Journey to Norway Leads Home

Hilsen fra Norge!

I’m sitting at my grandfather’s childhood home in the majestic mountains of Norway’s Valdres Valley.

I arrived here with two siblings, two nieces and the leader of our 10-day expedition, my fearless Norsk mother. For years we have enjoyed her lefse and flatbread, now we have the precious opportunity to accompany her on her final trip to her father’s homeland. Her goal is to forge relationships between the next generation of Hermundstad descendants living in the U.S. and Norway.

It’s difficult to adequately describe the spectacular landscape of this country. I have explored the Rocky Mountains and visited the Swiss Alps. As handsome as these ranges are they don’t begin to match the striking beauty of the mountains, valleys, farms and fjords of Norway.

The countryside is the cleanest I’ve ever seen. A patchwork quilt of yellow and green fields covers the lower regions of the mountain ranges providing the perfect setting for quaint farm houses, barns and grazing sheep.

It looks and feels completely authentic, but I wonder if there is a national ordinance regulating the colors of homes and rooftop shingles. Virtually every farm home is the same shade of red, yellow, cream, white, or black. Where’s the crazy neighbor with the lavender or teal home?

Turns out my suspicion isn’t too far from the truth. According to our relatives, property owners are not allowed to sell their farm land for development. Fields must remain in the same shape and use in order to maintain the picturesque countryside. The term “strip mall” must be a curse word in this country.

As if the mountains and vegetation aren’t impressive enough, Norway is filled with water. Crystal clear lakes lie both in the valleys and on top of the mountains. Fjords creep inland from the North Sea and can be 10,000 feet deep while only a few hundred yards wide.

And then there are the waterfalls. It’s not unusual to see three, four or more waterfalls at any given time. So abundant are they that Norway produces virtually all of its electricity from hydroelectric power generated by waterfalls.

I’m observing some cultural surprises as well. Norwegians love the outdoors and exude health and vitality. “Bunads” may be the traditional dress, but spandex and athletic shoes are Norway’s modern-day costume.

At the same time, another national pastime appears to be smoking, despite massive efforts to discourage it. One pack of cigarettes costs about $12, and each boasts bold, oversized warnings like, “Smoking Kills” or “Smoking is highly addictive and difficult to stop. Don’t start smoking.”

We were warned about the high cost of traveling in Norway. It is rated the most expensive place in the world. But nothing could prepare me for paying more than $20 for a pack of four “AA” batteries, $10 for a gallon of gasoline or $12 for a small draft beer. Fortunately, we are so confused by the exchange rate we rarely know how much we are actually paying.

There are noticeable differences in the practice of marriage in Norway versus the U.S. Very few couples here bother with marriage. They live together for years, share possessions and property and even raise multiple children, but they don’t get married.

The nearest thing to an explanation we’ve heard is that hosting a wedding in Norway is really expensive. Apparently, potluck receptions in the church basement were invented by immigrants after arriving in America.

The biggest surprise of all is the quick affinity I’ve developed for my Norwegian relatives. I barely knew of these people a few days ago, and have already tears while saying goodbye to some of them. I look forward to nurturing these relationships through the internet and having these gracious people in my life forever.

My grandfather was born and raised in this country. In 1904, not even 20 years old, he left the safety of his family and lavish beauty of Norway to start new in America. He landed in the flat and open prairies of North Dakota -- poor, alone and unable to speak English.

He struggled, worked insanely hard, and eventually made it. I’ve often wondered if he ever regretted his decision to leave.

I’m sure he missed his family and the landscape of Norway, but today as I stand under the same towering mountains where he pondered his decision more than 100 years ago, I can better understand why he left.

While I’m awestruck by my surroundings, I find myself longing for the freedom of sight, movement and spirit that is available in abundance on the North Dakota plains.

I wish my grandparents were here today so I could say, “Tusen takk,” a thousand thanks, for the Norwegian American heritage they so proudly passed along.