Like most expats in Oulu, we don´t see our relatives often. Travelling home takes time and is expensive. Now and then family or friends like to come over for a stay. Obviously we like to welcome guests and show our hospitality. But sometimes these visits can also become a bit of a nuisance.
For me the first announcement of an upcoming visit usually works as a wake-up call. Suddenly I realize what I need to do before the guests arrive. The filthy refrigerator starts to irritate. The broken light bulb that didn´t work for months becomes an issue and the windows need to be cleaned, I decide.
On the other hand it’s pleasant to make plans to show our visitors the art museum, the Rotuaari ball, the marketplace or to plan hiking trips in the area. They in their turn will bring delicacies, newspapers and books from home.We will make sure they have a good time.
Then on a Sunday evening the phone rings: my mother. "Your dad and I come to Oulu this summer," she says, enthusiastically. "We like to spend some time with the children." "Great news mum," I answer, "we look forward to it" not entirely sure if she´s wants to spend time with me too.
My mum isn’t demanding. I don’t need to act as if I’m the perfect daughter capable of running a tip-top household. As long as her grandchildren aren’t malnourished or square eyed from watching a TV or computer screen, she’ll be pleased to see us.
But another urgent issue needs to be solved. Upon arrival my dad will walk straight into our vegetable garden, which is exactly where my biggest problem lies.
Dad is a passionate gardener. His vegetable garden back home is four times bigger than our plot. Every year in April, when I’m still looking over the snow covered backyard, he proudly informs me of his high quality spinach-seed. He brags about his beautiful shiny beans, and explains how he keeps the right sized potatoes stored during the winter.
Dadīs garden
My dad is accurate and precise. Everything in his garden is planted in straight rows and in the right place. He waters the seedbed before planting. He sows seeds in straight furrows and he covers the seeds with the right compost.
On top of that he "surprises" my mum every year with the first juicy strawberries. He sends me his best beans to try out in the Oulu soil ("soak them in oil first, Ata" he writes), and pleases my sister and her family with tasteful asparaguses from his garden.
How much I wish I could show my dad a "best vegetable garden" award from the Oulu municipality.
I can blame the climate, the short season, and the poor forest soil, but deep in my heart, I know there’s no excuse for rotten beans, magpies eating the first strawberries, and rows of lettuce seemingly planted by someone intoxicated in our backyard.
"I need to get the garden under control," I tell my husband on a rainy day in May. "Get your rubber boots and the hoe from the tool shed," he mutters, too much absorbed in his book.
Instead of listening to him I buy "Round Up!" - a spray that promises to eliminate cursed weed such as thorns and thistles. "It prevents weed from coming up for 4 months," read the instructions. That'll do, I think. My parents never stay longer than 10 days.
"Are you crazy-lazy?" asks my husband when he sees the package. "What’s wrong with removing weeds manually? Do you know what effect this stuff can have on your health?"
Last weekend, my husband, fed up looking at our neglected and dilapidated garden and determined to get me involved outdoors, pushes me into the garden. He has removed the sod into the trenches. He’s loosened the soil and digs and rakes the garden into a flat looking field.
"Now it’s your turn," he says. Slightly reluctant (I don´t like to be pushed), I plant pumpkins, onions, tomatoes, lettuce, and beans. I draw (almost) straight lines on the ground, make holes with my thumb at regular distances, and drop three beans in. The beans aren’t soaked in oil but maybe rain has the same effect, I think. I plant the onions, hopefully right side up. Lastly, I plant sunflowers between the vegetable beds. "Tall yellow sunflowers will make me feel happy in August when the summer is over," I convince my husband, who watches with a disapproving glance.
All we can do now is hope for good weather.
My dad surely will compare his own organised paradise with our messy vegetable garden. Hopefully he will not be too disappointed. All I can do, I think, is re-establish the brave-hard working daughter reputation by offering him a precise national dish. Finnish salmon, home grown potatoes,vegetables and strawberry ice for dessert.
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