A Letter To My Mother in Heaven

Mother's Day has been a bitter-sweet occasion to me since 1976.  That year in February I lost my dear mother, Effie Jeannetta Mestad Enger, under the most horrific conditions.  Her death was by suicide which was--and still is--incomprehensible to me for a woman as kind, loving, and God-fearing as my mother.  I wrote her a letter in 1978 as an attempt to ease the ache in my heart, and my thoughts are still the same today.  In honor of my beautiful Mother I am reprinting it below. 

A Letter to My Mother in Heaven

 October 3, 1978

Dearest Mother,

I’m sorry!  I know these words cannot bring you back to life, but I had to say them.  I have to do something to try and rid myself of the nagging thoughts that linger  in the recesses of my mind.  If we—your family—had been more responsive to your needs as a person—would you be alive today?

SUICIDE!  That was only a word to me until that February day in 1976.  “Taking one’s own life” was a phenomenon that happened to other people in other places—not to me and my family.

There was nothing so unusual about “that day” in February over two years ago.  It was raining, as I remember, and the phone was ringing when I walked into our real estate office in Quilcene, Washington.  But the words I heard on the other end of that line were unforgettable and shall always haunt me.  “It’s Mom,” cried the agonized voice of my sister Hope.  “She shot herself and she’s in the hospital.  Things look bad and you’d better come right away.”

At first her words would not penetrate my mind—I thought I must be just waking from some terrible nightmare.  But when I looked around I was staring into the cold light of day, and my sister was still sobbing at the other end of the line.

I felt as though I had been transformed into a remote-control robot as I hung up the receiver and walked out of the office to find my husband, who was having his morning coffee break with the usual crowd.  He looked up and gave me a cheerful greeting as I entered, but when he saw my face the color also drained from his and he came toward me and ushered me outside where I told him the dreadful news.

My mind and thoughts raced uncontrollably during the seemingly endless flight to Colorado.  My mother, I told myself, was the sweetest, most gentle human being I had ever known.  She had given her entire life to caring for the needs of her family—always the peacemaker—a shining example of the Golden Rule in action.  This simply could not be!

I would not let myself think “death.”  “It won’t be so bad when I get there," I told myself.  “It’s probably just a flesh wound and she will be home in a few days.  It was all a mistake—she was just picking up Dad's gun to put it away and it went off,” I thought, as I tried to ignore the conversational attempts of my seatmate.  But when I walked into that hospital lobby and saw the family members gathered there—my father bowed low with grief and looking generations older than  his 76 years—I could disbelieve no longer.

I was led down the corridor into your hospital room where there were four occupied beds, but the person they led me to was not you, Mother.  It couldn’t be!  My mother, who would never allow herself to be seen in public without her lipstick, couldn’t possibly be lying there like that!

I stared in horror at the grotesquely swollen head, the two black patches that were once the most beautiful blue eyes in the world; the turban-style bandage with blood seeping through at the edges that covered the silver hair I loved.  Tubes were running from anywhere to everywhere.  I touched you and your skin was icy.  I spoke to you but there was not the faintest glimmer of understanding.

The only movement was the rise and fall of your chest in perfect rhythm with the cold, ugly respirator beside your bed.  Oh, how I came to love and hate that machine in the long hours ahead.  Each time I approached your room I attuned myself for its rasping sound—afraid it may have stopped.  And each time, before I left your room, I wanted to smash it into a million pieces to stop that infernal, incessant, mechanical beat.  That wasn’t you, Mother!

When it was finally over (could that eternity only have lasted 48 hours?) I was exhausted, and heartbroken, and relieved.  Your brain was dead, we were told, and the fact that the heart stopped also was a blessing.  I can admit now, Mother, that my first reaction to your death was one of anger and indignation.  How could you have done such a terrible thing to Dad and to me and the rest of your family?  How could you have put us all through this ordeal?  What had we done to deserve this?  You knew how much we all loved you and needed you!

You did know that, didn’t you Mother?  Surely, you must have known.  Of course I didn’t say “I love you and need you” all the time, just like that—but I always sent you nice cards and gifts on your birthday, and Mother’s Day and Christmas.  I phoned you at least once a month, and wrote a letter whenever I could work it into my busy schedule.  And we came to see you at least once a year. It's a long ways from Washington to Colorado.  Now that I put it all down on paper it wasn’t much, was it Mother?  I am so sorry!

I guess none of us will ever know or understand what mental torment you must have been going through that compelled you to pick up that gun (you always hated guns, I remember) and pull that trigger.  Of course, you had told us for years about a gnawing pain inside of you that wouldn’t let you sleep at night.  But none of your doctors could ever pinpoint the source of such a pain—they kept giving you pills and telling you it was in your head.  I know you wanted sympathy, but we were told that too much sympathy wasn’t good, so we sort of laughed it off and tried to tease you out of the notion.  It wasn’t funny to you, was it Mother?  I really am sorry!

 I know that you were lonely and depressed at times, but what could I do?  I had obligations to husband, and children, and job which always seemed to keep me far away from you, and of course I had problems of my own to worry about.

Remember that old song that you used to sing to your daughters and make us cry?  “HELLO, CENTRAL, GIVE ME HEAVEN, FOR MY MOTHER’S THERE.”  How I wish that I could pick up the phone this minute and call you—to tell you how much I love you and how much better everything would be if you would only come back to us.  The next best thing was for me to write this letter, although I can never mail it.  Our postal service does not extend to heaven, where I am sure you have been given the most beautiful crown among the angels. 

But somehow I feel that you will be able to read these words and to understand what I am trying to say—even though ineptly.  I love you Mother, and I am truly sorry.  I hope someday to be able to tell you in person.

                                                          Lovingly,

                                                           Your daughter, Dianne

Circa 1903: John Hanson Mestad and his four daughters.

Effie, the baby, on his lap, Alma, Cora and Mayme

POSTSCRIPT:  My mother Effie Mestad lost her mother when she was two years old, and her father John Hanson Mestad used to sing this song to his four daughters.  My mother, in turn, would sing it to me and my sister Hope, and it would bring tears every time!  I guess the young people today wouldn't even know about "Central!"

HELLO CENTRAL GIVE ME HEAVEN

 

Hello central give me heaven
For I know my mother's there
And you'll find her with the angels
Over on the golden stair

She'll be glad it's me a speaking
Wont you call her for me please
For I surely want to tell her
That we're sad without her here

   Hello central give me heaven
   For I know my mother's there
   You will find her with the angels
   Over on the golden stair

Poppa dear is sad and lonely
Sobbed the tearful little child
Since momma's gone to heaven
Poppa dear you do not smile

I will speak to her and tell her
That we want her to come home
You just listen while I call her
Call her through the telephone

I will answer just to please her
Yes dear heart I'll soon come home
Kiss me momma it's your darling
Kiss me through the telephone.

             

 

 

 

A TRIBUTE TO MY AUNT TOOTSIE!

      One of the very favorite and influential people in my entire life was my Aunt Tootsie, officially known as Myrtle Vivian Enger, born April 27, 1916 in Minneapolis, Minnesota, the youngest child of my paternal grandparents Edward and Hannah Larson Enger.  My father, William D. "Bill" Enger was her oldest brother, 16 years older to be exact.

      I wrote about Vivian before and some of the struggles she had in life as a victim of polio (Blog 7--Enger Kids, Vivian and Stanley:  Bad Things Happen to Good People." )  Sadly for me, but not for her, Vivian passed away in August of 2011 at the age of 95 having accomplished a long and successful career as Nobles County Clerk of Court, a loving 64-year marriage to Clarence Erbes, and a wonderful family of son Steve and his wife Jo, three grandchildren and six great-grandchildren. 

     I wrote the following tribute to her at Christmas in 2008 after spending a week with her and my cousin Steve at her home in Worthington, Minnesota, helping her sort out her massive supply of family photos and family history papers.  

       Rest in Peace Aunt Tootsie. You are forever implanted in my memory and in my heart!  I hope to be with you again someday, and you can sing Froggie Went A Courtin' for me one more time!

 

My Aunt Tootsie

By Dianne Sonia Enger Snell                                                                 December, 2008

It’s hard for me to know where to start when asked to write my thoughts about my Aunt Tootsie.  Oh yes, I know her name is Vivian—or technically “Myrtle Vivian”—but to me she’s Tootsie.  That is the way I have always known her, and when I say always, I mean she has ALWAYS been in my life.

 I was born in Worthington, Minnesota on November 27, 1939, when Tootsie was still Vivian Enger.  She gave me my first doll named “Sugar Plum” which I still have in my memory trunk.  She has a slightly smashed head, but I don’t remember the story behind that.  Tootsie would probably remember.

My cousin Janet and I were the flower girls when Tootsie married Clarence Erbes on October 4, 1942.  She always told me that I got bored right in the middle of the ceremony and said, “Come on, Gigi, let’s go write on the blackboard.”

I was the youngest of the Enger grandchildren back then.  I also lived the closest to Toots and Clarence in Worthington so Tootsie spoiled me rotten when I was little.  She would sing to me, read to me, rub my back, and tell me stories.  When my parents would go out of town I would get to stay with them on McMillan Street and I would sleep with Grandma Hannah.  Grandma was a great story-teller and I loved to listen to her stories of the “olden days” when my Daddy was a little boy.  I couldn’t imagine that, as he already had grey hair when I was born!

 One time I was staying with them and my dog Tippy ran away so I cried and cried and Clarence went out looking for her for hours.  She finally came home on her own. Another time, Toots asked Clarence to pick me up after school and when he came I didn’t want to go home with him—I wanted to go to my friend’s house.  Clarence said, “NO”, because he didn’t have time to come and pick my up again later.  I wouldn’t get in the car so he threw me in the back seat and took me to the house.  I was really mad at him for a while, but later on Toots found me sitting on his lap.

Steve was born when I was seven and that was a big red-letter-day in my life.  Actually, I think I had mixed feelings about it.  I was really excited to have a baby cousin and I bragged about him to all my friends. On the other hand I was a little jealous as I thought Tootsie would quit spoiling me!  However, that didn’t happen.  I was still her little girl!  I do have to admit that Steve is pretty great guy!

When I was thirteen years old and after our lumber yard burned, my Dad announced that we were moving to our farm in Mora, Minnesota—250 miles away!  That was one of the saddest times in my life, having to leave my house, my school, my friends, and especially Toots and Clarence and Grandma.  We would still visit once or twice a year and they would come to the farm, too, but it just wasn’t the same.

After I married and moved to Wyoming, Colorado, and then Washington and had my own family the visits “home” to Worthington became few and far between, but the bond between me and my Aunt Tootsie always remained close in my heart.

One of the most special times together was just this last November when I was able to come and stay with her and Steve for five days in her house and spend the time going through family photos and memories.  I learned even more about her then than I ever knew, and she was even able to sing all 13 verses of “Froggie Went A- Courtin'” for me so I could write them down.  I will always cherish those days!

 

Merry Christmas, Aunt Tootsie, and I love you!!

 

Vivian with mother Hannah and sister Hazel, 1921

Vivian's High School Graduation, 1934, Worthington, Minnesota

Vivian and Clarence wedding, Oct. 2, 1942

 

Clarence, Viv and me, 2001

 

Viv and me, 2008

 

Steve. Jo and Viv, July 2011, a month before she passed away

 

 

 

 

 

 

EGGEDAL NORWAY--THE ENGER CONNECTION

Note: This blog will be mostly in pictures--I believe one picture is worth a thousand words.

  This blog is the final installment dealing with my experiences in Norway in the summer of 2012.  The entire three-week adventure was fabulous.  My cousin Shirley Augustine and I spent the first two weeks, from August 15-30, touring with the Gudbrandsdalslag (see Blog #20) and with the help of a local genealogist visited ancestral farms and churches of our paternal grandmother, Hannah Larson Enger.  Following that tour we spent several days in Ringerike with  Jorun Nerdalen (see Blog #22) who gave us bed and board and transported us to farms and churches related to our fathers' paternal grandmother Anna Lee Bergsund Enger.  The last five days of our trip were spent in the village of Eggedal, Sigdal Kommune, Buskerud, where our first immigrant ancestor, great grandfather Elling Pedersen Enger, was born, raised and emigrated from to America in 1854.

Elling Pedersen Enger, our first immigrant ancestor to America in 1854 at age 19. He went to the gold fields, settled as a farmer in Spring Grove, Minnesota, married in 1865 to Anna Lee Bergsund, an immigrant from Ringerike, and they were the parents of my paternal grandfather Edvard Ellingsen Enger.  Elling died in 1900 at his home near Granite Falls, Minnesota at the age of 61.

Jorun drove us to Eggedal where we would bunk in for the rest of our stay with her brother Nils Nerdalen and wife Line in their lovely hillside home overlooking the village.  This was like old-home-week, since both Shirley and I had stayed with them before during her 2000 trip and my 2010 trip.  The Nerdalens are related to us (Family Tree Maker tells me they are 4th cousins) through their g. g. grandmother Mari Enger Nerdalen, who was a sister of our g. g. grandfather Peder Ellingsen Enger. We just call them cousins!

At the Seter (mountain farm) above Eggedal where sisters Jorun and Bjørg Nerdalen each have vacation cabins.  The Nerdalen family, Jorun Nerdalen with Lyka, Line and Nils Nerdalen, Shirley, Bjørg  and  Bjørn Nordlien.  

 

 

The lovely home of Nils and Line Nerdalen above Eggedal

Beautiful view from the Nerdalen farm, looking down on Eggedal valley.

 

 

 

On Sunday we were invited to have dinner at the home of Per Kåre and Anne Marie Enger who in the 1990's moved from the Enger farm which their son Per now operates  into their retirement home just down the road.  Dale and I stayed with the Engers on our 2000 trip and since they didn't speak English and we no Norwegian we had a great time trying out sign language!  Surprisingly we did a pretty good job and enjoyed it immensely.  Anne Marie, as usual, had a beautiful table ready for us, and the company also included their daughter Mari and her son Andreas, and daughter Kari and children Frida and Per Emil.

 

 

 

Shirley and me with Per Kåre and Anne Marie Enger and daughter Mari 

Kari Enger with children Frida and Per Emil

Per Kåre and Anne Marie Enger with Mari and her son Andreas, age 16

The Enger farm in Nedre (lower) Eggedal has been in the same family since the 1700's.  Most of the farms in Norway have been divided up many times over the centuries. The section of the farm that my g. g. grandfather owned was sold off  before they immigrated to America in 1861.

 

Young Per Enger with wife Ingunn and children Peder 8, and Marie 12.  They currently operate the farm and also a construction business.  Most farmers have other  jobs as the farms are too small to support a family.  

These two stabburs (storage buildings) have been used on the farm since the 1700's and are still in use today. They have been moved to their present spot from other locations on the farm. Stabburs are designed to keep out unwanted critters and are used for food, meat and clothing storage. Most farms have at least one. The doors are above the snow line for winter access.

A sign for Per Enger's business, including excavation, spring and well digging, road building, wood harvesting and construction.

Young Per's great-grandparents Peder Pedersen Enger, 1859-1923,  and Mari K. Kopseng, born 1857, reign over the present household from their places of honor. I teased Per Kåre that their family was in a rut, with almost all the men named Peder or a  variation therof.

Family heirlooms traditionally stay with the farm in Norway and not with the residents. These antique pieces have stood their ground at Enger for 200 or so years.  The original farm house was replaced in the 1970's.

Ingunn Enger displays the back and front of a vintage Eggedal bunad which is one of the family heirlooms kept at the farm. Bunads were, and still are,  costumes worn for special occasions such as baptisms, weddings and other festive occasions.

 

The Enger farm lies in the shadow of  a legendary mountain, a noted landmark in the Sigdal Kommune.   The legend, loosely translated,  says that a young man named Anders from Engersroa  fell deeply in love with a girl and wanted to marry her. However, he could not have her unless he agreed to make a bet that he could ski from the top of the mountain to the bottom, so off he went. The line tracing his ski pole is still visible.  He succeeded,  married the girl and from that day the mountain was called Andersnatten. 

 

Eggedal Kirke (Church) sits prominently in the town center. Built in 1878, it replaced an old stave church that was higher up on the hillside and was eventually torn down. Remnants of it are still visible but it is now part of a private property.  Some items from the stave church, including the altar, were saved and placed in the new church. 

 

 

  Hagan is the mountainside farm above Eggedal where famed artist Christian Skredsvig lived and worked.  His home and studio is now a family owned museum. Windows from the original stave church were used in the home.  The studio museum has many of Skredsvig's works as well as gifts from some of his artist friends.  

 

 

One of Skredsvig's best known painting entitled "Idyll" depicting a man with a cat has been transformed into a bronze statue in the village as a tribute to the artist. Cousin Jorun made the comment once that she thought it was odd to memorialize the painting rather than the artist!

A favorite tourist spot is the Eggedal Mølle (Mill) where you can watch barley and wheat grains being ground into flour by two old water-powered mills from the early 1900's.  Also on property is a sawmill where logs are sawed into planks with a vertical Gate saw which is also water-powered.

 

The vertical Gate saw is quite unique in that it saws off the planks vertically. instead of running the logs through the saw blade, the saw blade runs through the stationary log.

The old Eggedal School is on the mill property and is part of the Old Mill Museum tour. It was used in the 1800's by children that lived on neighboring farms.

 

Another beloved Sigdal landmark is the Eggedal Borgerstue, a  hotel,gift shop and restaurant with scrumptious food located in  Eggedal town center. Some of our Sigdalslag tour group were housed and fed there during our time in Sigdal.

 

 

 Family members at the closing night banquet for the Sigdalslag tour, from left, Dianne Enger Snell, Jorun Nerdalen, Shirley Augustine, Mari Enger and her husband Per Erik Tandberg. Above,  Nils and Line Nerdalen.

 

Two of our Sigdølers , Gilmore Lee and Dan Emert, played a medley of tunes for a tribute to our Norwegian hosts at the closing banquet. It was sad to say goodbye to Eggedal, but hopefully not a final goodbye. If I have my way I shall return--as soon as possible!

The Joy of Family in Ringerike, Norway 2012

Cousin Jorun Nerdalen entertains us by candlelight at

her lovely home in Honefoss, Norway

 In the summer of 2012 I had the privilege of taking my third trip to Norway—the land of my ancestors.  The first trip was in 2000 with Sigdalslag when I experienced firsthand where my father’s ancestors came from; and the second in 2010 with Vesterheim Museum when we spent two weeks in Voss where my mothers' grandparents were born and lived before going to America.

           This time my cousin Shirley Augustine and I signed on with the Gudbrandsdalslag tour from August 14-30, 2012, mainly because its itinerary included places we hadn’t been to before. In a previous blog (2012 Trip to Norway was a Family Affair) I wrote about that portion of our trip.

          The Sigdalslag tour started the first part of  September so we were able to extend and join them for the Sigdal  portion of the tour.  That left us a few days between the two tours to spend time in Honefoss with our cousin and friend, Jorun Nerdalen.  Jorun was born and raised in Sigdal but now lives in Honefoss and works in a neighboring town.   I had casually mentioned in correspondence with Jorun that there were two ancestral farms and a church in the Ringerike District near where she lived that we would like to see if possible.  I had no idea how close they were to Honefoss or if Jorun would be able to take us there.

            Shirley and I left our first tour group at the Gardermoen Airport on August 30 when most of the participants were flying back to Minneapolis.  At the airport we boarded the local Askeladden bus for an hour's ride to Honefoss where we would be picked up by Jorun after her work day.

   

 

The layout of Jorun's condo complex allows a private

rooftop patio and an unobstructed view to each homeowner

Jorun's home is in a unique condo complex which has several six-level buildings cantilevered down a steep hillside-- Jorun's unit is at the fifth level. That means lugging suitcases up four flights of cement steps outside to her entrance level.  The payoff is a beautiful unobstructed view of mountains, lake and horizon and beautiful flowers on the private rooftop patio.

          Jorun had remembered about the family farms I had mentioned in our correspondence and we were excited to learn that she had a day set aside for us to take a road trip to the Ringerud and Bergsund farms as well as the Viker Church in Aadal parish, Ringerike Kommune, where our great grandmother Anna Lee Ellingsdatter was baptized and confirmed.

The Historic Ringerud farm on the shores of Lake Spelleren

 

A framed picture in the house shows the overall

landscape of Ringerud, forests, fields and water.

 

           Anna Lee was the daughter of Elling Fredericksen Ringerud and a pleasant drive over hills and through forest land brought us to our first stop--the historic Ringerud farm.  The farm setting is strikingly  beautiful, with the houses and outbuildings perched  on a bluff above  Lake Spelleren. We parked near the entrance and Jorun went ahead to act as spokesperson and interpret for us if necessary. She found the owner, Inger Lise Grimsrud, in a large outbuilding which turned out to be a hen house.  Jorun explained our mission---that we were visitors from America who wished to see the ancestral farm of our great-grandmother.  Inger Lise, it turns out, takes care of 7500 hens and sells eggs all over the region as far away as Oslo.  As busy as she was she told Jorun that she could give us about a half hour to show us around and we were thrilled.  No need for an interpreter as she spoke beautiful English.  Inger Lise is the wife of Ole Olsen Ringerud who is the 11th generation of Ringeruds to operate the farm and most of them were named Ole.   Ringerud was purchased on October 29, 1695 by Ole Guttormsen Leknes (my many times great grandfather) and the farm has been passed down directly to a succession of heirs for over 300 years.

 

Inger Lise brought out the family charts to show

Shirley and me the 12 family generations on Ringerud

          When the present Ole and Inger retire their son Ole Olsen Ringerud, now in his early 20's, will take over as the 12th generation owner. Inger's husband was not at home and Inger graciously answered our questions, brought out refreshments to the patio, and eventually invited us into the house to view the antiques and pictures.  She brought out her husband's family history charts and we found our g. g. grandfather on the tree as a son of Frederik Olsen Ringerud, although he was not an eldest son and therefore not an inheritor. He ended up as a husmann (tenant farmer)  on the Bergsund farm where Anna Lee was born. 

 

Inger Lise shows us the stone with a hole where the legendary Dog King Ring was tied.

On the right is the modern day King Ring, the Ringerud family dog.  

Inger showed us a big stone with a hole in it which ties to a legend of the farm.  The legend dates back to  Viking days when King Veine (Veien) ruled over Aadal.  Once when the citizens of Aadal demonstrated against him he penalized them severely, and to punish them he sent a dog, King Ring, to be their king. He was placed on the farm which is now Ringerud and allegedly was tied to the stone which still is in place in the farmyard.  King Veine decreed that he who first announced the death of the dog would lose his life.  The story is told that the people of Aadal did kill the dog but it took a long time for King Veine to be told about it. An Aadal  man took the dead dog on his back and brought it to the king. He only showed the dog to the king, and when the king asked, "Is King Ring dead?" the man said, "Those are not my words, my lord." Therefore the man could not be killed as he had not announced the dog's death, so he survived the episode without being harmed.

          As it turned out our visit to Ringerud lasted more than two hours rather than the allotted one half hour! Next we were off to see the Viker Church where Anna Lee was baptized and confirmed before she emigrated from Norway to America in 1861 at the age of 16.

  

The Elling Enger family in America. Far right in front

are Anna Lee and her mother Ingeri.

 

Anna Lee's mother, Ingrid (Ingeri) Østensdatter, born 1808, was the second wife of Elling Ringerud, born 1789, who had eight children with his first wife before she drowned in the Grythe River in 1837. He married the widowed Ingrid in 1842.  Her first marriage was to Asle Clemmetsen and she had two children with him, Christian and Gunhild.  Elling and Ingrid had two daughters together, Berit born 1842, and Anna born 1845.

          Following the drowning death of Elling in 1861 the widow Ingrid at age 53 and her two daughters, ages 16 and 19,  emigrated from Norway to America  and the Spring Grove community in Minnesota where later Berit married Gilbert Gilbertson and Anna married Elling Pedersen Enger.  An interesting side note: Ingrid and her daughters came to America in 1861 on the same ship as Elling Enger's parents Peder and Aase Enger and their six  children. Elling Enger had already traveled to America in 1854. 

The Viker Church in Aadal Parish, built 1702, replaced a

stave church from the 1400's.







Back to Aadal, the Viker Church was built in 1702 and is still in use. It is said that underneath the pulpit are the remains of a bearskin which legend dictates was worn by a bear which was shot inside the church.  The first church located on the Viker estate was a stave church built in the 1400s under authority of the Catholic church. The church is mentioned in records dating back to 1462.  By 1702 the building had been torn down and was replaced with the current church which seats 250 people. The interior is beautiful while the wooden exterior is dark brown and rustic in appearance.  Since it was a weekday we were not able to get inside the church, but it was a thrill just to see it in person and take pictures of the outside and the cemetery.

   

The front of the beautiful home on the Bergsund

farm, located on the banks of the Aadalselven River

          Our third and final destination for our day trip was the Bergsund farm.  At the time of  the births of their two daughters  Elling Fredriksen Ringerud and Ingrid  Østensdatter were living on a small tenant farm which was part of Bergsund. Some historians believe the tenant farm was Lia which lies across the river from the main Bergsund farm. 

Inger Bergsund, owner of the Bergsund farm and her "summer car"
 



When we arrived at Bergsund we first spotted a bright red sports convertible in the driveway which we assumed belonged to someone of the younger generation.  Not so--the current owner, Inger Bergsund, turned out to be a sporty senior citizen, single and retired from a prestigious career in the import-export business in Oslo.  She had inherited the farm in 1951 and before retirement she used it as a vacation home and a place to entertain friends. She told us that the little red sports car was just her summer car--she had two others--and she loved to race! She also brought out refreshments, and we enjoyed our tea in the front yard of Bergsund which is beautifully situated on the east bank of the Aadals Elven (River).

 

 

                         A collection of antique animal traps hang on the side of the Bergsund barn

There was harvesting going on in a nearby field, and Inger told us that artifacts had been excavated in that field  which verified it as a former stomping grounds of a pre-Viking people called the Merovinger. (I must do more research on that!) After an informative visit with Inger and a photo op session it was time for us to be on our way back to Honefoss. Our adventure had taken us the better part of the day and it was a day I will never forget. Priceless!

           However, Jorun was not through with us yet.  The next day when we thought we were just going grocery shopping, she surprised us by stopping at a local museum and prehistoric burial ground not far from her home.

 

One of the huge burial mounds at the Veien site and a replica

of a Viking longhouse where local events are held.

          The site is called the Veien burial ground and culture park which contains more than 100 burial mounds and an unknown number of level graves. The site was established in the Bronze Age, ca. 1000 BC and was  important in the early Iron Age, ca. 500 AD.  A handful of Viking artifacts have been turned up by the plow but archaeological evidence suggests that Veien was not of major significance during the Viking period. Also on the grounds is a replica of a Viking longhouse, and an indoor museum which portrays artifacts and dioramas of life in the area throughout many generations to the present day.

          The following day Jorun transported us to Eggedal where we were to join the Sigdalslag tour for September 4-6 arranged by local historian Sigrid Kvisle.  In Eggedal we were hosted by Jorun's brother Nils Nerdalen and wife Line in their beautiful home on the mountainside overlooking the Eggedal valley.  But that is another story for another day. 

           I recently learned that Jorun may be coming to spend time with me in Seattle this summer. I really hope she does come so can I return the favor  of her generous hospitality by showing her the sights of Washington. Stay tuned!