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Kizhi Island: The legacy of Northern Russia’s peasant craftsmen is preserved in Kizhi’s open-air Museum of Wooden Architecture

What, you might ask, is the connection between a modest Whistler cabin in Alpine Meadows and this strange church on a small island in northern Russia? Not much actually, except that both are made of wood and sheltered from the rain and snow by hand-m
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Transfiguration Church

What, you might ask, is the connection between a modest Whistler cabin in Alpine Meadows and this strange church on a small island in northern Russia?

Not much actually, except that both are made of wood and sheltered from the rain and snow by hand-made shakes. But as I look up at the roof of the Church of Transfiguration on Kizhi Island I am reminded of the hours of frustrating labour spent trying to fit shakes to the simple roof lines of my cabin. Even though my shakes came in neat bundles and I had a sharp skill saw, a pouch full of galvanized nails and aluminum flashing to patch up my mistakes it was still a challenge. The fellows who built their church on Kizhi Island had none of these things but that didn’t stop them from building one of the most complex wooden structures ever assembled. I am in complete awe of what they produced.

Built by peasant carpenters in 1714, during the reign of Peter the Great, the Church of Transfiguration is the centerpiece of an open-air museum featuring early Russian wooden architecture. Its walls are hand-hewn logs and its roof is covered by thousands of hand carved aspen shingles. But it is no ordinary roof. Five consecutive rings of curved dormers are crowned by 21 onion-shaped domes and a larger, 22nd dome, soars above the centre of the church. The whole thing was originally cobbled together with hand tools and without the use of a single metal nail or strip of flashing. And, amazingly, it didn’t leak.

When Czar Peter the Great moved the country’s capital to St. Petersburg in 1712 and founded the nearby city of Petrozavodsk (Peter’s Workshop) on the west shore of Onega Lake he encouraged the building of the Church of Transfiguration as a spiritual beacon in the midst of his expanding northern domain. But, although Petrozavodsk is only a short distance from Kizhi Island, its foundry was apparently too busy making cannons and balls for Peter’s wars with the Swedes to concern itself with making nails. Like the Church of Transfiguration (1714), the smaller, nine-domed Intercession Church (1764) and the Bell Tower (1874) were all built without any metal parts.

Even before our ship, the Kirov, docked on the island I was transfixed by the sight of these three strange structures towering above the utterly flat, bush-covered landscape. But later, walking along the trails that wind through the pogost (country churchyard) I was equally astonished at the craftsmanship displayed in the many smaller structures that have been moved to the site since 1960 when Kizhi Island was made a Museum of Russian Wooden Architecture. The Island, 7 km long and 500 metres wide, is one of about 5,000 small islands in Lake Onega, Europe’s second largest lake. Its pogost was an old pagan ritual site before the first Russian colonists moved in and established a parish there in the 12 th century. None of the original churches they built have survived but the site was still regarded as hallowed ground in 1703 when Peter the Great spearheaded the settlement of Russia’s north.

The Republic of Karelia stretches from Lake Onega, past the White Sea and along the Finnish border all the way to the Arctic Circle. Covered by a patchwork of lakes and forests it is Russia’s northern frontier region of short summers, long winter nights and bitter cold. At almost 62 degrees north Kizhi Island is about the same latitude as Whitehorse in the Canadian Yukon. In addition to its collection of vintage churches, the 16 buildings featured in its open-air museum include the homes and outbuildings of pioneers who braved the harsh northern climate and settled here more than 200 years ago.

The Church of Transfiguration, the Intercession Church, and the Bell Tower were all built on the Kizhi Pogost and served the local orthodox community for many decades. But as more pioneers moved north new communities were established along the shores of Lake Onega and each village, no matter how small, had its own chapel. These became the ecclesiastical and social centres of their communities — places where residents gathered and prayed. And no two were alike. Chapel design was not dictated by the Church, so resident carpenters, guided by their own imaginations, invented new construction techniques as they went, and created unique works of architecture that met the needs of their people and harmonized with their surroundings.

Over the centuries fire and decay have taken their toll and very few of these miniature masterpieces survive. But several are among the 16 examples of timber structures now preserved on Kizhi Island. The tiny Lazurus Resurrection church, built in the late 14th century, is said to be the oldest surviving wooden church in Russia. According to legend the monk Lazarus built it as part of his plan to convert “the savage heathens who ate raw fish and screamed and jumped wildly during their ritual rites,” an obvious reference to the finno-ugric tribesmen who occupied the region before the Russians moved north. And in deference to the harsh Karelian climate the slightly larger Archangel Michael Chapel features a double roof and double rain collars around its belfry and onion-shaped cupola. But the Oshevnev’s family household is especially memorable.

Built in the late 1800s and moved to Kizhi Island in the 1950s the Oshevnev house is a typical Karilian peasant home from the last century. Since becoming part of the Kizhi architectural ensemble the sprawling log home has been completely restored and refurnished with original pieces from the last century. We enter on the ground floor and climb a set of stairs to the second story living space where small windows cast patches of light on the hand-hewn log walls. It takes my eyes a few moments to adjust to the dim interior light. On one side of the huge open room a massive white hearth serves as furnace, kitchen, and a warm place to sleep at night. A spinning wheel stands beside a child’s seat draped with colorful hand-loomed blankets. A water ladle hangs on the side of a large wooden bucket near a small cage where a few hens once provided the breakfast eggs.

From the living area we move into a storage-annex piled high with the paraphernalia of 19 th century rural life — spinning, weaving, and rope making implements are stacked beside bundles of reeds waiting to be woven into baskets. An assortment of sleds and ice fishing gear is a reminder of the bitterly cold winters when temperatures often dropped to minus 30 and Onega Lake was solidly frozen. During those long periods of cold and dark the house became a refuge for both the peasants and their animals. Livestock was moved into the lower part of the house and tended by the men while women, working in the dim glow of whale-oil lamps and tallow candles, spun yarn and wove the beautiful fabrics for which Karilia has become famous.

On our way back to the Kirov we passed one of the squat wooden-bladed windmills that are typical of those throughout rural Russia. Like the community chapels where locals went to pray, many villages had one of these sturdy wind machines where people could grind their grain. Moments after I snapped a shot of the windmill the sky opened with a clap of thunder and we were lashed by driving rain. Later, while drying off in the comfort of our ship, I marveled at the tenacity of those early pioneers who moved into Russia’s harsh northern frontier with little more than their axes and carved out a life in the Karilian forest.