The Fishermen's Widow

 The story of my great-grandmother, Hansine Marie Hermansen (1859-1942). This story was long-listed in the British Writing Competition Multi-Story, Flash Fiction in 2012.

Life of the Fishermen’s Widow          

            There are no ships in sight as I stand on the stony beach looking out at the living water. Not like my family, all gone a long time ago now. The wind teases my grey hair, what is left of it anyway. It used to be thick and wavy. Now I pull it back in a small bun and when strands of hair come undone and play with the wind, I don’t mind.

            Hats were never for me, I would rather wear a kerchief. My neighbor, Milly jokes about that. “I would like to see the person who can put a hat on Hansine,” she says. She’s a good neighbor, Milly. When the winter nights here in the north are dark and gloomy, she lets me come and stay with her. I hear people say I am afraid of the dark, but being worried and being afraid is not necessarily the same thing.

            “How do you manage?” Milly asks. “You have lost both your husbands and all three of your sons at sea.”

            They wonder why I always come down here to the beach on tempestuous days. I stand as close as I can without getting wet. The blustery weather is cold enough. Here I can be alone with my thoughts. Only the ocean moves towards the shore and the occasional seagull looks for fish in the waves. There’s never anyone here to respond to my voice, only new thoughts entering my wits, wondering and grinding.

            Questions about my family often emerge when Milly is around. “It will help talking about it,” she says and puts the kettle on. But I don’t speak about my children. They were given me, they were taken away. Words won’t change that.

            Sometimes I will mention funny things Berner said. He was the love of my youth, the one who chose me for life. Two and a half years was the time we were allotted. Enough time to learn to love, but not enough to be satisfied. I gave birth to our second child a few weeks after the sea claimed him.

            Then there was Karolius, who also chose me, a widow with two small children. I learned to love again, to live again.

            “Tell me about your grandchildren,” Milly continues. She has not given up on me. My thoughts go to my daughter, who married and settled in a town north of here. Photographers enjoyed capturing her beauty, but the Spanish flu grasped her life, along with her husband’s, leaving six children nine years and under. My grandbabies were divided among families far away from me. There’s not much I can tell Milly about them.

            What I would give to be able to do it over again, this life. I have spent enough time pondering on the outcome of the years past. When I was in the middle of things I did the best I could. Why is it that I think it would be different if I had a new chance at life? Both my husbands would still be fishermen, all my sons would follow in their fathers’ footsteps.

            I believe that when my turn on earth is over, I will look back thinking I spent too much time worrying. Though I can state this as a fact, my whole being is permeated with anxiety and concern.

            I wipe my hand across my wet cheeks, thinking it’s time to go back. The wind has picked up, a storm is approaching. As always, I will stay out of the lamp light when I return. On a night like this, I won’t engage in conversation.

Foto: Hansine Marie Hermansen

Family History is Fun!

Genealogy.
The study of family history and the tracing of their lineage.

The word has Greek origin and means generation and knowledge. And that's what it is.

My mother has a mother, who has a mother, who has a mother . . .
We are all connected. We all belong to the same family. Some came to earth first, some of us later. Right now it is my turn.

Mothers and fathers have walked the path before me. I admire their hard work, their perseverance, their diligence. I have gotten to know them through entries in Church Records, Census Records, history books, oral tales and more. Through this information I have an idea of what they were like. I collect all the knowledge I can and make a personal story. A short written biography about an ancestor can give me insight into their daily life, their successes and failures, their family relationships, their work, their faith.
Interesting? Very.

I have learned to love them dearly and look forward to meeting them one day. I don't doubt that at all. I would like to speak with them, ask them questions, hug them and just be around them. I hope to be an x-times great-great-granddaughter they can enjoy spending time with.

A popular Norwegian genealogy blogger recently interviewed me. Her blog is called "Hearts of the Children to the Fathers" and you may read the interview here. Please use the language translator button on the top right hand corner if you don't speak Norwegian.

I started collecting information about my ancestors as a young fifteen year-old. I visited my old grandmother numerous times, asked her questions, and wrote down all the stories she told. The information about each person was kept alphabetically in a shoe box. I copied photos found in relatives homes. I wrote to priests, parishes, distant family members, and official offices. I visited state archives and loved flipping pages in the original Parish Records. The pages were large and fragile and smelled of libraries of old.

Like it says in the interview, I believe that if a person does not enjoy genealogy, he or she has not tried enough. I promise you, that if you search for your family, you will learn to love them and be excited about getting to know them. I have.

Today I have outgrown that old shoe box. I still have it, but computer programs are so much easier for gathering all the information about your past families.

I hope you will be excited about finding yours. Good luck!

Today's photo: This is my 2gg father, Elling Pedersen. He was born in 1828 not far from where I live now and walked on ths earth for 99 years.

Me, a Suffragette?

This year we celebrate 100 years since the right for women to vote was introduced in Norway. Was it a man or a woman who first had the idea that maybe it was a good thing for women to vote also?

What do you think the debate was - would it be fortunate and helpful for the future if women  made decisions or would it mess up society as a whole?

I am thinking - when they voted for women's votes, only men participated. There must have been thousands of women who did their best to influence men to make a wise choice. Did they stand in the doorway, lipstick glowing, a freshly baked cake in their hands, encouraging their man to do the right thing? Did they flatter them? Did they hold their arm up in front of them, threatening with a rolling pin? Did they seriously discuss pros and cons with their husbands, brothers and fathers?

I am certain many were anxiously engaged in the cause. Some probably thought it was impossible and did not have the courage or strength to fight for it.

Votes for women became a reality even though when and how varied greatly in different countries.

It was normal that only married women could vote. In some places even that privilege was withdrawn.

Walt Disney made many movies with high morals depicting problems and challenges. Sister Suffragette is a joyful song from the musical Mary Poppins. The lyrics tells us the feministic battle in the beginning of the 20th century, where soldiers in bloomers fight for the right to vote for every woman in England. Mentor and prime example was Emmeline Pankhurst, a woman I admire. 

The song ends on this note, "Our daughters' daughters will adore us, and they'll sing in grateful chorus, well done, Sister Suffragette!"

Switzerland was late applying this right for their women. They did not acquire female voting until 1971. Lichtenstein was even later, 13 year after Switzerland. Unfortunately, there are still places on earth where women have no rights because of political or religious beliefs.

Discussing genealogy with others, I have often heard, "You have found so many names." I joke and reply that it's because I have so many ancestors. Everybody does! Actually, quite a few of them are women! Problem is, that even though we all know how families are made and how they grow in number, these women are often difficult to find in the records. Far back, mostly names of the male population are entered into records.

I am old-fashioned enough that I believe women existed then like now. It is difficult, if not impossible, to form a line of descendants without women, and without female intuition or tricks. Women were part of society and history, even if they were not always documented as such.     

Below are six generations of women in my family. Each one has a place, from Anna Magdalena who was born  in 1856, to little Sienna, my granddaughter, who has a better start and more rights than many of her maternal ancestors.

Sources:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sister_Suffragette

http://historyoffeminism.com/category/first-wave-feminism/page/2/

Burgruine Schaumburg and Other Fun Places

Not many minutes drive from our home of five years in Austria lies a ruin, the remains of a fortress built some 860 years ago (1154-1161), and once the largest fortress in Oberösterreich.

It's on a hill, the view is spectacular, and definitely a trip worth while for history buffs like me. The name is derived from the words "vom Berg schauen", which means view from the hill and was through the years--through the centuries, rather--owned by various counts, struggling to keep it, struggling for power and position.


Why am I bringing this up? Many fortresses and castles are far more beautiful, even better kept.

I love history. For some reason, I imagine that other must, too. But the truth is, not everybody has a passion for it like I do. A few years ago I presented a distant relative across the sea with an extensive genealogical paper on her ancestry, names and dates and stories I had collected and worked on over many, many years. She did not thank me. She was not impressed with all the hours of research. She was not the slightest interested in stories of people in whose footsteps she is now walking. She simply said, "I am not interested in dead people."

Well, I am interested in those who walked before me and in the lives they led, places they lived, things they did. I love art history with boundless enthusiasm, studied that and the history of clothing at the university. I loved history in school growing up, started family history research as a fifteen year old, and when I enter a bookstore I automatically steer towards the historical fiction section.

When I visit an old fortress, church, or castle I imagine being there among the people who lived there centuries ago. It's fun to employ the imagination and hear the sounds, sense the smells, and capture the daily life of young and old. How can anyone not enjoy that?

The photo of Arnfinn after the bicycle race in the blog entry "Clean" from last week was taken at the fortress of Fredriksten in Halden, Norway, the finish line of the 80 km race. The fortress was designed in 1661 by my 9th great-grandfather, Wyllem Coucheron. How cool isn't that?

I have learned a lot about him, but wish I knew more.
Photos from Internet of Schaumburg Ruin and also Fredriksten Festning (Fortress), below, taken last Saturday.

http://www.cusoon.at/ruine-schaunburg

http://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Burgruine_Schaunberg

Creative Ancestors

My 9th great-grandfather, Wyllem Coucheron, who arrived on the shores of the kingdom of Norway in 1657 was a map designer and officer. He was given the task of designing the fortress in Halden, in southern Norway and  create the town structure of the neighboring town of Fredrikstad, which is now called "gamlebyen". He was an architect, an engineer, and a creative man.

That I have ancestors like that makes me happy. I believe it's true that traits and talents are inherited through the generations. My father was the most creative person I have ever met. He always had a homemade solution and an idea. He was also an architect, like Wyllem, a contractor, furniture and kitchen cabinet maker, a garden designer, a carpenter, a musician, an inventor of great ideas, and an excellent artist. Hundreds of oil paintings and pen and ink drawings he made - now decorating homes in several countries.


But he was at a loss when it came to technical or mechanical problems. And languages he struggled with. I used to laugh at how he made foreign words harder to pronounce than they really were.


Today I am proud when Arnfinn says, "That's a Bertran Eljarbø type of idea." Be it, that I find a clothes' hanger to keep the window open on stormy nights or an broomstick to use as a clothes' rack. I like hearing that I am following my dad's inventive ways.

Is heritage important? Do we feel like we belong to a lineage, to our forefathers? I like the idea that I love my mother, she loved hers, and so on. It makes me feel like we are all tied together in a special bond.

Linnea and Michael chose to have their wedding party in an old 17th century building in gamlebyen designed by her 10th great-grandfather (the one above). It is on Wyllem Coucheron Street, named for the man who worked there so many years ago

Today's art is not mine, but paintings by my father. Enjoy.

Putting off washing the dirty windows

Friday the thirteenth came and went yesterday. The clock did not strike a thirteenth time, nor did a black cat cross our road.

Superstition are funny in a creep-up-on-you kind of way. We all are influenced by old sayings and proverbs in one way or another - probably something we were brought up with, heard our grandmother talk about, or the little old lady next door.

I admit there are more than a few of these sentences that pop up in my head from time to time. Like cutting a piece of cake and it falls over, dropping a sandwich face down on the floor, walking under a ladder, opening up the umbrella indoors, etc. etc. Even though we can ignore what they mean, these sentences appear and make us think for a fragment of time, before we shrug our shoulder and go on with our tasks.

I hope there is no superstitious saying about dirty windows. The Duck and Cherry is suffering from my putting-off-washing-the-windows demonstration. Aghh, do I have to - today?

Such a cute little house should have bright eyes to the world. My fault! I'll get to it, OK?

Today's drawing is of the old city of Fredrikstad. My 9th great-grandfather, Wyllem Coucheron, designed the city and the fortress in the beginning of the 1660's.

Magic wand on my wish list

Today I would like a magic wand!

The word "spring cleaning" comes to mind a lot lately, and I cannot dismiss it. I have started and keep encouraging myself to the fun of it and how wonderful it feels after it's done. At least the latter rings true.

But it is spring, my favorite time of year. Spring in Norway is special as the four season are so varied. Spring brings trickling streams of melted snow, buds of spring flowers popping up in ditches in the early sun, birdsong early in the morning....I love it.

Hector has already found the puddles and jumps happily in them when we go for walks.

So now after some Chiax, a shake and two small chocolate brownies(??!!) (yes, you read that right), I am ready for this day.

My to-do list now also entails outdoor chores. Bushes and apple trees need cutting and pruning, and my herbal patch needs total renovation this spring. I won't be without things to do, but I never am.

My own proverb "It is better to be busy, than to be bored" is especially true in springtime.

So - if I had a magic wand, I would have more time to write and paint. It would be hilarious to swing it around and say magic words or wriggle my nose. Time saving, yes!

I will just have to pretend I have one for now. That's fun too.

Today's drawing I did along with an article for a genealogical magazine. It shows spring cleaning the office of genealogical papers to bring "chi" into the room.