Plane tickets... check
What we're going to do when we get there... um
My sister, Robin and I decided it would behoove us to look through some of grandpa's things trying to find remnants of their trips to Norway/Sweden. Something we can use as a guide to help plan our trip. We want to make our trip as similar to theirs as we can so we can experience some of the same things they did. While going through the filing cabinets, we came across several pictures of the trip and started piling those to the side to go through later more thoroughly. Just a few minutes into our search Robin said, "Check this out" and she began to read an excerpt from a book. "We went to a cafeteria where they served coffee and rolls. The coffee was strong enough to walk! One sees very light haired people everywhere. The only talk you hear is Norwegian. ..." The front of this book said Travel and the first page inside said Norway/Sweden 1981. This was a daily journal written in our grandmother's handwriting. Priceless!
We wanted to get sucked into the adventure, but realized we needed to gather the rest of the stuff and head down to dad's house so we could be more comfortable while reading and learning, since dad has actual furniture and heat. Two hours and two runny noses later, we loaded up the stuff and headed to dads.
In addition to the pictures and journal, there were several Svenska/Engelska dictionaries, maps of Norway, maps of Sweden, airfare and car rental receipts and tourist brochures. Where to begin?! We decided to begin with the journal.
Coming to America
In 1870, my great, great-grandfather, Börje came to America along with two of his brothers. One brother remained in Sweden. Two years later, Börje sent for his wife and two sons to join him in America. One of his sons, my great-grandfather, was only three years old at the time. Sixteen years later, in 1888, the brother that remained in Sweden was killed in a logging accident. Shortly thereafter, our family lost all contact with relatives in Sweden. My great-grandfather often spoke of returning to Sweden for a visit, but never found the time to go.
In 1975, my grandpa became more and more interested in visiting Sweden, even though he did not know a soul there. After some research through the Lutheran church, he found records indicating his father was born in Slämtegen, Värmland. He spent the next six years planning the trip. In 1981, they boarded a plane and flew to Oslo, Norway, rented a car and drove up the coast, into Fjord country. They would spend 10 days taking in the beautiful sights of Norway before heading to Sweden.
I will quote right from the journal for this next part, because it's just too good not to. "We are now in Sweden for the first time. We stopped in Årjäng and reserved a room for three days at the Esso Motor Hotel. We drove over to the Silbodal Church and cemetery where a young man took us to the pastor's house. He loaned us a church book and we found the names of grandparents, father, his brother, uncles, etc. We went looking for Slämtegen where Carl's dad was born. We thought it would be a small town but we could not find any sign of it. We were about to leave when I saw a white-headed man out working in his yard. I told Carl to go and ask him where Slämtegen is, so he did. The man said, 'Slämtegen is right here!' His name was Alvar Sundman. He told his wife Gerda who we were and she called their son, Bertil, who lived in Årjäng, and he came right out. Slämtegen is a community of small mountain farms and a logging camp. Mr. Sundman knew where Carl's grandparents' old home was. His son, Bertil took us there where we met Algot Danielsson, who now owned the home place. Algot told us that Carl had a relative living nearby and they took us to meet him. Uno Fredricksson, his wife Margit and son Claus greeted them warmly. Uno is Carl's third cousin. And now we have found relatives in Sweden!"
And that's how it all began. A man on a mission, left the U.S. to learn more of his Swedish heritage and found more than he bargained for. Family. Oh what a thrill it will be to stand on the same ground where my grandpa asked a stranger, Where is Slämtegen?
