Life on the farm began for me at the age of three when my great aunt, Tilda Luuri, and her husband Wille bought the farm in Van Etten, NY They had moved from Monessen, P.A., where there were many Finnish farmers who had preceded them. The soil was rocky and the scenery was beautiful. The year was 1940. Aunt Tilda had gone to work in New York City prior to that because the mills in Monessen had shut down and there was no work for the men. They were able to buy the 62 acre farm for a good price, which included the house, barn, brooder houses for chickens, and the sauna. Along with these came a couple of cows and about 500 chickens. The previous owners were Finns also. The land was across the road from the creek. A small stream ran down from the mountain through the barnyard and into the creek via a culvert which ran under the road. It was on a back road that ran between Van Etten and Swartwood. It was actually closer to Swartwood. Years ago there was a small store near the intersection of that road and the main road.

It was a fine barn. The back of the barn, the lowest level, was where the cows were milked. The main level had bins for storing hay and straw and a back door where my uncle could toss the hay down for the cows to eat. There was a place to store grains and tools and also a large room for chickens. Upstairs was another large chicken room. A truck or tractor could be parked in the center of the barn. There were rafters we kids could climb to jump into the hay. I think we were encouraged to do that because it got packed down that way and more could fit in. Many hours were spent jumping in the hay. Neighbor kids would come and join us. The best fun of all was finding the hiding places of kittens. My cousin and I would spend hours playing with them. Cats were very necessary in a barn with all that grain.

Recycling was not exactly a household word in those days, but it was a way of life. Family ties were strong; people worked together and helped each other. My father, a city person, had an old car he did not need anymore. He gave the car to my aunt and uncle and the chassis was converted into a tractor. I think it was a 1928 Chevy, but I am not sure. The body was removed and used for a pig house. The pigs were kept in the far end of the barnyard and I can remember feeding them after dinner. They got what the dogs and cats would not eat and more. They loved being scratched with a stick. I do not remember how long the car/tractor kept running, but it served for quite awhile until one winter some mice set up housekeeping in the motor. That may have been its demise. Then Uncle Wille bought a new shiny red Farmall tractor. Less than 10 years ago I wandered into the old barnyard, which did not contain animals anymore. Rusty remains of the pig house were still there, although it had been many years since the family kept pigs.

Photo of Wille Luuri sitting on the left, Bill Luuri driving,
and Alfred Ullstrom standing on an old "doodle-bug" farm tractor.

The farm prospered during the war years. Both sons worked with their dad on the farm until Aarne was drafted. Bill continued to help his dad for several years. They were able to make many improvements on the house and barn. Indoor plumbing replaced the three hole outhouse and the pump in the kitchen. The old pump in the sauna was never changed and that was an added charm. After the war, Aarne stayed on the farm and continued to work with his dad. Both sons took other jobs also.

My cousin Judy Hirvonen and I played for hours by the creek and went swimming every day. We collected fossils, caught minnows, and built play furniture out of rocks. We would skip flat stones across the creek. Some days we would go berry picking in the pasture. That meant good pies for dessert. On hot afternoons we would help wash eggs by hand in the cool basement of the house. Twice a week my aunt and uncle would bring the eggs to the Spencer Co-op. I got to sit in the back of the pickup truck between the egg crates and loved waving to everyone we passed. Aunt Tilda would do her grocery shopping and chat with friends in the Co-op.

Photo of Tilda Luuri and a cow that came with the farm.

On pulla making days (we called it nisua then) my aunt would give us each a piece of dough to form our own little loaf. It was so special to have our very own pulla to eat with coffee.

Years later when I visited Finland for the first time, I had the pleasure of spending some time on a farm in Alavus. It made me realize how much like Finland the Luuris' farm was - the way they called the cats, the sauna rituals, even the smells of coffee and pulla after the sauna. It was like being home again. I also became acquainted with relatives in Finland who are branches of the same family tree.

Marilyn's father, John Haikara, on the left, Mrs. Rissanen and her daughter, Rauni, of Montreal, and Marilyn in the foreground.

My real home was in the Bronx. Just before school began,, I had to take the Greyhound bus back to the big city. That was the worst culture shock of all. The bus always entered the city via one of the tunnels which opened into a steaming, messy part of the city. Then there was the subway ride to the Bronx and my five-story walk- up apartment. It wasn't until school began and I was with my friends that I stopped longing for the farm. I hated that feeling of being closed in after the freedom of the beautiful country all summer. I guess you could say that place was where my heart was.

Since then I have lived in many places but every summer I think about Van Etten and, more recently, Finland. The farm is not in the family anymore. I heard that the barn burned down last winter. I still have friends up there and love to visit. When I get the chance I always skip some stones in the creek.