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Latest E-Mails from Pastor Tom
Scroll down for latest e-mail: July 27, 2008
June 17___________________________________________________________________________________________
Folks:We arrived safely and although we are tired, we are off to a good start.My Italian is holding up remarkably well!The guy who picked us up at the airport spoke no English, nor did the waiter at the first restaurant. I also have been able to ask for directions adequately and we just finished a trip to the supermarket. The apartment is very nice!It's about 8 blocks from the central train station.
The driver from the airport went out of his way to show us the forum, and the ruins of the Roman baths and the Coliseum from the highway.Tomorrow we will tour the coliseum and I think we will venture onto the public transit system to see some other things.i cannot attach pictures yet because I'm using a computer that comes with the apartment, but I'm taking quite a few and will send them when I am able.
We're off to a good start.Thanks for your support and your prayers.
June 20____________________________________________________________________________________________
We are about to leave by train for Tuscany.Rome has been interesting,
actually beautiful-yet the streets in our neighborhood are littered.We are learning that our apartment wasn't in a particularly nice part of town, but it was convenient and I learned where the neighborhood coffee bar is and the metro was only about 3 blocks away.The metro is cleaner than our street.
Yesterday we had a remarkable tour of the Vatican and Sistine Chapel.We were essentially alone in the Sistine Chapel for probably 20 minutes
before others arrived.then it was crowded.Our tour guide, Pietro, was a student of art and law and was a great teacher for well over four hours.We took a taxi home to rest in the afternoon.To say it was a thrill ride would be an understatement!Many times I was sure we would crash.
Anyway, today we are off to what I expect will be quieter surroundings.
Soon I hope to send pictures.Thanks to all who have responded to my
earlier mail.
June 21___________________________________________________________________________________________
Folks:We are now in Lucca.What a place!Sort of like Chautauqua but 1000 years older.Today there was a classic motorcycle rally, only motorcycles made before 1945.
Believe it or not this was in honor of the maestro, Giacomo Puccini, who not only was a genius of opera, but also was a motorcycle nut and had the second driver’s license in Lucca.We are especially blessed to be here as the city of Lucca celebrates the 150th anniversary of Puccini’s birth.There were probably 40 classic motorcycles all driven by classic drivers (old guys).One wore an Italian military uniform and actually had fought in Libya in 1940, on the other side of course.
We like Lucca much better.I’ve taken many more pictures which I can share when we get home.
Lucca, the birthplace of Puccini, is a most beautiful small city in Tuscany.Lucca is surrounded by a medieval wall with 12 bastions to protect the city from invading armies of Pisa or Florence.There never was an invasion so the walls apparently did their job.Today they continue to protect Lucca from the evils of the outside world, but nowthe dangers are much more subtle.Ancient stucco covered buildings, four stories high are separated by the narrowest of streets which are for the most part only used by pedestrians and bicyclists.Only residents are permitted to drive here. It seems strange to see businessmen ride by wearing the finest suits or businesswomen cycling by in high heeled shoes.That’s before eight.Later the cyclists are tourists or older women and men going about their daily tasks.Lucca is quiet and peaceful, a refuge from the chaos of the outside world.The walls still protect the city.At seven the cafeterias open and espresso or capaccino is served with avariety of pastries.Later shops of all kinds open their doors as the walled city comes to life.
I awoke early as the first birds were welcoming the new day. The fragrance of flowers unknown to me roused me from my bed.The air wasfresh and cool as I walked from our apartment toward the wall.A steep path guided me to the top, perhaps 100 feet wide and surrounding the city with a circular park.At 6am the paved walk on top of therampart, perhaps twelve feet wide, is already being used by an assortment of early morning joggers, cyclists and walkers, but just a few.It is still early and most of the city sleeps peacefully withinthe security it provides.The rampart is so old that massive trees grow on each side of the path and evenly spaced around the circle are bastions, once fortified with cannon to repel the forces of evil.Now the bastions are beautiful picnic areas with benches and tables and magnificent vantage points from with to see that outside world.In the early morning that outside world is not at all threatening as the sun rises over the Appenine mountains to the northeast.
Domenica, 22 guigno 2008(Sunday, June 22, 2008)______________________________________________________
Another beautiful day!Several early morning strollers along the wall.Last night I fell asleep listening to Puccini being sung from Villa Bottini, only a few yards from my bedroom window.The same man who hours before was wearing a t-shirt and riding a classic motorcycle was in tuxedo giving bouquets of flowers to the soprano.The enchantment of Tuscany has something to do with that strange mixture.The ability to combine in one life the passion for the highest arts and the earthiness and noise of a motorcycle rally.The sacred and the profane live in harmony in Tuscany.Here we learn that we can have both.Or maybe it’s a realization that we are both and that’s OK.No need for guilt.That internal battle, like battles of other wars, only produces casualties.The spoils of this war too are indeed only spoils that have been drained of all passion.Here among the Luccese, there is no war.A real bell sounds from the steeple of the chiesa.A gentle reminder that its Sunday morning.Even the bell seems gentle, not at all a loud clanging as to scold the Luccese for sleeping in after a night of celebration.Harmony instead.That’s Puccini, the soprano and the tenor, together producing a glorious sound.The runners now lap me as I sit at the computer on the park bench atop the wall.It is the perfect place to run, a two and a half mile oval along the ramparts of a medieval wall.Large trees line both sides of the path.The morning air is still cool as the sun rises over the Appinine mountains to the east.I’ve been saying that Lucca is like Chautauqua only 1000 years older.From the vantage point on the top of the rampart, I would add that the similarity to Burlington, Vermont.Mountains rising in the distance, sentinals, silent and strong, watching over the life of the Luccesse.Now its time to wake Lynn and Sarah for church.
July 1-3__________________________________________________________________________________________
Padova, ItalyAfter a difficult few days in Florence we were met at the train station in Padova by Lisa and her son, James(age 7). Lisa and her husband, Loris, are the kind people who rescued Sarah last summer when she was having a difficult time with her host family while on a Rotary exchange.We were really looking forward to a relaxing few days in Padova after a stressful time in Florence. And Padova was good, but not quite what we expected. But then travel teaches flexibility and that’s a good thing.
Lisa (from Wales) and Loris along with Loris’ parents own a mattress factory which sells throughout Europe.They have something over 100 employees and appear to be very successful.In addition to their grand and modern home in Padova, which they just occupied six months ago, they also have a summer place in Austria.
Lisa and Loris work very hard.Lisa manages a company that they recently purchased as the supplier of springs for the mattresses and Loris manages the main operation.Lisa showed us around their home and introduced us to the Phillipino girl who cares for James when Lisa isn’t there and then said she had to go back to the office for a few hours.We were told that the Nerin, the Phillipino nanny, could help us with laundry or anything else that we needed while Lisa was gone.“Please make yourselves at home and relax.I’ll be back in a few hours and then when Loris comes home we will go to dinner.”
Nerin spoke English so we were able to have a very nice conversation as she ironed a basket of clothes.She was small and appeared to be only in her late teens so I was greatly surprised when she told me that she had five children and a husband who lived in the Phillipines.“How old do you think I am?” she asked.How was I too politely respond to that question?I guessed that 23 was a safe number, old enough to have the respect of adulthood and yet still having the vitality of youth.“I’m 29,” she responded.
“Why are you here when your family is in the Phillipines?” I asked.“To make money to send back to my family,” she said.“Don’t you miss your children terribly?”“Of course,” she said as tears started to come to her eyes.
What sacrifice!Some of her children had to be quite young and yet she was working as a maid for a family halfway around the world in order to send money home for her children.I wanted to learn much more about her story, but obviously the emotions were now close to the surface so I decided to save further questions for another day.
Another day would not come.While I was in the shower, Lisa returned and took Nerin away.Before Lisa left with Nerin she had told Lynn that this was Nerin’s last day.Apparently there were some issues involving inadequate supervision of James and Nerin’s need for greater pay and so Nerin was now out of work and far from her family.
I knew too much and too little about Nerin and about Lisa.Lisa was the woman who rescued my own daughter in a time of great distress last year when Sarah was far from home.And now Lisa had made a decision that surely was going to aggravate an already most difficult time for Nerin.As a guest in the home of Lisa, Loris and James, all I could really do is listen and learn.I knew too much and too little.
But isn’t that the way it always is? Even, and perhaps especially, our most important decisions are made with only partial information.We think we know enough and we act.But our knowledge is always too much and two little.We remain caught between the two trees of the Garden of Eden.We ate the fruit of the one, and God graciously protects us from the fruit of the other, lest we live forever in a fallen world.
This is what Luther meant by “sinning boldly.”Even our best work, our best decisions are only bold sins because of our limited knowledge and because of our limited judgment about that knowledge.And yet Luther argues that we must act, committing those “bold sins”, trusting that God is even more bold in granting forgiveness.
Loris will soon be home and we will feast together and celebrate what we can.And I will remember Nerin and wish that I had given her at least a few euros to send to her family.
July 5________________________________________________________________________________________Folks:
I write this from a train on the way to Stockholm.Not sure how often I will have internet service once I'm away from the city. We will be meeting Swedish relatives today. The night train from Berlin was interesting. Not much sleep, but still a good way to travel. The Sachenhausen Concentration Camp was certainly worth seeing. The young German man who was our tour guide is likely to be moving to the USA soon. He says the economy is terrible is Germany and like people over many years sees the US as a land of opportunity.
On July 5th we went to the Super Bowl of American Football in Europe, the Innsbruck Raiders against the Vienna Vikings.What an experience!!! The fans make the Cleveland Dog Pound seem tame!More about that another time. This is the game that John Grisham wrote about in Playing for Pizza. I trust things are going well with everyone at home. We look forward to your emails. Lynn and Sarah are coming home in a week. It's been a wonderful trip.
Tom, Lynn and Sarah
July 15, 2008 (4 A.M.)_______________________________________________________________________________
Folks:
Lynn and Sarah fly home tomorrow.T he month has really gone fast. On Sunday we went to church in Tullinge and the pastor did the sermon in both English and Swedish just for us!!! We then drove to Vadstena, which has a castle and an abby started by St. Brigitta in the 14th Century.We stayed in the abby. I also found a Pilgrim Center here and attended worship there on Monday.
Today we are doing a dry run to the airport and a visit to the Ice Bar in Stockholm.I am pretty sure that my sister, Becky is coming to join me for the next week.She should be at the airport when Lynn and Sarah fly out.
Becky and I will probably drive to Goteberg to visit a cousin, Nils. Times flying and life is good.Soon I will be able to get back to more serious writing.
Tom, Lynn and Sarah
July 20, 2008_______________________________________________________________________________________
“Skradderfall” the sign said.This was the place that Per Hanson, our great, great, great grandfather, born in the late 1700’s had lived.There is not much at Skradderfall.We had traveled over many, many miles of dirt road through a thick evergreen forest, mostly spruce with some pine and oak. Occasionally we passed a rocky pasture containing a small herd of cows. And every mile or so there was a fork in the road with signs indicating the direction to various farms.As we approached Skradderfall, we saw only one very old yet well kept house.A young woman appeared on the porch as we pulled up to the gate.“Let’s talk to them,” I suggested.
“Hej, hej”, Kristina greeted us as we walked toward the house.“Hej, hej”, we responded.We told her that we had ancestors who had lived at Skradderfall.“My mother is in the house, but she doesn’t know the history as well as my father.He is not here.But I can call him,” she said as she pressed an auto dial on her cell phone.“It’s 2008,” she explained and almost immediately she was rapidly talking in Swedish to her Dad.Mom (Kerstin), came to the porch and greeted us and she explained that she didn’t speak much English.In less than a minute we heard the tractor coming up the road with the father, Lennardt, at the controls.
Lenhardt also didn’t speak English, but he was glad to see us and as Becky began to show the family tree with data indicating that indeed our ancestors were from that very spot, the excitement became almost palpable.All stood around Becky by the front gate to peer at the pages of family data she was holding.“Ja ho,” one after another would exclaim as they recognized many names from the record, Kabbo, Djursdala, and Sodra Vi.We didn’t really notice that it had started to rain, but soon it was coming down harder.“Come to the house,” they invited.“At least we could go to the porch,” we said, but soon we were all seated around the kitchen table in this old Swedish farm house at Skradderfall.
Lenhardt and Kerstin and Kristina all leaned forward to read the names and places and dates from the papers Becky laid before them.Then Kerstin disappeared to search for some of her own records and Lenhart found the book which recorded the purchase of the property by his grandfather in 1904,“My grandfather spent 17 years in America before coming back to buy this farm,” he said.“This house was built in 1888,” I think.Too late for Per Hanson to have lived there.“There’s another older house in the back,” Lenhardt added.“That could be the one.”
“Have you been to the United States?” I asked.“Two years ago,” Kristina responded.“I was in Kutztown, Pennsylvania.I was part of a band that made the trip.I’m the only one from the family that has been there.Mom would really like to go.She has relatives that went to the United States many years ago and she has always wanted to visit America.”“Do you know where they went in the United States?” Becky asked.“Jamestown, I think.” Kerstin said.“Jamestown!” we exclaimed.“We live near Jamestown!Just an hour away.”Then Kerstin again disappeared to soon return with letters written from Jamestown to Skradderfall.“You must come there to visit.You can stay with us,” Becky offered.The letters from Jamestown were over 20 years old but that would seem like yesterday to Becky, who with the help of Anders Anderson, a Swedish genealogist had uncovered many generations of data about our family.
Could it be?What was going through the heads of these farm people in the middle of the wilderness in Sweden?One lazy summer afternoon, out of nowhere, strangers from across the ocean were sitting at their kitchen table and suggesting that they really could go to the United States and find their own lost relatives.
As we left we exchanged addresses and wondered about what we had just experienced.In the midst of a thick forest, many, many miles from a paved road, something had happened.Folks who were complete strangers just an hour ago, were now caught up in a powerful feeling of hope and wonder and the possibility of new worlds and friendships?
July 22, 2008 ______________________________________________________________________________________
Again, miles and miles of dirt road and finally we pull into a driveway and find a parking place near an old red barn.This is the Luvolt farm.Several other cars were already there.As we begin walking to the house, also old and red, we see Ingvar, an 86 year old man who has lived here since birth steadying a ladder for his slightly younger sister, Lizzy, who was at least 12 feet off the ground picking cherries.As she turned from her precarious position to greet us I shuddered to think of the risks she was taking.Yet this was commonplace for them.
Ingvar has lived here by himself since his father, Ernst died many years ago.The small house is heated by wood and the kitchen is equipped with a fine wood burning cooking stove, probably the latest model at the turn of the century in 1900.There is no inside bathroom, but the outhouse which is on one end of the barn is the fanciest I’ve ever seen.There was a handmade rug on the floor, a variety of pictures on the walls, at least one original painting.The walls were nicely painted.There was a wash bowl and with a towel hanging next to it and a bucket of water and a ladle, and even a small container of liquid soap, a nod to the 21st century.A shelter had been constructed in the yard using a tarp.Birch saplings, cut yet still fully in leaf, had been pushed into the ground about 12 inches apart on the two long sides to form walls.Inside this shelter a long table had been set with small plates, coffee cups and napkins.Here 12 mostly old Swedes would gather over sandwiches and sweet breads and cake while talking about their shared ancestors with us two visitors from the United States. (sister, Becky, has now joined me and Lynn and Sarah have gone home.)
Actually, this family, the Luvolt children, are not genetically related to us because they are grandchildren of our ancestor’s husband after our ancestor died and he remarried.And yet they had a great interest in us and were intent on treating us as family.The same is also true of Elizabeth, who is our host and guide for our time in Smaland.
Elizabeth many years ago divorced our relative, Anders, who now lives near Stockholm, but it is Elizabeth who is introducing us to all these people who share some common history, but not genes.We are reminded by these days that common history is much more important.
For the next several hours we sit around the table telling stories of relatives of years gone by.Vivian and Roger, both in their forties, speak fairly good English and do all the translating.Between the translations there are several minutes of lively conversation in Swedish and then a pause as the old folks realize that we haven’t a clue about what has been said.Then Vivian and Roger do a translation and we would add a few comments and they are off again in Swedish.
After a couple hours around the table, they gave us a tour of the farm. We saw the old smoke house(no longer in use) and the well that Ingvar nearly fell down as a toddler.Then we walked about 100 yards to another small house that Ingvar has built for guests.It is almost identical to his but smaller.In the living room was an old, old sofa that apparently pulled out to become a bed.A couple of the old ladies, Eva and Marta began particularly animated conversation about that bed.Roger interpreted, “They were both born on that bed.”Then the ladies had a bit more conversation in Swedish followed by great daughter.Roger explained, “The think they were made and born on that bed.”
A good natured bunch of folks.
July 25, 2008_______________________________________________________________________________________
Folks:I am again at a Swedish computer.Having trouble connecting on mine.I’'m in Sundsvall, feels like far north.It barely gets dark and its therefore hard to sleep.This is a beautiful place, right on the Baltic.
Yesterday I met a relative and her husband whose 22 year old daughter was murdered a while ago.They told me about their struggle to live again and that they realized that it was necessary for them to first forgive the man who killed Natalie.This led to them establishing a fund to support causes related to the prevention of drug abuse.A local TV station has done a documentary about their work.
It was a great blessing to meet Kjell and Jane.
Today I am driving toward Norway and the mountains.I have been learning a lot about Swedish history, especially last week from a relative named Bengt who helped me to understand some of the history and traditions.I may not have computer access for a while.I think I am headed to a very rural area.My plan is to sleep tonight in Siljan.
Tom
July 26, 2008 _____________________________________________________________
Folks:
Today I saw both ends of the Gustav Vasa cross country ski race which begins in Salen, where I am now, and ends in Mora.The story goes that a Danish King named Christian beheaded many Swedish leaders one Sunday in Stockholm.Gustaf Vasa escaped, although his father was killed.It was called Bloody Sunday.The Danes tried very hard to find Gujstaf because they saw him as a threat.Gustaf went to Mora and gave a speech encouraging the people to accept him as their king.He promised to exact vengeance upon the Danes.The people of Mora weren't interested so Gustaf left and headed toward the mountains.The people of Mora then changed their minds and decided that they would like to accept Gustaf's offer so they went after him and they didn't catch him until he reached Salen.He agreed to be the king and I believe was successful in overthrowing the Danes.In fact that began a series of Vasa kings.I think most of the castles in Sweden are from these kings.
After arriving in Salen in the morning, I decided to go to see the highest water fall in Sweden.I don't remember its name, but it is pretty amazing.It's necessary to walk several kilometers to reach it.It is above the tree line in a National Park, not far from Norway, so I decided to go there.I don't think I have ever been in such remote territory.I took a picture of the sign which I think said I was entering Norway.I drove many, many miles or a very narrow road without seeing anything but woods.It was 5 before I saw anything that looked like it might have accommodations for the night, but they were full.hey said my best bet was to head back toward Salen in Sweden. I checked many places, all full.Finally I found this great place that even has WI-FI access and its only $70 per night.Maybe I'll stay two nights.
It is now early morning and I sit on my bed in front of a window which looks out into the forest near Sigtuna, 4 Swedish miles (40km) north of Stockholm.This is a cottage at the home of Bengt and Sigbrit, a very beautiful old farm that has been in Sigbrit’s family for many generations.Now a neighbor rents probably 50 acres to grow wheat, but the rest is all forest.Sigbrit and daughter Lisa each have a horse and there is the dog, Moxie.
During the night I heard a wild pig grunting not far from the cottage. Yesterday Bengt and I took a nice walk in the forest and we saw many places where pigs had been rooting for whatever they could find to eat.I’m told that these wild pigs are becoming a destructive of gardens and crops.On our walk we also saw a Swedish hare, which hopped by obviously not as concerned about us as it was from some other danger.Then we saw two hawks circling in the sky.The hare was quite large, much larger than the snowshoe hares of Pennsylvania.It had large ears like a jack rabbit, and it was blonde.Bengt was particularly glad to see it because they are quite rare these days.On our walk we also saw Moose droppings, but no moose.On the way home, we saw a buck roe deer.It had been bedded down near the edge of a wheat field and as we approached it ran across the wheat field to the safety of the woods.Roe deer are much smaller than the whitetail and the antlers are mostly straight, antelope like.As with the whitetail, the roe causes great problems for the property owners in the suburbs of Stockholm as they feast on roses and other flowers and shrubs.
Last evening Lisa and Magnus (her guy) joined us for a wonderful barbeque.Bengt had purchased fillet mignon for the occasion and wine. Sigbrit provided a nice salad which included in addition to lettuce, avocadoes, potatoes, tomatoes, and walnuts.She also made a wonderful dressing which contained some spices that were new to me.Dessert was chocolate cake that was very moist, almost like a brownie with almonds.This was topped with whipped cream and raspberries.Over dinner Bengt taught me much about Swedish history and legends, especially about the Ask tree, which the ancient Swedes believed to be the source of all life, and the mid summer celebration.It’s been a very nice visit.Today I leave to travel to the north.No specific plans although I will try to contact the daughter’s of Lars who recently died.They live near Sundsvall which is 25 Swedish miles (250Km) north and along the coast.If I’m unable to meet them I will travel inland on the recommendation of Magnus.I’ll look for a little stuga that I might rent for a week before I return to Arlanda airport for the flight home in just over a week.
Njurunda
Kjell answered the stranger’s phone call.“Do you speak English?” I asked.“A little”.“My name is Tom Pierotti.I’m from the United States, and I’m visiting in Sweden and trying to meet distant relatives.I believe I’m related to your wife, Jane, and I have a photo of her father, Lars, when he was a child.I understand that he died just recently.”“Yes, that’s right.”
“I was hoping to meet him…...My sister, Becky, had been incommunication with Lars. …. I promised her that I would try to find the children of Lars.I am now in Sigtuna, but I would like to drive to meet Jane and you.Would today be OK or would another day this coming week be better?”“Today would be OK.But I think it will take you six hours to drive to Njurunda.”“I can leave within the hour soI should be there by four.How will I find you?”“When you get to the first intersection in Njurunda call me again and I’ll come to guide you to our house.”“Great!I’ll see you soon.”So began our day.
Kjell met me as promised and welcomed me to Sweden and Njurunda.I followed him as he drove his Saab to the house where Jane was waiting.She greeted me as I pulled beside their garage and I gave her an envelope.“I think this is a picture of your father when he was a child.”She quickly looked at it and said, “Yes, it is.Where did you get it?”“I honestly don’t know.The other night many relatives were around a dining room table in Tullinge exchanging photos and someone gave this to my sister, Becky, who asked me to give it to you if I could.I think it may have been Pernilla Enlund who gave it to Becky, but I’m not sure.I’ll tell you as much as I know about the family and I have some other pictures and a family tree to show you.But really Becky knows much more about the family than I do.She couldn’t be here today but hopefully you will be able to be in touch with her.”I was invited into the kitchen and soon their son, Pierre, arrived with his friend Per.We then went to the patio to have coffee and donuts while I told as much as I could about the family and the story of my sister’s efforts over the last two years to make contact with relatives in Sweden.After coffee, Pierre had to return to work but first his friend Per took a photo of me with my new found Swedish relatives.We then went downstairs to the computer room to look at the family tree which Becky had created on the internet.They were amazed to see their names and to have the ability at the click of the mouse to learn more in a few minutes about their own ancestors and living relatives than they ever imagined.“This is really just the beginning,” I said.“There are surely many parts of your family that Becky didn’t know and she would like you to edit this material to make it as complete as possible.Do you have other children in addition to Pierre?”“We had a daughter, Natalie, six years younger than Pierre, but she was murdered last year.”“Oh no!” I gasped.“I’m so, so sorry!”……..“Don’t be bothered by your question,” Jane said, realizing that I felt badly about blundering into that painful area of her life.“You didn’t know.In fact this was her room.”Then I realized that the computer room had clearly been decorated as their daughter’s bedroom.
Jane took me to the hallway to show me many pictures of Natalie.“Kjell and I have forgiven the man who killed her,” she said.Many people have not understood that, but we knew it was necessary if we were ever going to be able to live again. “And,” she went on, “we began a foundation to give awards to people who have done special things to help young people stay away from drugs because this was behind the man’s actions that took our daughter’s life.A local TV station has made a short film about Natalie and the way we chose to handle our pain.”I was very impressed and asked them to join me for dinner at a restaurant of their choosing and over the next couple hours we learned a lot more about each other.“What will you do tomorrow?” they asked.Part of me wanted to stay around for a bit longer with these special people, but I told them I was planning to drive toward the mountains in the west to spend a few days writing.We both understood.“This was a very special day”, Kjell said as they left me at my hotel.It was indeed.
July 27, 2008_____________________________________________________________________________________
Went to church today, but it was pretty different.I was told that the people were gathering at a place called Kinnvallsjosatrana.It is very remote.On the top of a mountain, probably 30Km from Salen.I would drive a lone way between cabins, but finally came to a sign announcing this community of maybe 15 houses.None looked like a place for church and none had cars or people in sight.I was an hour and a half early because I really wasn't sure I could find the place.
I saw one car by an ancient log house, so I drove up that drive and between two very old buildings.As I rounded the bend in the drive a huge white cow was lying just a few yards away.I was obviously in her territory.I left the car and knocked on the door nearest to the other car.When the woman answered I showed her the paper I had from the internet which told of the church service I was trying to find."This is the place," she said, "but you are early.It starts at 2."I'll come back," I responded."Can you tell me where I can get some lunch in the meantime.""I think there is a cafe about 2 Swedish miles (20Km) down the road."
I found the cafe and had a mooseburger,fries and a beer and returned to the little settlement of old houses and the white cow.Now there were seven or eight cars and probably 18 people gathered around the yard on benches.An electric piano had been hooked up to a car battery.
Soon the priest arrived, a man about my age wearing a black shirt and collar.The setting didn't require other vestments.For the next 30 minutes, the only thing I understood was the music to "How Great Thou Art" and "Beautiful Savior".An old man took off his ball cap to use as an offering plate.I knew they were saying the Lord's prayer at one point, so I softly spoke it in English and I understood when the priest was doing the Benediction and I crossed myself.There was no communion.After the service the whole group entered the one little house where coffee was prepared.Coffee in Sweden always means more than coffee.
Two long tables had been nicely decorated with china cups and saucers. First there was Kaneullebulle (cinnamon buns) and a sweet cake and cookies.After that, for the second cup of coffee the hostess brought out two beautiful cakes. They were about 3 inches tall and were covered with whipped creme.Under the whipped cream were three layers of white cake separated by a layer of jam and a layer of some other sweet filling.On top were blueberries and slices of manderin oranges.
The priest then introduced me and translated my greetings from the church in Pennsylvania.I told him that I had been looking up relatives in Sweden and now with a week to go before flying back I decided to come north.He said it is a good thing that I did because these were the real Swedes.In fact, he said if it weren't for the people of Dalarna insisting that Gustav lead them against the King of Denmark, we would still be Danes.
He then told me that in the old days, this settlement and others like it were places that villagers would bring their cows for summer grazing to preserve the hay near the villages(many Km away) for winter feeding.Usually it was a daughter of the family who had the job of staying on the mountain all summer to tend the cows.They would call the cows back from the forest to the safely of the community with special songs they would sing.Of course there were a few adults to supervise, and of course there would be regular visits by boys who would come up the mountain to attend occasional dances with the girls.
It was quite a day.
Some of this may be a repeat for some of you.My emails seem to not always go through.
Tom
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