Int J Histor Archaeol (2009) 13:158–182

DOI 10.1007/s10761-009-0080-3

Beyond Consumption: Functionality,

Artifact Biography, and Early Modernity
in a European Periphery

Vesa-Pekka Herva & Risto Nurmi

Published online: 11 February 2009

# Springer Science + Business Media, LLC 2009

Abstract This paper considers the functionality and biographies of artifacts in the
context of historical archaeology. It is argued that in order to understand how human
life in the recent past unfolded in relation with material culture, artifacts must be
recognized to perform various unobvious functions and also be conceived as
processes rather than bounded physical objects. The paper begins with a theoretical
discussion and then focuses on the post-acquisition life of artifacts and human-
artifact relations in the seventeenth-century town of Tornio, northern Finland.

Keywords Artifact biography . Early modernity . Functionality . Tornio

Introduction

Consumption, “the act of shopping and the conversion of resources into objects and
actions” (Scarlett 2002, p. 129), has received considerable attention in historical
archaeology especially since the 1990s. The perceived importance of consumption
hinges on the idea that consumer choices and possessions express, reproduce, and
manipulate social relations and identities. Thus, the study of consumption arguably
casts light on various issues from large-scale social transformations to the
constitution of the self in the past.
Consumption is often regarded as a form of non-verbal communication, “acts
which do not so much ‘do something’ as ‘say something’, or more properly, perhaps,
‘do something through saying something’” (Campbell 1995, p. 115; cf. Cook et al.
1996; Purser 1992; Scarlett 2002). The tendency to focus on the mental,
representational and symbolic dimension of artifacts, however, potentially results

V.-P. Herva (*) : R. Nurmi

Department of Archaeology, University of Oulu, P.O. Box 1000, 90014 Oulu, Finland
e-mail: vesa-pekka.herva@oulu.fi
R. Nurmi
e-mail: risto.nurmi@oulu.fi
Int J Histor Archaeol (2009) 13:158–182 159

in a failure to appreciate the very materiality of artifacts, that is, the uses of and
everyday engagement with material culture (Löfgren 1997, p. 103; Olsen 2003, pp.
91–93; see also Miller 1987, pp. 95–98). Indeed, while consumption- and meaning-
centered studies of artifacts blossom in historical archaeology (e.g., Spencer-Wood
1987; Yentsch 1991; Lucas 2003; Hartnett 2004), functionality and the actual uses of
artifacts are rarely considered in depth and a theoretically based manner. This paper
makes an attempt to re-materialize things and grasp everyday engagement with
material culture by considering the post-acquisition biography of artifacts.
That artifacts have been used for other than supposed primary purposes is not a
novel observation in historical archaeology (e.g., Cessford 2001; Scott 1997;
Sudbury 1978). Notwithstanding, studies on the use and biography of artifacts have
been descriptive in orientation or sought to solve “practical” problems such as
identifying pottery forms from potsherds (e.g., Griffiths 1978; Lister and Lister
1981; Sudbury 1978). In addition, signs of the repair and reuse have been regarded
as potential indicators of economical status (e.g., Niukkanen 2002, pp. 37–38). The
uses and biographies of artifacts, then, have not been completely overlooked in
historical archaeology, but they are rarely used to elucidate the nature of human-
artifact relations in specific contexts (but cf. Lucas 2009); rather, the aim is usually
to reach people and social structures “behind” artifacts (see further Olsen 2003,
pp. 89–90). This attitude is unsurprising, of course, given the pervasive subject/
object dualism in modern western thinking, which has effectively naturalized the
idea of material culture as a mere manifestation of human thought and behavior.
In what follows, we will briefly discuss functionality and artifact biographies first
at a theoretical level and then focus on the case of the seventeenth-century town of
Tornio in northern Finland (Sweden until 1809). We argue that the actual uses of
artifacts in specific contexts are crucial for understanding how human life unfolds in
relation with the external world. A number of observations and interpretation made
in this paper are rather tentative, and not least because the analysis of the
archaeological material from Tornio material is still in progress, but the available
data is sufficient for illustrating and substantiating the view developed here. Also,
while the focus of the paper, empirically speaking, is on a single archaeological
assemblage from an early modern European periphery, the issues underlying the
discussion of the specific material are of wider relevance.

Functionality and Artifact Design

In 1896, the architect Louis Sullivan declared that “form ever follows function” and,
therefore, if “function does not change form does not change.” For Sullivan, this
linear relationship between form and function was a universal principle, “the
pervading law” found everywhere in nature and the world of artifacts (Sullivan
1896). That form follows function is a dictum of modern architecture and design, but
the very idea that function is somehow inscribed in the form of things also shapes
archaeological interpretation, albeit perhaps unconsciously.
For instance, the belief is common that artifacts such as wall paintings and
statuettes were intended to be looked at in the past, because they tend to be visually
engaging and defy practical purpose in terms of mechanical causation (Herva
160 Int J Histor Archaeol (2009) 13:158–182

2006b). Ceramic vessels are similarly believed, due to their design, to have been for
processing, consuming and storing food, clay pipes for smoking, knives for cutting,
and so on. They are supposedly not the functions of things that require interpretation
in typical (early) modern contexts, but the “meanings” invested in things.
Theoretically, however, the relationship between form and function is a rather
complex one and there are good reasons to problematize the functionality of
seemingly familiar historical artifacts. But before going down that way, it must be
emphasized that we do not doubt that, say, porcelain cups were used for drinking hot
beverages and clay pipes were used for smoking—sometimes and in some contexts,
that is. Rather, the question is whether or not, or to what extent, it is appropriate and
useful to think that artifacts are for the purpose they at first seem to be, and/or for the
purpose their designers intended them to be. The problem is that, in principle,
function is always contextual and cannot be directly inferred from form.
By the “function” of an artifact we must mean the use to which it is put, and
intended to be put. Hence any attempt to define functionality in terms of
universals of form is evanescent; for all artifacts deploy a sense of design
which is socially and historically constructed and indivisible from end use; the
use of an artifact is of itself a social and not an objective, universal property
(Graves-Brown 1995, p. 14).
It is often the case in (historical) archaeology, however, that the notions of
functionality and use of artifacts remain implicit and generic; that is, concerned with
the supposed intended function of certain types of artifacts rather than the actual use of
specific artifacts in a given context (but see Orser 1996, pp. 116–117). While that
approach is perhaps appropriate for many purposes, there are good reasons to challenge
simplistic notions of (“intended”) functionality. Two examples illustrate the point.
First, photomultiplier tubes—hi-tech material culture of the recent past—are very
sensitive light detectors that were originally developed for the purposes of the television
industry in the 1930s, but were soon harnessed for a variety of purposes from chemical
analysis to military technology (Baird 2004, pp. 75–79). Interestingly, the multi-
functionality of photomultiplier tubes derives partly from such properties of tubes that
they were not intended to have by their designers. That is, non-illuminated
photomultiplier tubes produce so-called “dark current”, which was a problem for
those using photomultiplier tubes to develop new spectrometers, but could be used to
generate signals for the military purposes of blocking out radars (Baird 2004, pp. 81–
84). Thus, “several of the early uses of photomultiplier tubes relied on different
conceptualization of their function from that of their designers” (Baird 2004, p. 131).
Secondly, consider more familiar but no less exotic witch bottles. Stoneware
bottles filled with pins, nails and human substances were sometimes hidden in the
structures of English houses during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, often
under the threshold or the fireplace, in order to prevent evil spirits from entering the
house (Merrifield 1987). Before a stoneware bottle was turned into an evil-spirit
repellent, it had perhaps been used for one or several other purposes. Nonetheless, it
is possible that the use of the bottle for apotropaic purpose was more important than
any other function that the object had performed prior to its deposition. Moreover,
witch bottles were considered perfectly functional objects after their deposition;
indeed, deposition marked the beginning of their life as witch bottles.
Int J Histor Archaeol (2009) 13:158–182 161

These examples reveal the fallacy of distinguishing between primary and

secondary functions. The use of photomultiplier tubes in the television industry
was not in any meaningful sense primary to their use in the military industry, and
neither was the use of stoneware bottles as witch bottles subordinate to some
“proper” or “primary” function. The question of multiple functions has also
implications to the bigger issue of human-artifact relations, to which we will turn
attention next.

Human-Artifact Relations and Artifact Biography

That artifacts have “practical” and “symbolic” functions is an established view in

historical archaeology. Accordingly, a clay pipe, for instance, can be used not only
for smoking tobacco, but also for conveying political or other messages (e.g.,
Hartnett 2004). By the same token, the form of an earthenware vessel is supposedly
determined by its “mechanical” function and the decoration by “symbolic” concerns
(e.g., Niukkanen 2007). Artifacts can obviously be used for various mechanical and
expressive purposes, but the dualistic conception of functionality is an unfortunate
one, as it potentially obscures rather than promotes our understanding of relation-
ships between people and material culture. In other words, material culture mediates
human-environment relations in ways that cannot properly be described within a
dualistic framework. Recent research and thinking in cognitive science, for instance,
indicate that material culture and the physical world more generally need to be
conceptualized as an integral part of human physiology and cognitive machinery,
literally—rather than metaphorically—extension of human organism (e.g., Clark
1997; Day 2004; Hutchins 1995; see also Turner 2000, 2004; DeMarrais et al. 2005).
Western thought has tended to rely on a series of categorical, binary distinctions
to make sense of the world, including those drawn between the human and non-
human world, subject and object, organism and environment. Dualism splits the
world into quantitative and qualitative aspects of which only the former are taken to
be properties of the “real world” and the latter produced by the human mind
(Manzotti 2006). The physical world is taken to consist of autonomous objects with
certain fixed properties defined by physical laws. Accordingly, stones, pots and other
material things can effectively be manipulated mechanically and not, for instance, by
thinking of or talking to them, although people may sometimes believe otherwise
(see further Brück 1999, pp. 314–320; Griffin 2000, especially pp. 110–116, 208–
210). Objects would thus seem to stand in sharp contrast to active, sentient,
conscious and knowing human subjects.
Notwithstanding, a more active role has been attributed to material culture
especially since the 1980s. The concepts of artifact biography and (material) agency
have been instrumental in this change of attitude among the students of material
culture, and the former in particular is of interest here. The concept of artifact
biography establishes a (metaphorical) relationship between organisms and artifacts:
like organisms, artifacts are recognised to have their specific life histories during
which they potentially have several different functions and meanings (e.g., Chapman
2000; Langdon 2001; Marshall and Gosden 1999). In the context of historical
archaeology, however, the agency and biography of things appear to have received
162 Int J Histor Archaeol (2009) 13:158–182

relatively little attention (but see Harrison 2003; Dellino-Musgrave 2005; Orser
1996, pp. 116–117).
The virtue of the new perspectives on material culture is that they challenge some
deeply embedded conceptions on the function and meaning of artifacts. In other
words, it is not always obvious how people relate with artifacts, in what ways
artifacts mediate relationships between people and the surrounding world, and for
what purposes artifacts are used in different phases of their biography. It has been
proposed, for instance, that the making of artifacts can in itself be functional and the
“finished” artifacts only more or less useless by-products (e.g., Ingold 2000, pp.
127–130, 198; Küchler 1987). On the other hand, artifacts can be inalienable objects
in the sense that they are an integral part of their owners (e.g., Chapman 2000;
Weiner 1992). Artifacts can also be regarded as living entities and non-human
persons with their own special powers (e.g., Brumm et al. 2006; Harvey 2005, pp.
99–115). Also, the breaking and deposition of artifacts can be meaningful activities,
and artifacts can continue to be functional even after deposition, although they are
not visible anymore and nothing is really done with them (e.g., Chapman 2000, pp.
25–26; Herva 2005; for a related case in historical archaeology, see Schávelzon
2005).
To what extent these and other similar ideas, drawn from and developed in non-
western/pre-modern contexts, are relevant to the interpretation of specific artifacts
from post-medieval western contexts must be assessed in each case, but they can
potentially broaden interpretive horizons in historical archaeology. It is obvious that
detailed biographies of specific artifacts cannot be reconstructed in archaeology, but
the traces of use, repair and recycling, as well as the circumstances of deposition, can
provide insights into the life things. In the following, we aim to discuss material
from the early modern town of Tornio, northern Finland, against the theoretical
background outlined above.

The History and Archaeology of Tornio

The town of Tornio is located on the small island of Suensaari in the delta of the
River Tornio, which along with its tributaries had served as an important waterway
to Lapland since the prehistoric times (Fig. 1). The town was founded in 1621, but
Tornio had been an important market place at the bottom of the Gulf of Bothnia
since at least the medieval period (Mäntylä 1971, p. 12; Vahtola 1980, p. 503). The
founding of a number of new towns in Sweden during the early and mid-seventeenth
century represented an attempt of the crown to control trade by confining it to urban
centers. Trade had traditionally been in the hands of powerful farmer-merchants in
the River Tornio Valley and over a huge area in Lapland, but the burghers of the
newly founded town were now granted a privilege to control the highly profitable
Lapland trade, and the town prospered towards the end of the seventeenth century
(Mäntylä 1971).
Despite its economic success in terms of turnover, Tornio remained a very small
town throughout the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries: its population varied,
after the first decades, between five and seven hundred people (Mäntylä 1971,
pp. 404–407, 418–423). The town originally constituted of two rows of blocks by
Int J Histor Archaeol (2009) 13:158–182 163

Fig. 1 Location of Tornio at the bottom of the Gulf of Bothnia. Drawing: Timo Ylimaunu

two streets, but a third street with new blocks emerged in the later seventeenth
century (Fig. 2). Fire destroyed the town partly and sometimes almost completely
several times during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. In addition, isostatic
rebound made the harbour shallow already around the mid-seventeenth century,
which led to calls, after the fire of 1679, for the town to be relocated (Mäntylä 1971,
p. 151). Relocation never actualized, but the plan was not dropped until the late
eighteenth century.
Several archaeological excavations have been conducted in Tornio since the
1960s, especially during the late 1990s and the early 2000s. Most campaigns have
been small-scale test and rescue excavations, but a large-scale rescue excavation was
carried out in 2002, when two modern building lots were partially excavated next
to the sites of the seventeenth-century market square and the town hall (see Figs. 2
and 3). The archaeological material discussed in this paper derives mainly from the
2002 campaign. The excavation focused on seventeenth-century layers because,
according to the position adopted by the Finnish National Board of Antiquities,
cultural heritage legislation protects urban contexts pre-dating to the arbitrarily
164 Int J Histor Archaeol (2009) 13:158–182

Fig. 2 Plan of Tornio at the end of the seventeenth century. The map shows warehouses on the western
bank of Suensaari, three parallel streets, and three rows of blocks divided into longish plots. The grey
areas denote fields. Key: (1) Church, (2) Town hall, (3) Aspio lot excavated in 1996, (4) Ryhmäkoti lot
excavated in 2002, (5) Rakennustuote lot excavated in 2002, (6) Kristo lot excavated in 2004. Drawing:
Timo Ylimaunu and Risto Nurmi after the map by Hans Kruse drawn in 1697/8

chosen year 1721, which marks the end of the Great Nordic War and the era of
Swedish great power. Therefore, and as a consequence of the modest resources
directed to the rescue project, a majority of younger layers were mechanically
removed. Due to the same reason, the soil was not sieved.
Two large trenches, about 1,700 m2 in total, were opened (see Fig. 3). The
trenches sampled several seventeenth-century plots, but none of them was
completely excavated. Relatively large parts of the early modern layers within the
opened areas had also been completely destroyed in the nineteenth and twentieth
centuries. Building remains and the contexts associated with them were the primary
object of study, and approximately a dozen wooden structures were ultimately
unearthed. Most building remains dated from the seventeenth century, but a few
eighteenth- and nineteenth-century structures, including a wooden cellar, were also
(partly) excavated. A majority of the material pre-dates to the 1720s, but the exact
dating of specific contexts in often difficult. Suensaari has been inhabited prior to the
founding of the town, but any traces of pre-urban inhabitation were not encountered,
Int J Histor Archaeol (2009) 13:158–182 165

Fig. 3 General plan of the 2002 excavations in Tornio. Excavation areas A1–A4 were located in the so-
called Rakennustuote lot and areas A5–A8 in the Ryhmäkoti lot. Drawing: Katri Arminen and Risto
Nurmi

and are unlikely, due to isostatic rebound, to be found within the limits of the
seventeenth-century Tornio.
Historical sources provide virtually no information about the people who
inhabited the excavated plots during the seventeenth century. The internal
organization of the plots is also unknown, as the seventeenth-century maps represent
the structure of the town in a most cursory manner. A map drawn in the 1690s shows
the division of blocks into blocks and lists the owners of all plots, but none of the
excavated remains can be linked to actual individuals or families. The social
geography of the town prior to the eighteenth century also remains unknown. Erik
Brunnius (1965 [1731], pp. 24–25) informs us that, around 1730, “the most able
traders” had built their houses by the first street, “common people” by the second,
and “the poorest” by the third. After the end of the Great Nordic War, the plots were
taxed for the first time, and the annual rental payments confirm that the plots by the
first street were the most expensive and those by the third street the cheapest
(Mäntylä 1971, pp. 243–244). By the mid-eighteenth century, there was an
observable, but not very rigid spatial differentiation by class within the town. The
plots by the first and second street were occupied primarily by traders, burghers and
officials, although a few were also owned by craftsmen and sailors (Kostet 1982,
pp. 163–164). It seems probable that the post-war taxation of plots reflects the pre-
war social geography, but whether or not, or to what degree, that situation originates
in the earliest phases of the town is not known.
166 Int J Histor Archaeol (2009) 13:158–182

Post-Acquisition Life of Artifacts in Early Modern Tornio

The finds from the 2002 excavations are in many ways typical to post-medieval
urban sites in Finland. The single largest find category consists of animal bones
(about 165 kg and 12,000 fragments) (Puputti, manuscript in possession of author).
The pottery finds comprised another major category of finds (about 56 kg and 5,100
fragments). Red earthenware clearly dominates the material, but stoneware,
maiolica, faience and even porcelain are found in seventeenth-century contexts
(Ikäheimo 2006, p. 400). Of other ceramic finds, clay pipes are represented by a little
less than 6 kg and some 2,250 pieces (Salo 2007). Pieces of bottles, glass vessels and
window glass were also commonly found, as well as metal objects such as knives
and coins.
While appropriate comparative material is not available in abundance, the
impression is that the total amount of the finds from the 2002 excavations is rather
modest and spread thinly over the two trenches. To illustrate, the excavation of a late
eighteenth-century/early nineteenth-century rubbish pit (c. 4 m in diameter and
0.3 m deep) in Oulu, some hundred km south of Tornio, produced approximately
45 kg/8,600 fragments of animal bones and 11 kg/2,800 fragments of pottery (Herva
2006c; Puputti 2007). Also, the Tornio material would appear to be highly
fragmentary. For instance, complete or even nearly complete pots (that is, vessels
restorable from the recovered pieces) are virtually absent and most are represented
only by a small portion of the original vessels. The material is also characterized by
a degree of wornness and the traces of repair and reuse. Due to lack of published
comparative material, it is difficult to assess how common or uncommon the features
of the Tornio material discussed below actually are.

Recycling Building Materials

The 2002 excavation produced some evidence of the recycling of building material
in early modern Tornio. First, it was observed that while the wooden foundations of
fireplaces in seventeenth-century houses were preserved, stones had almost
systematically been removed from them and apparently recycled for other purposes.
As to other building materials, logs were commonly reused in medieval and early
modern Finland, as is evidenced, for instance, by multiple fittings on logs (e.g.,
Kykyri 2003, p. 107 with references; Lipponen 2005, p. 101). There is little direct
evidence of reusing logs in Tornio, but that is most probably due to the scarcity of
dendrochronological analyses and relatively poor preservation of wood, which
makes it difficult to observe the traces of multiple uses. Nonetheless, one well-
preserved cellar, built of logs dating from the late eighteenth century (Zetterberg et
al. 2004), had been partly deconstructed at the time of abandonment. A majority of
logs must have been carried away, as no trace of the upper structure was observed,
even though the lower part of the deep-dug cellar was very well preserved.
A third category of building materials worth mentioning is window glass. The
reuse of window glass as window glass is difficult to identify, but a number of
window-glass fragments have been identified which show evidence of multiple
fittings into different frames. The reuse of window glass is expected since it was an
imported commodity until the eighteenth century and therefore not only relatively
Int J Histor Archaeol (2009) 13:158–182 167

expensive, but also subject to potentially limited availability. In addition, broken

window glass was used as raw material for various artifacts in seventeenth-century
Tornio (see below).

Wear, Repair and Recycling of Artifacts

The finds from the 2002 excavations contain considerable evidence of the wear,
repair and recycling of artifacts. This evidence is discussed below with a special
emphasis on pottery and clay pipes, though other types of artifacts are also
considered. The treatment of the different find categories is necessarily somewhat
unbalanced because the wear and use marks in pottery remain to be systematically
recorded, whereas the pipe material has been meticulously examined by Salo (2007).
Other finds, especially glass and metal, have been studied in a preliminary manner,
but the sheer quantity of window glass fragments, for instance, presents some
practical problems, as does the small size of vessel glass fragments. Nonetheless, the
available evidence is sufficient to allow us address several issues related to
functionality and artifact biography.
As to ceramics, a total of 98 potsherds have holes that have been made after
glazing. Some holes could be indicative of something else than repair, but a majority
of them are located so (i.e., next to fracture) as to suggest post-breakage joining of
pieces. In a few cases, a leaden rivet was still in place (Fig. 4). Repairing potentially
affected the use of vessels, which were no longer fluid proof unless the joint was
sealed. A total of 15 potsherds show evidence of such sealing or gluing. The
occurrence of repair in potsherds is statistically rare because only some 2% of all
fragments show signs of repair. Since a minimum number of vessels in the 2002
assemblage have not been counted, the proportion of repaired pots cannot be
estimated. Nonetheless, counting the traces of repair per vessel would result in a
(significantly) higher percentage than that based on the sherd count. For the purposes
of the present paper, however, it suffices to note that the mere absolute number of
potsherds with repair marks shows that repairing pottery was not limited to isolated
cases.
One specific case must be mentioned here. Namely, pieces of two decorated
maiolica plates were found in a cellar pit under the house in Area 5. This context
was closed and undisturbed, and the filling of the pit can be dated to the 1630s,
which means that it represents the earliest phase of inhabitation in the town. Holes
had been drilled in the both plates so as to suggest (an attempt) to repair them.
Moreover, one of the plates had been “personified” by incising owner’s mark on the
bottom (Fig. 5). Another vessel with an incised owner’s mark has been found in the
excavation of the so-called Aspio lot nearby, though that vessel is a plain,
undecorated red earthenware bowl. The cellar pit also produced a large fragment
of a stoneware mug decorated with a Fall motif in relief. The mug is dated to c. 1550
(Gaimster 1997, pp. 200–201), which indicates that it had had a notably long use-life
before its deposition in the cellar pit.
Potsherds have also been used as raw material for new artifacts in Tornio. A total
of 46 pieces in the 2002 assemblage show evidence of such treatment: 35 potsherds
have been shaped into so-called gaming pieces—more probably counters (Nurmi
2005)—and 11 pieces are probably spindle whorls (see Fig. 4). Pieces of red
168 Int J Histor Archaeol (2009) 13:158–182

Fig. 4 Reused potsherds (left) and a potsherd with a leaden rivet from a repaired vessel (right). Photo:
Risto Nurmi

earthenware were most commonly recycled, which reflects the overall dominance of
red earthenware in the ceramic assemblage, but the reuse of maiolica and faience
fragments is also attested in the material. The recycling of creamware and porcelain,
however, is not attested although there is evidence of repairing creamware vessels.
Apart from three possible fragments of cooking pots, all recycled potsherds seem to
derive from tableware.
The clay pipes found in the 2002 excavations have been studied systematically in
regard with wear, repair, reuse and deposition, and this research has produced some

Fig. 5 Owner’s marks incised on the bottom of a maiolica plate (left) and a clay-pipe bowl (right). Photo:
Risto Nurmi
Int J Histor Archaeol (2009) 13:158–182 169

very interesting results (Salo 2007). The pipe material comprises of 2,254 fragments,
which are divided into 117 mouthpieces, 186 bowl fragments, and 1,951 stem
fragments. A total of 131 pieces (7.6%) show observable marks of wear, repair and/
or reuse, which were classified into eight types (Salo 2007).
Clear and sometimes very pronounced teeth marks can be identified on 58 stem
fragments (Salo 2007). Teeth marks tend to concentrate on stem fragments other than
original mouthpieces, which seems to indicate that the stem was intentionally cut
before a pipe was used for the first time. The small pipe assemblage from a mid-
eighteenth century log building at the so-called Kristo lot supports this inference;
clear cut marks are in evidence on several stem fragments (Salo and Nurmi
unpublished data). This data suggests, in other words, that pipes in early modern
Tornio were at least sometimes modified or “personified” so as to fit the owner’s
taste. Furthermore, the 2002 assemblage includes a pipe bowl with an owner’s mark
incised on it (see Fig. 5).
Another intriguing feature is that some 30 pipes in the 2002 assemblage have had
a stem shorter than 100 mm at the moment of disposal. The stem length of these
“stub pipes” is usually around or less than 50 mm and in 15 cases less than 30 mm.
That at least some pipes with a very short stem have actually been used for smoking
is evidenced by the signs of wear and/or tooth marks at the end of the stem (Fig. 6).
The travellers Giuseppe Acerbi (1802, p. 357) and Edward Daniel Clarke (1838,
p. 115) also remarked on the use of very short pipes in the north at the very end of
the eighteenth century. In addition, the pipe assemblage contains two bowls with an
approximately 10 mm long stem, which has been ground smooth and the bore
widened. The modification of these two pipes may represent an attempt to attach a
new stem, or else the bowls had been used for some purpose other than smoking.
There also evidence that slightly broken bowls were occasionally repaired by

Fig. 6 “Stub-pipes” with tooth marks on the stem. Very short-stemmed have apparently been used for
smoking in Tornio. Photo: Risto Nurmi
170 Int J Histor Archaeol (2009) 13:158–182

smoothing broken rim so as to prevent further fracture. In all, the available material
suggests that at least some pipes were used until they were literally worn out. Thus,
the pipes from seventeenth-century Tornio also contradict the truism (e.g., Ainasoja
2003, p. 284; Fox 2002, p. 69; Hartnett 2004, p. 134; Mellanen 2002, p. 36) that clay
pipes were among the earliest disposable goods with a very short use-life.
A total of 47 pipe fragments show unambiguous evidence of reusing pipes for
other purposes than smoking. The traces of reuse are limited to stem fragments. The
most common of signs of reuse are holes made on stems, the retouching and
grinding of stem pieces at both ends, and the widening of the bore. The average
length of reused stem fragments is approximately 40 mm, but varies between 20–
65 mm. The functions of reused stem pieces are uncertain, but at least some could
have been whistles and wig-curlers (Salo 2007; see also Huey 1974; Rutter and
Davey 1980, pp. 263–266; Walker 1976). As noticed earlier, stems appear to have
been shortened before using pipes, but it is unclear whether or not intentionally
broken stem pieces were originally intended to be exploited; they may equally well
have been thrown away and picked up when they were needed.
In addition to pottery and clay pipes, the window and bottle glass material
includes finds with unmistakable traces of reuse. Pieces of glass have most
commonly been shaped into gaming pieces/counters similar to those made of
potsherds. A total of 24 of such finds have been identified: 22 are made of window
glass and 2 of bottle glass. A few pieces of window glass have also the kind of
retouching that is indicative of their use as blades. Moreover, one blade made of
bottle glass and one of vessel glass has been identified. As with pottery, the reusing
of glass as raw material for other artifacts is statistically rare, but apparently not
limited to isolated cases, and that, as will be discussed later, may be more important
for interpretation than the exact proportion of reused pieces.
The evidence on the recycling of metals is mostly indirect, but the rarity—indeed
virtual absence—of metal finds other than iron artifacts implies that copper and lead
artifacts were commonly recycled. For instance, only a few fragments of leaden
window frames were found during the 2002 excavation, even though the finds
include several kilograms of window glass. A majority of the recovered lead artifacts
were bullets, which were probably home-made from scrap metal; this is suggested
by the rarity of other lead finds on the one hand and the presence of bullet tongs on
the other. A few metal artifacts were found that have been recycled without first
melting them down. These include a knife bent into a hook, a lead seal reused as a
button, and a brass jeton from Nuremberg and a silver coin drilled and used as a
pendant.

Discard and Deposition of Artifacts

In general, the finds from the 2002 excavations were rather thinly distributed in the
two trenches and derived mainly from underneath buildings, “destruction layers”
overlying building remains, and yard deposits. A comprehensive analysis of the
excavated contexts and their finds remains to be done, but few contexts would
appear to stand out from the rest in any obvious manner. A contextual analysis of the
animal bone finds lends support to this impression of homogeneity (Puputti,
manuscript in possession of author). The distribution of bones was analyzed in
Int J Histor Archaeol (2009) 13:158–182 171

regard with several factors, and even though some patterning emerges, few
significant differences could be observed between the (types of) contexts (Puputti,
manuscript in possession of author). This data suggests, however, that the recovered
archaeological material has not been completely mixed up by post-depositional
processes.
Few pits or special contexts of any kind were documented. As to the former, there
was a series of small, shallow pits around the buildings in Area 1, but these do not
seem to qualify as rubbish pits, since their contents were virtually indistinguishable
from yard deposits. Similar pits were not encountered elsewhere, and the function of
the pits in Area 1 remains an enigma. The only definite rubbish pit was documented
in Area 3 and dated to the late eighteenth century.
As to special deposits, three probable foundation deposits were found in
association with the early seventeenth-century buildings in Area 1. The least
ambiguous of these was a cooking pot deposited under a corner of Building A. Most
pieces of the vessel derive from under the log foundation, but the handle had been
separately deposited in cylindrical pit nearby, and three potsherds had also been put
in the otherwise clean clay bank that lined the log foundation. Some fragments had
spread further in the yard and all three legs are missing, but this cooking pot is the
only virtually complete ceramic vessel (i.e., restorable from the recovered pieces) so
far identified in the 2002 assemblage (Fig. 7). Secondly, an intact iron bar was found
in the foundation of Building A. The third possible foundation deposit comprised of
nine bear claws deposited in the clay bank lining associated with the foundation of
Building B in Area 1. A tenth claw was recovered further in the yard, but the context
of the nine claws, along with the fact that no other bear bones have been identified,
suggest a special deposit (Puputti, manuscript in possession of author).
Certain tendencies in the overall distribution and deposition of finds are relevant
for understanding artifacts biographies in early modern Tornio. First, artifact finds
showing traces of wear, repair and reuse were found in all excavation areas; Area 4
is an exception, but it was very small in size and produced relatively few finds.

Fig. 7 Cooking pot found in a foundation deposit associated with an early seventeenth-century building
in Area 1. This is the only almost complete vessel so far identified from the ceramic material of the 2002
excavations. Photo: Risto Nurmi
172 Int J Histor Archaeol (2009) 13:158–182

Secondly, the finds with traces of wear, repair and reuse tended to be associated with
buildings and were rarely found in, for instance, yard deposits. Thirdly, the
distribution of repaired or reused pottery and glass finds do not show any patterns in
the sense that certain types of signs would be associated with certain areas or
buildings, whereas some variation can be observed in the clay pipe material (Salo
2007). That is, the marks of use and reuse in the pipe material are limited to pre-
1650 contexts in Areas 1 and 2 and to pre-1680 contexts elsewhere, excluding Area
3 where some signs of use and reuse continue up to the 1760s. Furthermore, the
distribution of the specific types of traces is not even, but limited to certain areas.
Building A in Area 1 is noticeable in that pipe fragments with all 8 types of marks
occur in some quantities in association with that building. Building F in Area 6, in
turn, produced much evidence of long use-life of pipes, especially stem fragments
with teeth marks and polished stem ends. Perforated stem fragments were mainly
concentrated to Building G in Area 8 (Salo 2007).
As to discarding and depositing practices, the ceramic assemblage is particularly
interesting although the significance of the preliminary observations made here are
admittedly speculative. A characteristic feature of the ceramic assemblage is the
virtual absence of complete, or even nearly complete, vessels. Indeed, the potsherds
derived from any single context tend to represent only a small fraction of the original
surface of vessels. While quantitative data regarding the entire ceramic assemblage is
unavailable, a tentative examination of the cooking ware fragments from Area 1
supports the impression that a majority of potsherds are usually missing. In total,
pieces of more than 30 cooking pots from Area 1 have been identified. Apart from
the cooking pot associated with the foundation deposit described above, a maximum
of one fifth of each pot is represented by the fragments recovered at the excavation.
In nine cases 5–20% of the original pots survive and more than 20 vessels are
represented merely by one or a few pieces. These observations need not be
remarkable or uncommon, but they do encourage speculation about the dynamics of
discard and deposition and thus of the post-breakage life of artifacts.
In addition to the missing pieces themselves, there is also some positive evidence
of potsherds from one and the same vessel ending up relatively far from each other.
For instance, fitting pieces of a stoneware vessel were recovered from the cellar pit
in Area 5 and in Area 3, some 50 m south of the pit. Since no other pieces of this
vessel were found anywhere else, either the fragments themselves or soil containing
them must have been moved from one seventeenth-century plot to another,
apparently from Area 5 to Area 3, since the context that produced the pieces in
Area 3 is several decades younger than the fill of the cellar pit in Area 5. While its
significance remains open, this case is worth mentioning because it leads to the more
general question of how and why potsherds were moved around in early modern
Tornio.
Of course, the explanations to missing pieces and the movement of potsherds are
many, including local discard practices and the successive clearance and leveling of
the ground after destructive fires. Unfortunately, waste management practices are
poorly known in Tornio and other early modern towns in Finland, but it is possible,
for instance, that rubbish was dumped in the bay by the town. Another possible
explanation to the missing pieces is that they ended up in the fields with other
household waste, which was used as fertilizer. Yet the main point is this: the
Int J Histor Archaeol (2009) 13:158–182 173

possibility should be taken seriously that missing pieces and the movement of
potsherds may at least partly be a result of deliberate action—some specific
treatment of (certain) fragments—rather than a consequence of purely unintentional,
extrinsic causes, such as formation processes. In other words, there is no reason to
assume a priori that the distribution of potsherds is necessarily indicative of
something else than purposeful engagement with artifacts during the later phases of
their use-life.
To substantiate this speculation would require more data than is available at
present. In particular, it would be necessary to study if certain parts of pottery are
more frequently missing than others and if there are similarities and differences in
regard with different classes of pottery. Yet the above speculation is not without a
purpose, as it provides the background for the suggestion, which will be discussed
below, that even discarded and deposited (fragments of) artifacts continued to have a
function, whether or not their functionality was intended or recognized. In brief, the
question of missing and moving pieces is obviously a difficult one, but nonetheless
too important to be dismissed as a mere taken-as-given features of the archaeological
record (see further Chapman 2000).

Interpretation and Discussion

It might, at first, seem compelling to regard the signs of wear, repair and recycling
identified in the archaeological assemblage from Tornio as evidence of low
economic status. It is known from the preserving probate inventories that, at least
in the later half of the seventeenth century, there were stark differences in economic
status between the residents of Tornio (see Tamelander 1941). As noticed earlier, the
economical and social geography of seventeenth-century Tornio remains unknown,
but it is possible that the people living by the second street, where the 2002 trenches
were located, did less well economically than those living by the first street, which in
turn is poorly known archaeologically.
Notwithstanding, a straightforward economical interpretation of the wear, repair
and recycling of artifacts in Tornio is not without problems. First, if wear, repair and
recycling had been linearly linked to economic status, one would expect to see at
least some variation in time and between households. Secondly, if economic
hardship had been a primary motivation for the repair and reuse of things, one would
perhaps expect to find more extensive evidence of such practices. The economic
dimension of the phenomenon is not to be doubted, but the recycling of pottery, for
example, seems more like a symbolic gesture rather than an economically driven
necessity. It is also worth noticing that while recyclable metal is generally speaking
absent, almost two hundred copper coins were found during the 2002 campaign. The
coins are of a small nominal value, but nonetheless worth a pint or so in the public
house (Mäntylä 1998, p. 34). Coins do get lost, of course, and large sums of money
are not involved here, but one cannot help wondering if better care would have been
taken of coins under economical stress.
Limited market accessibility might also explain the wear, repair and recycling of
artifacts, but that explanation suffers partly from the same weaknesses as the
straightforward economical view. In particular, one would expect to see some clear
174 Int J Histor Archaeol (2009) 13:158–182

chronological variation in the wear, repair and reuse patterns. International conflicts
occasionally disrupted trade, and in winter ships did not sail, but as a centre of trade
Tornio is unlikely to have suffered chronically from a limited supply of basic
household goods. Still, the somewhat monotonous character of the archaeological
material may indicate that consumer choices were limited in some other respects
(Nurmi 2009; see also Friberg 1983; Sandström 1990). Finally, a constantly limited
supply of goods, just like low economic status, would perhaps have resulted in even
more intensive repair and reuse of things.
These observations do not downplay the importance of economical factors and
market accessibility as interpretive tools. Rather, we wish to stress that the wear,
repair and recycling of artifacts may not be reducible to straightforward explanations
based on, for example, universal economical reason or the availability of household
goods. Having said that, we also recognize that occasional economical stress and
shortages in the supply of goods may well have contributed to long use-live of
certain artifacts in seventeenth-century Tornio and thus shaped human-artifact
relations in a specific way (see below). Armed with these notions, and the theoretical
framework outlined earlier, we will now consider the post-acquisition life of artifacts
in Tornio from a perspective that emphasizes the significance of local ways of life
and modes of engaging with everyday material culture.

Understanding Artifact Biographies

The interpretation of material culture in historical archaeology—and indeed the

understanding of human-artifact relations—tends to be based on dualistic thinking,
which represents material culture as a mere manifestation of human thought and
behavior. Material culture, in other words, is conceived something that is separate
and different from humans beings themselves. This is a problematic position, but
there is no need to dwell on the issue here (see Boast 1997; Brück 1999; Clark 1997;
Herva 2006a; Ingold 2000; Järvilehto 1998; Manzotti 2006). Rather, it suffices to
point out that a categorical distinction between, for instance, object and subject or
natural, supernatural and cultural would have made little sense in early modern
Finland (e.g., Eilola 2003; Herva and Ylimaunu, manuscript in possession of the
authors).
To take but one example, manifold natural entities and artifacts were perceived to
possess special properties and inherent powers (various examples can be found in
e.g., Eilola 2003; Sarmela 1994;), which in turn affected the ways people engaged
with them. These special properties need not have been “magical” or “supernatural”
in the sense they are conventionally understood in the literature, but merely
something that distinguished an artifact (or any other thing) from other apparently
similar artifacts—that is, provided the artifact with a distinctive identity of its own.
Of course, things continue to acquire various kinds of special properties also in the
today’s supposedly rational world, but we are simply taught to downplay the reality
of special qualities (see Gell 1998, pp. 17–19).
The evidence of the wear, repair and reuse of artifacts from seventeenth-century
Tornio can be understood to represent a special bond between people and certain
artifacts (cf. Lucas 2009). Such a bond could have developed for a variety of reasons
and assumed various forms, but wornness, repair and owner’s marks can all be
Int J Histor Archaeol (2009) 13:158–182 175

interpreted in terms of the personification of, and attachment to, things. This is
perhaps most obvious in the case of clay pipes. Wornness in this view would actually
have been appreciated; it was a desirable quality which added the value of artifacts
in documenting long involvement between specific persons and artifacts. In other
words, people and artifacts developed an “organic” relationship by gradually
growing together, and people did not stick to artifacts (only) because they had to, but
(also) because they wanted to.
The specific nature of the proposed organic relationship between people and
artifacts in seventeenth-century Tornio eludes us, of course, but the concept of
“patina” may help to characterize it a little further. Patina, as introduced by
McCracken (1988), is a metaphor for the visual indications of age associated
especially with heirlooms and the like. Functionally, patina is understood as an index
of descendancy that legitimates the claims of status across the generations
(McCracken 1988; see also Lucas 2006, pp. 42–45; Pendery 1992). We propose
that the wornness of everyday artifacts such as clay pipes and earthenware pottery
was comparable to patina, but instead of signaling continuity through descendancy
and status to others, patinated everyday artifacts would have created a sense of
continuity at a personal level.
Repairing and recycling, in turn, can both be understood as techniques of
extending the life of artifacts with which people had established a special bond. That
repairing extended use-life is self-evident, but in addition to preserving the physical
integrity of artifacts, repairing also contributed to the patination of things. What is
perhaps less obvious is that recycling, too, extended the life of artifacts. This
proposal builds on the idea that artifacts are not autonomous physical objects with
fixed properties, but relationally constituted entities. This means that artifacts and all
other entities are continuously coming into being (rather than simply existing) and
their identity and properties are defined by the physical, biological and social
relationships they are endowed with (see further Gell 1998; Herva 2006a; Ingold
2000, pp. 77–88, 339–361; Knappett 2005, pp. 45–47).
The relational constitution of things also means that artifacts retain or externalize
something of the personality and agency of the people who are involved with them,
as well as gain “life-force” as a result of prolonged involvement in the social world
(Gell 1998, p. 222, pp. 225–226; Hicks and Horning 2006, pp. 287–292). Thus, the
recycling of building materials, for example, makes sense economically, but
recycling also preserves a part of the original building and whatever qualities that
building possessed as a relationally constituted entity. This means among other
things that something of the people who had been associated with the original
building were literally incorporated into the texture of a new building.
By the same token, the reuse of potsherds retains something of the properties that
intact pots represented and embodied and hence extends the use-life of pots beyond
breakage. In this view, the very idea and act of recycling—and not only the resulting
new artifacts—can be important as such. The proposed “symbolic” reuse of cheap
and disposable artifacts in seventeenth-century Tornio would make a perfect sense
according to this train of thought. It goes almost without saying that people
themselves need not have thought about reuse in these terms, and we certainly allow
that the specific motives for reusing potsherds and the like varied. At some level,
however, recycling maintained a bond between people and artifacts.
176 Int J Histor Archaeol (2009) 13:158–182

The life and functionality of artifacts, then, does not necessarily end with
breakage, but neither does it with discard or deposition. Foundation deposits are an
obvious example of that: artifacts deposited in the purpose of, for example, magical
protection continued to be functional after deposition. But we would go on even
further to argue that the life of all artifacts potentially continued after they ended
up in the ground. The assumption seems safe that bones, potsherds, clay-pipe
fragments, and other “rubbish” were scattered around in early modern Tornio,
even though various post-deposition processes have contributed to the specific
distribution of the finds made during the excavation. Some rubbish was probably
just thrown out in the yard and some of it is likely to have ended up there
unintentionally.
What concerns us here, however, is that all kinds of things were there in the
ground, and that rubbish continued to be functional in at least one sense. Namely, the
incorporation of rubbish in the soil altered the texture of the ground and afforded
perceiving it differently (cf. Evans 2003, pp. 119–121). Given that artifacts embody
human agency and social relations (Chapman 2000; Gell 1998), rubbish in the
ground “tempered” the soil with sociality and thus contributed to the personification
of the land itself. In other words, the “natural” was merged with the “cultural” in a
very concrete sense (DeSilvey 2006; Edensor 2005; Evans 2003, p. 125). Once
again, we do not know how the residents of Tornio understood the rubbish around
them. But regardless of what they consciously thought about rubbish, or how much
they intentionally promoted rubbishness, potsherds and the like influenced, at some
level, the ways people perceived the world around them and the ways they related
with it. That is, rubbish in the ground promoted in a subtle manner an organic
relationship between people and their everyday environment.

Continuity, Change, and Uncertainty in Seventeenth-Century Tornio

The interpretations discussed above are obviously not specific to the archaeological
material from Tornio, but can arguably apply in different contexts. It is therefore
necessary, in this final section, to consider how our observations on the life of
artifacts are linked to human life in the specific context of seventeenth-century
Tornio.
The medieval and early modern period witnessed a series of profound changes in
the communities settled at the northernmost coast of the Gulf of Bothnia. The
economic basis shifted gradually from the exploitation of the wilderness to farming
and the founding of towns in the early seventeenth century marked yet another
economic and social change; urbanism was a novel social phenomenon in this
peripheral area. Towns were not only centres of trade, but also channels through
which new ideas on economy, society and the world reached a northern European
periphery. Furthermore, Protestantism replaced Catholicism during the sixteenth and
early seventeenth century, but neither replaced completely the local pre-Christian
worldview. All these developments apparently resulted in “hybrid” ways of life and
a worldview which fused manifold traditional concepts with emerging modern ones.
The archaeological material discussed in this paper implies that the residents of
seventeenth-century Tornio were not particularly “consumption-minded”, as is
exemplified by the attachment to cheap and disposable artifacts; that is, the attitude
Int J Histor Archaeol (2009) 13:158–182 177

to artifacts was determined primarily by other factors than the symbolic meanings of
things. This absence of consumption-mindedness, in turn, was associated with an
under-developed urban identity in seventeenth-century Tornio. As historians have
pointed out, there was a strong tendency towards conservatism in early modern
Tornio (e.g., Mäntylä 1971). The observations made on artifact biographies can not
only be linked to this phenomenon, but also used to elucidate its nature. That,
however, requires a consideration of certain aspects of the urban landscape of
seventeenth-century Tornio.
First, the available data on the urban landscape of seventeenth-century Tornio,
while admittedly scarce, suggests that the town was organically rather than
geometrically organized. Buildings tended to be located in the centre of plots rather
than the edges, which presumably resulted in the open and village-character of the
urban space (see Herva 2003). The “agrarian” character of the town was further
underlined by the incorporation of fields into the town, that is, within the area
enclosed by the toll fence. The incorporation of fields into towns was strictly
proscribed, and when King Carl XI of Sweden visited Tornio in 1694, he ordered
that the fields should be removed (Kostet 1995, p. 79). His order was disregarded,
however, and the fields remained within the town throughout the eighteenth century,
as the town maps from the eighteenth century show (the fence itself was removed
around mid-eighteenth century).
While the fields in the town were of economical significance (Perälä 1921,
pp. 16–17), their incorporation into the urban space also implies symbolic
importance as a token of pre-urban life. Animal husbandry in particular was
economically important to the townsfolk in the seventeenth century and most
burghers were involved in it, though animals were mainly kept in farms outside the
town (Mäntylä 1971, pp. 52–53, 117–121). Furthermore, the residents of Tornio still
continued to exploit the wilderness and the proportion of the wild animal bones in
the osteological assemblage of the 2002 excavations is, in comparison to other
Swedish towns, exceptionally high with c. 25% (Puputti, manuscript in possession of
author; see also Puputti 2006).
Secondly, warehouses in the urban landscape of Tornio also testify of the
adherence to local traditions. When Tornio was founded, some 30 warehouses were
built on the western bank of Suensaari, between the harbor area and the rest of the
town, and they were the first completed buildings in the town (Mäntylä 1971, p. 28).
Intriguingly, the row of warehouses continued to occupy the same place throughout
the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, even though the harbor area itself moved
towards the southern tip of the island in the later eighteenth century (see further
Ylimaunu 2007, pp. 77–79). Given the importance of trade in the area, probably on
Suensaari itself, since at least the medieval period, warehouses can arguably be
understood as local monuments, which represented the ancestry of the town and
created a tangible connection between the present and the past.
Thirdly, it is also worth mentioning in this context that the townsfolk stubbornly
resisted the regularization of the town plan despite the pressure from the authorities.
When the regularization was finally done after the Great Northern War, the result
was actually something of an illusion of regularization; in effect, the original
seventeenth-century town plan was restored in a slightly “modernized” form
(Ylimaunu 2007, p. 88).
178 Int J Histor Archaeol (2009) 13:158–182

A fourth and the last observation to be made here is that the residents of Tornio
were apparently reluctant to invest in their houses. The available evidence is not
overwhelming, but it seems that ordinary buildings were humble and unelaborated
up to shabbiness; only the most important public buildings, the town hall and the
church, stood on a stone foundation and were painted with red ochre (Ylimaunu
2006, 2007, pp. 32–35, 49–55). Tornio developed a more urban character during the
eighteenth century when the spatial organization of the town became more
geometrical and enclosed and better houses began to be built (Ylimaunu 2007,
esp. pp. 63–66, 97–100). Still, houses were generally speaking of a low value
despite the blossoming economy, and the town seems to have been relatively non-
urban-like in appearance even at the very end of the eighteenth century (Clarke 1997
[1838], p. 206; Ojala in Clarke 1997, p. 348, note 234). If, as it seems to us, the
profits of the trade were not put in the consumption of goods, neither were they put
in the elaboration of the urban environment.
We submit that the above observations made on the urban landscape of Tornio, as
well as those made earlier on artifact biographies, are expressions of uncertainty on
the one hand and strategies of coping with it on the other. This uncertainty originated
in the series of changes, referred to earlier, at the bottom of the Gulf of Bothnia
during the early modern period. Of particular importance was presumably the very
founding of the town and the introduction of (quasi-)urban life, which marked
changes in the ways of life of local rural folk, who, as far as we know, comprised a
majority of the earliest inhabitants of Tornio. Additionally, the town appears to have
been rather unstable until at least the mid-seventeenth century, which is indicated by,
for instance, major fluctuations of population (see Mäntylä 1971, p. 29, pp. 35–38).
Uncertainty was also promoted by other factors, such as frequent destructive fires
which threatened the life of the entire community and, from at least the late 1670s
onwards, the plan of relocating the town.
Uncertainty, then, was inherent to the early development of Tornio and
promoted a need for perceived constancy, which could be achieved by emphasizing
local traditions. The townsfolk thus adhered, at least symbolically, to pre-urban and
pre-modern ways of life and thinking. The traditional or “non-urban” aspects of the
town and the ways of engaging with artifacts both served to strengthen continuity
with the past, albeit in different scales and different ways. The non-urban features
of the urban landscape manipulated and reproduced collective memory and
identity, whereas attachment to artifacts created a sense of continuity at an
individual level. This sense of continuity did not derive only from the initial long-
time use of things (for whatever purpose), but was potentially renewed several
times over the life of things all the way to deposition and even beyond that.
Attachment to artifacts, in this sense, was something like a psychological weapon
against the perceived uncertainty of life rather than a means of expressing and
manifesting identity.

Conclusions

In this paper, we have discussed various aspects of functionality and artifact

biography both theoretically and through the case study of early modern Tornio in
Int J Histor Archaeol (2009) 13:158–182 179

northern Finland. While the ideas put forward above are not original as such,
relatively little has so far been made out of them in historical archaeology. However,
in order to make sense of how people in the recent past engaged with material
culture and the surrounding world in general, artifacts need to be understood as
processes rather than bounded physical objects. Furthermore, human-artifact
relations are much more complex than the conceptual division between subject
and object allows, which also means that artifacts perform various functions that
cannot properly be characterized within dualistic frames of reference.
As to the specific case of seventeenth-century Tornio, we have proposed that the
residents of the town were not particularly “consumption-minded”, and “doing with
things” rather than “saying with things” characterized human-artifact relations. The
evidence of the wear, repair and recycling of artifacts, along with certain aspects of
deposition patterns, suggest attachment to artifacts—that is, an “organic unity
between people and things” (Meskell 2004, p. 47). This does not mean that the town
residents developed a special bond with all artifacts around them, but the
preliminary data discussed in this paper indicates that special relationships between
people and things did frequently occur. Finally, we have argued that the long use-life
of everyday artifacts in seventeenth-century Tornio can be linked to the slow
development of urban identity and a struggle for a sense of continuity against a
perceived uncertainty regarding the future of the town.

Acknowledgments Vesa-Pekka Herva is an Academy of Finland post-doctoral fellow. Research for this
paper has been conducted within the project “Material Roots of Modernization in Northern Finland c. AD
1500–1800: An Archaeological Study of Urbanization and Consumption”, funded by the Scientific
Council of the University of Oulu (2004–2006). We wish to thank Janne Ikäheimo, James Symonds and
Timo Ylimaunu for helping in various ways with this paper. We are also indebted to Gavin Lucas, Anna-
Kaisa Puputti and Eveliina Salo for making available to us their unpublished research and papers awaiting
publication.

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