescott, whose poetry he published in the journal Sámis.

In this Norwegian-language article by Ellen Kathrine Bludd, you can read some of Harald’s reflections on Sámi fire traditions. Ikke Norsk? Check out the images at the link, and then enjoy an English translation below.


A campfire doesn’t have to be big

Even small fires can give us light and warmth, and keep mosquitoes away. But did you know that in Sámi tradition there lived a goddess under the fire to whom you could offer a drop of coffee?

The fire is an important part of Sámi everyday life. You light a fire to make coffee, cook, and warm yourself. And when you set up a lávvo (tent) or build a gamme (hut), the árran (fireplace) is at its center. But why is the fire so important to the Sámi? And can outdoor enthusiasts and others learn something from the Sámi fire culture?

– The Sámi culture is an Arctic culture. In the Sámi areas it is cold all year round, so the fire is very important. It brings light and warmth, says Harald Gaski.

Gaski is Professor II of Sámi cultural history and literature at UiT and professor of Sámi literature at Sámi allaskuvla.

– The sun is an old mythical figure for the Sámi, he says.

The professor explains that the fire and the sun are related to each other, and both provide light and heat.

There are many different types of fire in Sámi culture.

Smokeless fire

Some types of wood burn better than others, and some produce more smoke.

– I remember reading cowboy books when I was a child. I read how North American Indigenous people made fires without smoke, so they couldn’t be seen. I wanted to learn how to make a fire like that, says Gaski.

He explains that if you want to make a smokeless fire, you can use dry willow scrub. It is particularly beneficial to use willows where the bark is removed; then there is almost no smoke.

Dried willow is also fantastic for kindling, and for making just a small fire.

Small fires

Gaski explains that those who are not Sámi often have large bonfires.

– With big fires, you have to stand so far away, he says.

It is not always so favorable.

– You don’t need to make a big fire. You just need to warm up your feet. The heat then flows up through the body. You can also get coffee made and roast the meat on a small fire.

He emphasizes that it is also easier to put out a small fire.

Old Sámi myths say to offer a drop of coffee to the female deity who lives under the fire.

Mosquito fire

In many of the Sámi areas there are also a lot of mosquitoes. This can be a little troublesome when you are on a trip.

– If you are going to make a fire that keeps mosquitoes away, you need a lot of smoke. Then you can feel calmer while you eat. For this you should use green wood—birch, for example, says Gaski.

He says that when you are going to smoke fish and meat it is important to choose the right kind of wood, for it gives flavor, as spices do.

Harald Gaski received all this knowledge about fires from his family when he was younger. It was really learning by doing.

– I didn’t think that I was learning Indigenous knowledge. I was just learning by doing, says the professor.

But has the fire also had a different meaning for the Sámi than its uses for cooking, warmth and practical purposes?

Sacred fire

In the lávvo or gamme, the hearth was very important. In Sami it is called árran. When you build a lávvo or a gamme, you always start with the árran.

– Sáráhkká, a female deity, lived under the árran. She was the guardian spirit of girls and women and took care of the family’s well-being, says Gaski.

She helped both women and reindeer to give birth.

Gaski explains that in Sámi religion there are several different gods responsible for different aspects of life.

Even after the Sámi were Christianized and started baptizing their children, the child was bathed and baptized again in honor of Sáráhkká when the family returned home from church.

– When you make coffee, it is customary to give the first drop to Sáráhkká or to empty the coffee from the bottom of the kettle as a small offering. You can pour it out on the fire or next to it, says Gaski.

– It provides warmth and coziness, which makes you feel good.

The professor explains that according to Sámi belief, all children are originally created as girls, but (sometimes) another goddess called Juoksáhkká intervenes in the mother’s life and changes the sex of the fetus. She is therefore considered the goddess of boys.

The goddess Uksáhkká, “the one who guards the door,” looks after the whole household and has her abode at the entrance to the lávvo or gamme. She also cares for the mother and child after the birth.

But what about the fire today, in modern Sámi life? Is it still important?

The fire makes you feel happy

– Many people probably have memories of pleasant fishing trips and tiring cloudberry trips. The fire is a medium for evoking such memories. No matter how brief the cloudberry trip, there had to be a campfire.

– Going on a trip quickly, with a packed lunch and a Thermos . . . that is part of becoming Norwegian, because we’ve learned to be so so efficient that we no longer have time for káfestallat, for cooking coffee on a fire.

Gaski says it is very cozy to sit around a fire.

– Johan Turi, who is known as the first Sámi writer, writes several times about how happy you feel around a fire, he says.

Turi tells about the social side of a fire. Inside the lávvo, inside the gamme, and outside when it’s warm enough.

The fire is practical, for cooking coffee and food, for warmth and light, but the social aspect is also important. The famous Sámi artist Nils-Aslak Valkeapää writes in his poetry about the fire as a life-giving force that binds people together.

The fire is also a celebration that you have succeeded in what you have done, then you can sit down and relax and enjoy, says Gaski.


Giitu, Harald!

On this cool May evening here in the city, tonight we will make a small fire in the garden, get warm, and give thanks.

Sámi film in Seattle

Is it a blue moon? There are two Sámi films screening in Seattle tomorrow and both directors are in town. Plus, actors. Hui gelddolaš diehtu / exciting news.

Saturday, May 18, 2024 (tickets at links)

  1. At noon, Sunna Nousaniemi’s short film Áhkuin at the Uptown. Áhkuin is a visual and poetic musical call-and-response between a grandmother and her descendants.
  2. At 4 pm, Sara Margrethe Oskal’s feature film The Tundra Within Me at Shoreline Community College.

I love Sunná’s work and was delighted to meet her at the Venice Biennale in 2019. She is a young filmmaker with a bright future.

Sara Margrethe came to Seattle in 2017 with her one-woman stageplay, The Whole Caboodle, and in 2018, we screened her film Beaivvi nieida / Daughter of the Sun at the first Sámi film festival, which took place in the newly-opened Nordic Museum.

The last time SIFF included a Sámi feature film was Sámi Blood in 2017, and of some 82,000 ballots cast, it won the “Golden Needle” audience award.

Seattle, your support matters. Buy a virtual pass if you can’t make the screenings.

Hope your Syttende Mai is a festive one!

Somas vahkkoloahpa / have a great weekend.