What they had to work with: reindeer antlers/bones and leather, wood (especially birch), birch bark, birch roots...
You’ve probably never heard of the Sámi (pronounced “sah-mee”). I hadn’t either, before it was mentioned off-handedly at the dinner table a few years back that my grandpa, my Äiji, is Sámi. You probably had no idea that three of the Nordic countries—Norway, Sweden, and Finland—have an indigenous population whose culture was suppressed. This is where that changes.
Northern Europe is just like most places in the world, where people came, took, and destroyed what was there before to the best of their ability, stomping on ancient cultures in the effort to idolize their own. Classic. But! Even after centuries of pressure to assimilate and instilled shame in their identity, the Sámi are still here and are still fighting to protect their culture and their rights (just like the indigenous nations in The States).
The Sámi have been in Sápmi, a region that spans the northern part of Norway, Sweden, Finland, and a small part of Russia, for as long as anyone can remember—since at least 8,000-6,000 B.C.E. There are at least nine different groups of Sámi, each with its own region, dialect/language, traditions, and way of life.
Now, for my writing class, I wrote a whole essay about the Inari Sámi. I'm not going to do that here (though I can, if you want?).
Here, I'm going to share my favorite part of the culture—and the part of my essay that I ended up deleting because it didn't fit into the structure... duodji. Plus a sprinkle (ok, maybe a little bit more than a sprinkle) of sustainability thoughts, because, well, it's me who's writing this.
Remember the three R's? Yeah, well, there’s actually six. Rethink, refuse, reduce, reuse, repair, recycle (prioritized in that order). Before the era of consumerism, the R's were no-brainers. You use what you have to the greatest extent you can.
You know who were masters at this? The Sámi.
Duodji, traditional Sámi handicrafts, include any manner of practical, day-to-day things. Duodji is a skillset borne of necessity, but also of an eye for beauty and significance. Anything inherently functional—clothing, dishes, knives, bags, etc., could be made charming with some skilled carving, an engraving, fine needlework, or a bit of weaving.
What they had to work with: reindeer antlers/bones and leather, wood (especially birch), birch bark, birch roots... If I tossed a pile of these things in front of you, along with a knife, what would you do? Stare at me incredulously, probably. Probably not carve a bowl, make a drum, or sew a coat. Later, trade introduced more materials such as silks, metals, wool, etc., which multiplied the possibilities.
For my 8th birthday, my father gave me what I called a pocket-knife—because it had a leather sheath—but was actually a small hunting knife, the wooden handle accented with reindeer bone (I did not realize this was an unusual gift for American children). He taught me how to shave logs to make kindling, and my grandfather taught me to carve wood with it. My first project was supposed to be a fish, but when it went awry, I turned it into a middle finger instead. Yes—I was a spicy eight-year-old.
My grandfather, who is Sámi, has a shed exclusively reserved for the collection of knick-knacks and things that could be used in projects and crafts. This is a remnant from a time when resourcefulness and ingenuity was required. When I was still in elementary school, my grandfather helped me make a jewelry stand from an old lamp stand and a bunch of wooden scraps and pegs. It was supposed to be a tree, but I painted it like a pink and purple monkey with too many limbs. Another time, my grandfather, my brother and I made mini boats from more scrap wood, using old plastic bags as sails. This ability to make something out of nothing, this resourcefulness, is part of Inari Sámi culture.
I have a special place in my heart for the flower necklace I found in the boxes my sister left behind (she moved out a decade-ish ago). It went with me to the boundary waters, twice, I wore it every day in Indonesia, every day in Chile, in Germany, in Finland... that necklace has seen the world with me. And so, when it broke, I fixed it. When the chain snapped, you know what I did? I brought it to a jeweler. They wanted $40 to solder one link back together. I thought that was stupid, so I did it myself, and kept wearing it.
This sentiment is perfectly echoed in a student at Sámi University College, Gunvor Guttorm’s, memory, “Reuse is part of duodji. I can remember from my childhood that when a couple skinshoes were worn out, we took care of the parts of the shoes that were intact, and they were fully processed pieces that could be used for new shoes,” (Guttorm).
Note: This is why The Right To Repair is so important. Buying an entirely new thing should NEVER be more expensive than repairing a thing.
This craftsmanship, this unique touch of brilliance, may have faded out, but it’s not lost. It’s not far. It’s not gone.
Taking something purely practical and turning it into something that means something... for the sake of our wallets, souls, and planet, we can all stand to bring a principles or two of Duodji back into our lives.
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