Today my dad guided us to a third cousin of his, Curt, who lives on the old family farm. We set off after the buffet breakfast for a small town. Google had reported it one place, but the printed map and Curt's directions agreed on a location, so, a rarty in the modern world, I threw away Google's advice.
Anyway, we set off from Stockholm and made our way through some construction on the freeways, but quickly were out in the country of green rolling hills and red barns-- you've seen the pictures. It was beautiful, but the highway speeds definitely detracted a bit from the beauty. Once we broke off the freeway we went on slower, more intimate roads and were able to appreciate it more. As we got nearer and nearer (or had we missed it), I got more excited, and then suddenly it was upon us. We turned left, waited for some you kids to drag their bikes off the dirt road, and were looking for the "second farm on the right". We arrived, and we all reached through the windows and shook hands with a man, who-- in a rare occurrence, turned out to not be a relative. We pulled over and parked by a barn, and then a different man came up and introduced himself as Curt, followed quickly by his wife. He immediately pointed the men towards the bushes where we could "wash up", while he took the women (and girls) into the house to use the running water.
We were quickly introduced to Curt's sister and his husband, and perhaps some more cousins. It's a bit of a blur to me now. Anyway, Curt, who is 75, took us into his summer house, which he'd been "summering at" since his childhood, as had his father. His father had done the same, and his grandfather had grown up there, as had my father's grandfather, who was born across the road in a similar house.
Turns out the Curt is retired, and is a bit of a "preservationist". He proudly showed us many original elements of the house. We went upstairs to the bedrooms and he pointed out where various people had lived. I'll admit I was a little uneasy with the slanted, wobbly floors, low ceilings and creaky everything. He then took us up into the attic, with its slantier floors, lower ceilings and I was not that interested in investigating the treasures tucked away there. I was checking the boards before I put my full weight down, calculating the distance to fall.
Curt's wife had prepared a "light" lunch of pasta, rolls, vegetables, and we devoured it. They were wonderful hosts.
Then Curt took my dad and me on a tour of the surrounding villages while Tanya and the girls went for a swim in the local lake. We visited the school where my dad's grandfather had gone to elementary school, and went into the unlocked town church. Then Curt graced us with a lovely Swedish hymn on the piano. Outside we found the grave of Per Persson of Blomsterhult, who is, I believe my great great grandfather.
We also saw the countryside and some other examples of the building there. It looks like individual farming as been abandoned-- we saw no farm animals at all-- but farms still exist for agricultural use, through large companies to some extent.
We returned and had "coffee" outside the house. Coffee was good and there was a lovely cardamom cake. (I think my girls ate all the biscuits in the whole commun). We talked for quite a while, but decided to leave, at which point we got a song on the according and organ, and many pictures pulled off the wall to show us.
We were finally off and it was a wonderful day. They were so friendly and don't know how I could possibly repay them, except by being lovely to everyone the rest of my life.
