Our journey to Norway was an investigation of roots, of family history, of generational stories. Bergen, Norway was a wonderful place to begin a journey into the geographical locations from where my husband's grandmother immigrated to America in the mid-1800s. It was especially wonderful because we were hosted by relatives, second cousins and third cousins with whom my mother-in-law had been conversing by letter for a number of years. And, two of the cousins were retired taxi cab drivers who had Mercedes-Benz vehicles. What a perk!
We were traveling in style, until we arrived at the path that led to the birth place of my mother-in-law's mother...it was still a goat's trail to the ridge of a mountain. A return to roots and a step back in time to a place that had not changed in 100 years. We set out on the path to the ridge top, the place of Grandmother's birth. The air was sweet and pure. The sunshine, warm and inviting. The pathway was rocky, but even the older cousins who were in their 70s trekked up the mountain side, the women in their dresses, packing their purses. I did not realize it then, but the cousins had prepared for this hike and had contacted the man who still lived in the hillside cabin without running water and without heat, but it was secluded and remote, a perfect place for an introvert to live. We would be sharing "coffee" with the current resident, his daughter and her child, and experiencing Norwegian hospitality.
As we hiked, a hush surrounded us, a hush of expectancy, a hush of sacredness and memory. The quietness had something to do with my mother-in-law being the only one in the group who actually could communicate a little bit in Norwegian, but even so, the Bergen cousins spoke a
Norwegian dialect that was unfamiliar to her and the cousins spoke very quickly. Of course they spoke quickly, they lived in the city and were completely adapted to that environment. My husband and I held back a little bit from the rest of the group, engrossed with the wildness of the place, gaining a better understanding why Grandmother had immigrated to America. This place was rocky. How could anyone farm here?
One of the ways earlier residents had survived in that remote place was to build terraced fields on the mountainside, removing slabs of rock and using them to build the terraces and outbuildings. My husband, being a builder, wondered why earlier residents had not used more of the stone to construct the living quarters. There was not a stabur house on this mountainside; the building were built into the hillside in order to utilize the ground warmth in the winter, earthy soil to cool in the summer. People are adaptable to environment just as other animals, and they make do with the natural materials available on site which can be incorporated into dwellings. All the wood to build the cabin had been hauled up "the goat trail" from the woodlands below the mountainside.
When we arrived at the house, our hosts were waiting for us. We were in
for a lovely treat. Our host had brought not only coffee and
cookies for our afternoon sustenance, he brought out an
accordion and
played Norwegian folk music for our enjoyment.
Our host had no car, no vehicle; however, he did own a pair of
long skis which he used in the winter when he skied down the mountainside to visit his daughter and grandchild. We listened, entranced with the naturalness, the daily kind of living with other people, that exuded from this inter-generational family. Time slowed down and life seemed thoroughly worth living with and among other people. Although we spoke different languages, we could "talk" together, we could "be" together in kindness, respect, and acceptance.
Recently, my husband and I had conversation with friends who are travelers. Both Kelly and Wendel had some insightful advice for would-be travelers. Wendel began speaking about how to be as traveler and said, "You have to be open and willing to be changed yourself. The most important aspect of traveling is to meet people with a love and a willingness to have a relationship with them. For example, when we first traveled to South Africa, there were members of the elite white community who had never visited the Settlements. They never interact with the black community at all. They stay reclusive and fearful of people who are 'different' from them." As I thought about this wisdom, that willingness to be the "other" seems to offer a new perspective, the willingness to "be changed" gives a richness to travel, here is another reason to go, to travel, to live among people who are not homogeneous.
The cousins had another place to take us by car. Actually, after we had walked to the ridge top, we looked down into another valley, a fjord created by steep tree covered mountains which fell nearly straight down into the blue water. This valley was where most of my mother-in-law's family had attended an old Lutheran church. Our destination was now the old church where my husband's ancestors had attended the Sunday services, listened to liturgy that was at least 400 years old, Christian protestant worship services that had been a legacy of the Reformation of the 1500s in Germany. Christianity helped to "tame" the wildness of the early
Vikings .The family had climbed to the ridge of the mountain and descended into the adjacent valley for Sunday gatherings.
This visit was revelatory for Alma. As we sat on the rock wall and admired the old building a couple gardeners walked in front of us on the way to weed and water plants around the church building. As the men approached, their quiet voices and low laughter wafted toward us.
Suddenly, Alma's eyes widened and a smile broadened and lightened her
face. A look of recognition and joy, connection and understanding caused
her to blurt, " I can understand everything they are saying!" Ah, yes!
the dialect of her ancestors was being spoken. She, being very shy, had to
be accompanied over to the men in order to talk with them. Alma walked through the cemetery with the gardeners, chatting in Norwegian, asking questions, listening and looking for names she might recognize.
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