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a trip down
memory lane Fulfilling a promise to my son Fulfilling my number one bucket list goal I can distinctly remember the day I suggested to my son, Erik, that I really would like to travel back to my hometown of Norrtälje with him. I wanted him to experience the feeling of a small Swedish town, walk the same narrow streets I walked as a child, and reconnect with my Swedish relatives. He had visited members of my family shortly after finishing grad school in 1987, but much has changed, and most importantly, I had not been with him. In September of last year, I was able to fulfill my promise and primary “bucket list” goal when we left Seattle for a 10-day visit to my beloved homeland.
Making the most of day 1
So as not to be a burden to my cousins and to be as independent as possible (without hurting anyone’s feelings), we rented a Volvo (what else?) at Arlanda Airport and a beautiful cottage through Airbnb, in Baltora, just outside Norrtälje. On Saturday, our first full day in Sweden, we met up with my cousin’s son, Johan, and his family, who showed us all the changes in town. Although much of it has retained its historic image, big changes are forthcoming, especially in the harbor area, where a major condominium project was in development where grain silos formerly stood. While we have grown accustomed to such development in northwest cities like Portland and Seattle, this type of urbanization is still novel in Norrtälje. Nevertheless, I was glad to see the old steamship “S.S. Norrtelje” anchored at the usual spot, and still being used as a functioning restaurant. The highlight of the day for me was to walk the length of the street of my childhood, Skeppargatan, with my son, and reminisce about where I played, and in which house so-and-so lived. We stopped at Skeppargatan 1, my home from my birth in 1939 to November of 1950, when my parents and I left for America. Not much had changed on the outside except for the color of the siding. An interesting side note: In 1949, a unique cafe, called the DC3 Café, opened a few hundred feet from our home adjacent to the park. It was a popular place to “fika” until sometime in 1975 when the business closed. The DC3 had a long and historic background, and was beloved by the residents of the town. It had survived threats of being scrapped a number of times, but has now found a permanent resting place on the outside limits of Norrtälje. An important task on our first day was to load up on 12 NORDSTJERNAN
essential groceries for our stay, so my cousin directed us to the popular supermarket called “Flygfyren,” located in an area that had previously been the local airport. Man, was I impressed! It wasn’t just the “radar guns” used to read the bar codes (perhaps a glimpse into future shopping experience here in the U.S.), but for me it was the sheer amount (and variety) of hard tack/crisp bread and caviar. The latter, consisting of cod roe, spices and numerous other ingredients in a tube resembling your favorite toothpaste, is totally foreign to Americans. Johan did find an American section of the store, though, with peanut butter, mac n cheese, Pop Tarts, Jello, and Wild West Beef Jerky!
Family reunion
Sunday was family reunion day in Rö, 20 minutes west of town. Prior to the family festivities, we stopped at Rö Kyrka (church), where the Eriksson family has worshipped for many generations and where all the departed family members are buried. My cousin Kärsti and her husband Nils hosted the reunion on their farm, in Nils’ family for 10 genera-
tions. It is the perfect Swedish farm, with the typical red houses with white trim. Erik and I were given the honor of lowering the “vimpel” on the flagpole and hoisting the beautiful blue and yellow Swedish flag. We had also decided to do some sightseeing in Uppsala and Lövstabruk, where generations from my father’s side of the family lived. There we visited Uppsala Slott and the fabulous and historic Uppsala Domkyrka (cathedral). Although much has been written on both these cultural icons, they deserve articles devoted strictly to each of them. My farmor had passed away several years before I was born, however I recall going to Lövsta or Leufsta to visit her sisters, my father’s aunts. As my son and I stood before the imposing manor in the heart of the town, I could recall seeing a photograph of my father and his brother standing in the exact same location approximately 90 years earlier. How happy would my father be to see his son and grandson enjoying the beautiful little town so near and dear to him? At a moment like this history does come alive! In the 18th century, Lövsta was home to one of the world’s biggest ironworks, Lövstabruk. The iron produced at Lövsta (or Leufsta) was of a kind known in England as oregrounds iron, after the Swedish port town of Öregrund. The brand mark used at Leufsta was an “L” inscribed in an open circle, so that its products were known in England as “Hoop L iron.” (According to Wikipedia, the contemporary spelling in the 18th century was Leufsta, with French orthography reflecting the Walloon workforce in the famous ironworks. The latter part of the name - bruk -means mill town or ironworks.) A sample of this iron has been passed down to me, and has now been passed on to my son. The ironworks was sold to Gino-Österby AB in