I don’t really know how else to describe this phenomenon that I’ve now encountered so many times than as some kind of incomprehensible frequencies through which, in Impiö, a person who needs help with something somehow receives it. In principle, it sounds perfectly normal: after all, the world is mostly full of good people who are happy to help when you simply ask for it.

But what if I haven’t even had time to ask? Haven’t even mentioned it to anyone, let alone reached the point in my own thoughts where I would ask someone for advice or help?

That’s exactly what happened again today. A leisurely afternoon in early August. I decided to start investigating the condition of the Muurikka pan with its gas burner that I had found in the barn. I hauled the contraption out into the yard. I Googled the Martta organization’s instructions for thoroughly cleaning and treating the pan, a process that involves careful heating after scrubbing with a steel brush and washing with water in order to remove all moisture from the pan before oiling it. So my next task was to start figuring out the operating logic of the gas burner. I managed to connect the burner to the gas cylinder (far more easily and with considerably less effort than connecting it to the grill, just so my certain male relatives know). I turned on the gas cylinder and also turned the screw on the burner slightly open. When I lit the gas with a match, it merely went whoomph loudly, I yelped loudly, and the burner went out. I had time to perform this procedure a second time and spend a moment pondering the possible reason for such a whoomph when a car pulled into the yard.

Matti and Mikko from Vanhatalo had come by to say hello. I was meeting the latter for the first time. After a bit of initial catching up, attention turned to my gas burner project. I asked the men whether they knew anything about the inner workings of this particular system. So off they went, investigating and scratching their heads. It didn’t take long before the reason for the whoomph was discovered (I had been sticking the match into the wrong spot on the burner). The machine’s sensitivity to wind also became apparent, at which point my brain suddenly understood the purpose of the folding, low metal screen I had also found in the barn. A wind shield for the gas burner. Thanks once again, Matti and Mikko!

But. As I mentioned at the beginning, this was by no means the first occurrence of its kind during the year I’ve now lived in Impiö. In early summer, I was planning to build a fire pit by the shore using an old truck wheel rim. I had only gotten as far as planning and researching the matter when the doorbell rang and Kalevi from Mursuaho, my mother’s cousin, arrived. He had come to say hello after a break of several decades, and also on matters with a slight business connection, but right then it occurred to me to ask whether he might be able to help with building the fire pit. He could. And the following Saturday he arrived with a ready-welded grilling grate stand and fire grate and built me a wonderful fire pit by the shore.

My cousin Konsta, meanwhile, asked some time ago whether I might have any work he could help with here at Mattila (or, as Konsta persistently calls it, Tinttilä). This used to be his grandmother’s home as well, and he warmly explained that he wanted to help so that I could keep the place in good condition. I gladly accept help, and at the end of July Konsta came to clear the woodland at Mattila. The brush cutter pulled the exact same stunt as it did last autumn (back then Kimmo came to the rescue after watching my furious yanking and eventual, very obvious surrender from the coffee table across the road): after the third or fourth tankful and refueling, the Stihl simply would not start anymore. No matter what. We removed the spark plug, I found a new one in the workshop, but it didn’t help. Just then, the guests staying at Mattila were getting ready to leave, and it turned out that one of them, Arto, had worked with saws for quite a long time. So I found my cousin and my guest’s wise heads together in the workshop, pondering how they might get the Stihl singing again. Well, in the end the saw had to be taken to a service technician (who, naturally, can also be found in Impiö, many thanks Juha I.), but once again I had witnessed people’s willingness to help.

On 4 July 2026, together with the villagers and summer residents of Impiö, I organized a yard flea market event at Mattila that became astonishingly popular. Without them, the event certainly would not have been the success that it was. I wrote an Instagram postabout the event, so go and take a look.

But perhaps the most unbelievable thing happened to me after the flea market. The following morning I was enjoying a slow cup of coffee in the Pirtti and reliving and marveling together with Maria at a flea market event that had exceeded all expectations when I received a message from Jaana. She and her husband Juha T. spend a great deal of time during their holidays at Jaana’s family home a couple of hundred meters from Mattila, and Jaana had been one of the vendors at the flea market event. During flea market day, Juha had noticed my still badly unfinished firewood project. (The photo behind the title tells the story of that moment.)

At the end of my woodshed there was still quite a pile of magnificent birch logs waiting. My daughter Maria and I, and later I alone, had managed to make some firewood with a log splitter powered by Mattila’s old Dexta tractor. But a task that suddenly demanded strength and somewhat different muscles caused the pincer grip in my right hand to disappear for almost a week after a day’s work, so I was a little hesitant to strain my hand again. Life becomes surprisingly difficult without the pincer grip of your right hand, by the way! I thought I would do whatever I had time and ability to do, and the rest could wait until next summer. I imagined that I would gradually stack the already split firewood into the woodshed over the course of summer and autumn. It might well have remained just an intention.

Juha had asked Jaana to ask me whether he could come and make firewood for me once they had finished their own wood-related jobs and had some spare time. I found myself crying on the sofa. The suggestion completely and utterly stunned me. What can one answer to such a question except “yes, please”? I was speechless. I called Jaana and stammered out my thanks. The one thing I did manage to tell her, however, was that at that exact moment I didn’t have a tractor to run the log splitter because the small, energetic Dexta had gone next door to help with roof renovation work. “I’m sure we’ll find a tractor somewhere,” Jaana mused. “Let’s come back to it!” I remained sitting on the Pirtti sofa, shaking my head in complete amazement.

It wasn’t long before Jaana called again. She and her husband had gone across the road to her Aunt Maila’s for afternoon coffee and had told everyone about Juha’s plan and the lack of a tractor. Also sitting around the coffee table were Maila’s sons Kimmo and Tommi, and her daughter Leena with her husband Markku. “Well, we happen to have a tractor right there. It’s not doing anything,” Kimmo remarked. “And come to think of it, neither am I. And neither are you,” he continued, directing his words at Tommi. Leena carried on in the same vein by informing her husband, “You’re not doing anything either.” Much to her disappointment, Leena had to return to work the next day; otherwise she would have joined the crew as well.

So it happened that at around nine o’clock on Monday morning, three men marched into Mattila’s yard from across the road. Ahead of them came Kimmo driving the tractor, and before long Jaana arrived as well. I showed them the space I had cleared in the woodshed for the firewood and was slightly horrified that I myself couldn’t join in the work because my beloved little goddaughter and her family were visiting. “I don’t suppose we need you for this. We know how to do these jobs.” So I returned, somewhat dazed, to spend time with my guests and prepare lunch. One thing I decided to insist on and contribute my own share to (or perhaps in this case a more fitting expression would be “my own log to the pile”) was that I would provide a hearty lunch for the volunteers.

At eleven o’clock I went to fetch the crew from the wood yard to eat. It turned out that Juha had sharpened and tightened the saw chain, which had made the work considerably smoother. Juha operated the log splitter, Kimmo and Tommi tossed firewood into the woodshed, and Jaana and Markku worked as stackers inside the woodshed. As I walked toward the wood yard, I could already hear cheerful chatter and gentle, good-natured teasing. I believed them when they said they were genuinely having fun working together. Fortunately, the chicken Bolognese I had made with side dishes and pancake dessert accompanied by coffee tasted good to the volunteers. After a pleasant lunch break, the group headed back to the firewood operation. Around two o’clock in the afternoon, Kimmo came to ask where he should take the log splitter. The job was finished. Completely finished. Every single log split and stacked into perfectly straight rows in the woodshed. As a bonus, Juha had also used the circular firewood saw to cut the paneling and old sauna benches I had salvaged from last winter’s sauna renovation into firewood lengths.

I still can’t quite comprehend how something like this can happen. Words are not enough to describe the feeling I have. That feeling is gratitude, but I am incapable of describing its immense scale.

Today, after the gas burner episode, Maria and I were sitting in the Pirtti talking about these incredible, almost unbelievable situations that had taken place at Mattila. “Is this completely normal? Does this happen everywhere?” I asked Maria. “It absolutely does not. This is pure ‘only in Impiö’ stuff,” Maria replied. And I concluded that my wise daughter was probably right. Again.

Although on Instagram I think I’ve been noticing, more broadly as well, some sort of reawakening of the idea of community. Dreams, and very real actions too, built on the idea of returning to real people. Stepping down from the rather advanced state of individualism and back toward the basics and the things that truly matter in real life. Becoming a human being among other human beings. I would love to hear your thoughts on these matters, so by all means write in the comments: is this really an “only in Impiö” thing after all? In fact, it would be wonderful to hear that the world might be finding its way a little back in that direction.

Almost fainting from gratitude, over and over again,

Tintti