Hi there! I am Aaron Hakso, born and raised in Longview Washington. Now I live in Haapavesi Finland- which just might be the best town around.
With over 30 years of teaching experience, I am ready to meet even the most difficult student west of the Pacific Ocean!
Here at my home office
There in your home/office/business
by phone,
or Teams or even Google Meet!
Anyway you like,
every moment will be an enjoyable one.
my phone number is 0400 688 573 email: aaron.hakso (at) gmail.com
Here’s a scene of Juho and Anna discussing the newspaper article by candlelight in their old home, deep in the north of Finland.
By Candlelight: A Discussion on the Future
The small cabin creaked as the wind pressed against its wooden walls. Outside, the northern sky was painted in cold twilight, and inside, the only light came from a flickering candle on the rough wooden table. The scent of fresh-baked rye bread mixed with the smoky aroma of the old iron stove, where a pot of barley porridge still rested. Juho leaned forward, squinting at the thin newspaper in his calloused hands, his thick fingers smudged with ink.
Anna, his wife, sat across from him, finishing her supper with slow, thoughtful bites. She watched him, her blue eyes reflecting the flame’s gentle dance.
“Juho,” she said, nodding at the newspaper. “You’ve been staring at that paper longer than you’ve eaten. What is it?”
Juho grunted and shifted in his chair. “It’s an article. From America. About machines. They call them ‘computers.’”
Anna wiped her hands on her apron and tilted her head. “Computers? Never heard of such a thing.”
Juho tapped the paper. “Says here they will do the work of many men in an instant. Calculating numbers, storing information. In the future, people won’t need to count with pencil and paper anymore.”
Anna chuckled, breaking off a piece of rye bread. “Ha! So you’re telling me, one day, I won’t have to tally the egg sales in my little book? A machine will do it for me?”
Juho shrugged. “That’s what it says. The Americans are building these machines in big rooms—says they are the size of houses. Full of blinking lights and wires. The article says that one day, these machines will be smaller, faster… and that people will rely on them like we rely on our hands.”
Anna’s laugh was soft but skeptical. “Oh, I’d like to see that. Next thing you’ll tell me is that a machine will bake our bread and milk the cow.”
Juho smirked. “Maybe. But think about it, Anna. If they make numbers easy, maybe one day, farmers like us won’t need to write down every sack of grain, every log of firewood we sell. Maybe all of it will be inside a… a ‘machine.’”
Anna shook her head. “And what happens if that machine forgets? Or breaks? At least I know my own mind and my own hands.” She wiped the table with a firm stroke. “I don’t see these… ‘computers’ working here. Not in our lifetime.”
Juho folded the newspaper and leaned back in his chair, gazing at the low-burning candle. “Maybe not. But imagine, Anna… a world where all work is made easy, where men don’t need to break their backs keeping track of numbers. Maybe one day, even the banks in town will have them. Maybe the post office.”
Anna smirked. “And maybe one day they’ll say you don’t need a horse to plow the fields. Or a well to fetch water. Or a candle to see at night.”
Juho’s smile faded slightly. He stared at the flame and the shadows it cast on the log walls. “Strange to think,” he murmured, “that someone, somewhere, is already living in that future.”
Anna reached for his hand, her fingers warm against his rough palm. “But we live in today, Juho. And today, we have our supper, our home, and each other. That’s enough for me.”
Outside, the wind howled. Inside, the candle burned steady. The newspaper lay forgotten on the table as the couple sat together, content in the flickering glow of the present, while the future loomed quietly beyond the darkened window.