The Spirit within us: A saga of two bold families who helped build a democracy

By Jack Greeson

To understand the origins of American democracy is to understand the trials and triumphs of courageous American families and their ancestors. After thirty years of meticulous research into the lineages of two such families, Jack Greeson, Ph.D. presents a compelling narrative on how they laid the foundation for democracy and freedom of religion a

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palmetto Publishing
• Release date: Nov 21, 2022
• ISBN: 9798885907828

Jack Greeson

Jack Greeson is a retired psychologist and university Associate Professor. He holds a Ph.D. from Washington State University where he was a member of Phi Kappa Phi Honor Society. A Fulbright scholar, he attended Phillips University in Marburg, Germany. His is married with two children and lives in Texas.

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Introduction

H

istory is a strange, fluid, fictional mixture of everyday events that are perceived uniquely depending upon their effect on the beholder. It plods on its slow and murky path—only later to be molded into some shape and form by the always prejudiced artistic portrayer. Sometimes scrawled on a cave wall, oftentimes regaled in tales retold over the glowing embers of a wintry evening, these illustrations rarely depict what was, but rather depict what could have or should have been.

And so it is that the writer-artist molds this clay into forms and shapes that give the patient reader perhaps a glimpse of—or sometimes even the essence of—how ancestors breathed, hoped, loved, and died. Whether their thoughts, intentions, and hopes can be seen in this fog-shrouded mist is only a matter for conjecture.

The historical events in this book are portrayed as accurately as possible given the limitations of recorded history and the format of this book. Most of the major events portrayed are documented history, although some situations have been added to portray a setting.

Many of the individuals depicted in this book are documented historical figures. Based on historical documents and/or DNA evidence, the people named in the chapter titles are my direct ancestors. In most cases, there is documented evidence that these people participated in the events cited. When specific documentation is lacking, the person’s situation and actions provided a strong basis to believe that he or she was involved in the events as described. Of course, the individual’s private thoughts, beliefs, and actions are purely the creation of the author.

Although other real historical characters and situations are named to depict a setting, of course, their private thoughts, beliefs and actions rendered here are also the fictional creation of the author.

Chapter One

Eldrid Eriksdottir

1420: Gudbrandsdalen Valley,

Near Sor Fron, Oppland, Norway

W

atching her middle son, his mother saw the change in him.

Yes, Nils Steinarsson is a fine-looking young man, his mother, Eldrid Eriksdottir, thought to herself. Granite-blond hair, a full bushy beard rounded from the sideburns—a bit darker than his hair, and now mixed with dark chestnut.

For months, however, Nils had not been his inquisitive self, Eldrid had noted. He was now quiet, alone, more to himself. She inspected his somewhat triangular face and his broad forehead, sculpted to a narrow, prominent chin. Those friendly, loving eyes…

He had asked to go to market with the family instead of staying at home, where he had always wanted to be before. Fishing, digging for clams at the river, hunting in the forest—that was his life. Always searching for solutions to problems. Once he saw a Peregrine falcon and exclaimed how he wished he could fly like that. Yes, her Nils was clever. He figured things and people out quickly his mother summarized.

She sensed that he had found something—or someone—that he wanted during that last time he had gone to market with her in the spring. She knew what that change meant—she had gone through just such a change too.

The day before the upcoming market trip, while getting the furs and dried fish ready to load onto the sled to take for sale, Nils walked over to the enclosed smokehouse where his mother was selecting fish and game for the evening meal. The smokehouse was similar in construction to their home but on a miniature scale.

Mamma, I need some money to take to market, he whispered so no one else would hear. It’s very important, he added.

Then she knew for sure: he would ask Sigrid’s father for her and offer the money as a Mundr (bride-price).

Eldrid had seen Sigrid; had traded with her at market; had even talked some to her. Sigrid, like Nils, was a quiet girl, serious. A hard worker, it seemed. A good head on her shoulders.

Fair, but sturdy—good to make babies! Eldrid thought. And that red hair—she suspected that Nils liked that in her. His sister Gjertrud had that flaming red hair and the headstrong, proud manner that went with it. Yes, Sigrid would suit Nils very well, Eldrid surmised.

She did not ask Nils anything about his request; and with no hesitation, she walked out of the smokehouse with some smoked fish and went into the house.

Eldrid and her husband, Steinar Oeystensson, were so proud of their house, passed down to him through generations of his family. Its dark, half-split, vertical Norwegian Fir stave logs palisaded the exterior; with horizontal-cut log planks shaping the eaves. A steep pitch of the roof fended off heavy snow. While the dark gray, hand-cut, slate roof tiles were sturdy and never needed replacing; they and their supporting plank roof timbers did little to keep out the bone-chilling Norwegian winters.

Inside, vertical full-log, Norwegian Fir stave columns supported the massive weight of the roof; and were coupled with heavy, arched log beams. Plank floors were fairly rough, but had been smoothed by human use over the centuries. Their home was much more splendid than most in the region, underscoring the industriousness of their ancestors’ personalities.

Their home was deep in the forest. Somewhat foreboding, but strongly built. It did, however, require considerable effort to warm with never-ending stacks of firewood. Furs were the mainstay to provide coziness and warmth.

Eldrid walked to her bed, reached for a shelf above it, and retrieved some coins from her box. Hopefully they would be enough, for there were but few left now. She went back to the smokehouse and gave them to Nils. She remarked only, I will give you extra bread and smoked fish tomorrow just in case you have to stay a few days on your own. She looked him in the eye. …and take the big heavy bearskin in case a storm comes up. It has been growing darker the last few days.

He knew that she understood what he had not told her. He hugged her, which he had not done since he was a little boy when he had asked her if he could escape the boredom of selling in the market to go play on the banks of the river nearby.

Nils went quietly to complete his preparations.

He was to go to market together with the other family members; but they had been told that he had something else to do and that he may come back later on his own. He, of course, would be right at home alone in the forest. That was where he spent most of his days; and it was not uncommon for him to stay out alone a few nights when he was fishing or hunting—in any weather.

Even so, the weather had turned colder and colder over the last few years with no break. It had become almost impossible to raise the vegetables and crops; and the family—like most other Norwegians—often went weeks with nothing but frozen or dried meat and fish to eat. Eldrid’s family had to be so careful managing the fire and firewood, as everything stayed wet or frozen outside. The wild game which they usually hunted, mostly reindeer and hare, had moved further south, they had been told; where there was still grass and forbs for them to eat. Day after day, it had become harder to feed their family on what they could manage to bring home.

Nils’s plan was to ask Sigrid’s father for her—after talking to her to ensure that she would have him. Then the two could marry and go south to find a better place to hunt and fish; to build their own home and start a family.

He knew he had all the required skills as he had learned them all from his father. Nils had watched Sigrid at the market trading bread and fur jackets, which, he learned, she had made herself. She was good to her little sisters and brothers when they came to market with her, so she would be good with their children, he imagined. They had not been able to spend that much time together as her house was some distance away.

But love doesn’t take that long! He smiled to himself as he anticipated seeing her.

Leaving would be hard for both Sigrid and Nils. Their families were both close-knit and bonded; dependent upon each other for everything. But Momma Eldrid and Father Steinar had plenty of help. His younger brother Karl was hardworking and kind to his parents. His older brother Olaf was very quiet and to himself; but a good provider for his parents. He would inherit the house and the land after Father was gone—that was just the way. And both families would be more able to feed themselves from the limited food supply with Nils and Sigrid out on their own.

Nils did not know much about the south except what he had heard from the men on the ships at the lake. They regaled Nils and Karl with stories of warmer weather, plentiful game, even of available jobs that did not exist here—working for people from other countries to load and ship fish, pelts, and even the meat from wild game. Their ships carried these goods to people living far away in other parts of the world, Nils had learned. The men of the sea told Nils about many different foods that one could obtain from other lands that could not be found here: vegetables, cheeses, oatmeal. He had even tasted some of it once on a ship when he had helped them to load fish at the lake.

Everybody came to the Sor Fron Sem (trading place, market); the only one for miles around. The snow path from Eldrid’s house to the market took about two hours’ skiing if the sled was properly packed—less if Nils or Karl were pulling it. They skied as swiftly as falcons diving. The family was lucky today. Bright, clear weather; no snowstorm; a fairly packed top layer of snow for smoother skiing and sledding.

The market was a pleasant place. For most locals there, it was the only opportunity they had for social interaction outside of their immediate family. For Eldrid, a gregarious person who knew everybody and enjoyed visiting with them, the Sor Fron market was never to be missed if she could help it.

As soon as she spied one of her friends ahead on the path, Eldrid was cheery and smiling. Conversation began even before she caught up with her friend’s group. Once at the market, Eldrid guided her children through setting up their market stall, which all of them had completed many times during the past years. Quickly, Eldrid turned the family’s selling and purchasing over to them and began her rounds to see and chat with all and to find out the latest news about them and their families. Old friends with whom she had grown up and known for years found her to be jolly and continually likable—always smiling.

Well liked for sure, but even her closest friends would say—when Eldrid was not around—that she looked like a walking fir tree. Angular and gangly, she was accustomed to labor on the homestead. She was, indeed, rough-hewn; with a thin, elongated, somewhat rectangular face. Having experienced years in rough weather, she had acquired dry, sunburned skin.

Since all of her family—parents, cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents—were from the Gudbrandsdalen; as well as all of Steinar’s family—with whom she also was close—most of the rest of Eldrid’s day was spent socializing.

Nils had always hated it when his mother required him to go to market with her to help. For him, it was boring. As a young child, he liked to help set up the market stall as quickly as possible so he could go play on the shore of the river. As he got older, he had escaped to the ancient stave church. Nils loved to spend time inside and to rub his hands over the massive time-smoothed wooden beams, darkened by centuries of wear and smoke. Then he would lie on his back on the floor; and, with his fingers in the air, trace the vaulted wishbone-shaped supports in the upper gallery. Especially, he treasured the intricate hand-carved wooden depictions of Viking scenes around the sanctuary. He spent hours studying their rich details and speculating about the events depicted. Nils imagined himself as the hero of the battle or triumph depicted, not knowing that these Vikings were his direct ancestors.

1420: At the Sor Fron Market

This time, Nils pulled the sled so fast on the packed-snow path through the forest that his family could not keep up. He helped set up their market stall but was not really focused on the task. Instead, he constantly craned his head to look over the crowd and the other stalls for Sigrid. Seeing no sign of her, he became concerned.

When he had completed his duties at the stall, Nils walked around the other stalls looking for Sigrid. In the distance, he saw Sigrid’s sister. She was not herself, he recognized, but she was haggard-looking and seemed to be holding back tears. Immediately, he ran across the marketplace to her side.

Before he had a chance to say a word, Sigrid’s sister blurted out, He’s dead! My father’s dead!

Nils comforted her and held her warmly for a moment.

The Black Death! she cried out, visibly unnerved. (The Black Death, bubonic plague, raged horrendously for centuries, killing almost one half of the entire Norwegian population.)

Looking around at Sigrid’s family’s stall, Nils hesitated, afraid to ask. Sigrid? he murmured.

Sigrid’s sister broke down and sobbed uncontrollably. She was unable to speak, but Nils clearly understood the dreadful message: Sigrid had also died of the Black Death.

Nils’s world went black. He could only see vague shapes; his consciousness was overwhelmed. Unable to respond or even concentrate, Nils wandered away.

Later, he wandered near his family’s market stall. Eldrid had also heard the horrible news, and had been out looking for him. She pulled him to the back of their stall and kept an eye on him. People came to his side of the market stall to trade with him for his fish and furs. He was nonresponsive. He did not hear them. They gave him their trade and took his in return. One woman tried to cheat him; the other customers scolded her and made her give him his fair trade.

At the end of the day, Nils followed Sigrid’s sister; he did not know why. Eldrid saw him following the sister but let him go, deciding that he needed to be with Sigrid’s family to resolve his grief. When he reached their house, he asked where Sigrid was. They took him to her fresh grave. Nils draped a simple bracelet on it, a gift he had brought for her. Sigrid’s mother sensed what was happening. She told him to come inside and eat with them. He was still not responding. He did not eat, but sat on the snow and stared at the grave.

Later that evening, Sigrid’s mother came out again and took his hand, guiding him inside the house to the warmth. After their meal, Sigrid’s mother took him to the far corner of their house where the boys slept. She gestured, and he lay down and went to sleep.

The next morning, Nils slept late, but ate some of the morning meal that Sigrid’s mother had kept warm for him. Without a word, he left the house.

He trudged through the forest, his senses still all black, experiencing nothing; moving only on the strength of his instincts. Surrounded by smoothed outlines, snow blankets encamped hidden stones and boulders. Sky-reaching spruce and fir, cloaked in white to prevent shivering. Pinks, soft oranges, faint yellows, hues of purples and misty blues reflecting from mirror-ponds and streams cast flickering sun-prisms on the blanket-whites. Yet he experienced only obscurity.

He looked up once and watched a falcon fly past. Nils stopped again to eat a bite and watched the snow-fog falling. So light. So fragile. So soft.

After a few days of wandering, Nils began to slowly come out of his stupor, focusing on what was nearest him—a small tree branch laden with freshly fallen snow. A snow rabbit running across his path. The wind scraping across his face. He stopped and spent the night somewhere. He never considered where he was or how far he would go. He ate what he could find at hand; and bundled up in the warm fur he had brought, sleeping in the rough.

One morning as Nils awoke, he recognized that he had regained some sense of where he was: on the path toward the market and his house and family. Still, no thoughts. Just a blank. Nothing filling the void.

On and on he trudged through the deep snow, but he sensed no cold. He was slowly regaining some of his energy. Later that day as he sat in the gently falling snow, he discerned that he was not ready to go home—to face the known world and the void of the new life that he had planned with Sigrid. So he spent another night in the forest not too far from his home. A blizzard struck, and he struggled into a cave. Finding some soft brush and lichen, he made a wrap and started a small fire.

Crackling yellow-reds, blues, purples—Nils’s gaze was immersed, entranced. The world drifted in spindles upward from the white-hot coals. Warmth gradually encased his body, palisaded against the intrusion of harsh reality, lulled him into slumber.

Amid the freezing, icy night, he had a dream—clear, vivid:

Sitting in the depths of the forest on a gigantic fallen dead tree, he was motionless—lost, his life plan gone. Enveloped by darkness and silence. Stillness.

Then he heard drops of water as the upper crust of snow slowly melted. Behind the far end of the log, in the blackened darkness, he recognized faint silver lights –- as small as the width of a snow rabbit’s hair. The lights began to swirl as slowly as leaves on a pond when a drinking deer breathes. Then, movement. A fresh young sprout began to emerge from the tree trunk humus. The infinitesimal lights—millions of them—moved closer together, and gradually merged into a ghostlike human figure. An ancient woman, hair as white as fresh powder-snow. A thought expanded somewhere within Nils’s mind. The explanation materialized: the Norse goddess Voer, Odin’s aunt. Out of the depths, he heard his own aunt teaching him—long years ago: Voer, the seer who cares and guides. She helps one become aware; she helps one find their future. But beware: she is brutally blunt and honest in giving her insight.

Crashing into his reverie, jolting him, a high-pitched, almost screaming voice burst out of the apparition, Why are you just sitting there, Nils Steinarsson? New life comes from death. Get up! Take Sigrid with you on the trek you promised her!

With that, the apparition disappeared. In its place emerged the misty shape of two travelers on a distant mountain path. The shapes hovered closer, closer—now Nils recognized Sigrid and himself. Going south together to start a new life. She is so cheerful, happy!

It was a glorious and exciting scene. Sigrid wants for him to fulfill himself, to test his manhood and build a new future.

His guilt was gone. He envisioned his success and happiness, honoring Sigrid.

Softly, he awoke—a refreshed smile on his face. Awareness and comprehension! He now knew what to do. The tree dies and gives birth to a new sprout. The natural cycle of life. He could create his own sprout from his loss. Go south and build the new future for himself! And take Sigrid along in his thoughts and dreams.

Freezing, icy, the morning penetrated in sharp golden streaks breaking through the gray clouds. Nils now envisioned a plan and a map of his future. Brisk, ice-crunching steps took him to his former home.

His mother, having been on the lookout for him since she heard the rumor that he had been to Sigrid’s house and had left alone, had been alternatively looking for him and then waiting at home for him to return. She had asked some of the local men to look for Nils in the forest; but with the constant new snowfalls, they had found no signs. This morning, she had sensed his coming and awaited him at the window.

Exuberant, he burst through the door. Can I have some breakfast? He was, after all, a male. She poked him in loving jest and started cooking.

The next morning, Thursday, while his father was out chopping wood and his mother was cleaning up the kitchen after the morning meal, Nils related to her his former goals with Sigrid, his recent forest dream, and his new life plan. I’m going south. I need a fresh start. I need to discover myself, what I can really do. And I need to be where there is green, wild game, and good jobs.

Take the dowry money and find yourself, she said simply.

Before the evening meal, his father was on the downwind side of the house stacking the wood he had cut. Nils told Father all of his recent sorrows and plans, just as he had told his mother.

His father put down the log he was carrying, sighed, and looked painfully at Nils. Slowly and distinctly, Steinar recited his family history: You were born here. Your forefathers have lived and worked in the Gudbrandsdalen for many generations. Indeed, at least six generations before me! This is our home. Yes, yes, life has been difficult. The crops haven’t produced. There is always ice and cold. The forest floor has become barren—no forbs, no reindeer, fewer fish, and rarely even a hare. But this hardship won’t last forever. We will endure.

Not really an edict, not really a plea, just stating the facts.

Of course this is what his father would tell him, Nils reflected. In his mind, Nils had already reviewed his father’s likely reverie.

Nils interjected the key piece of information: Father, I want to create a new life for myself after…Sigrid.

Shocked, not having a response for this heartfelt openness from his son, Steinar stared at Nils.

Without a word, Steinar turned and walked away. This was his way, to put off the discussion until he had time to mull it over, to look at the options.

Sitting together before a blazing fireplace during one of those roaring, ferocious Norwegian gale snow storms, generations of Steinar’s forefathers—each in his own time—had regaled their younger generations with dramas about the exploits of one of their ancient ancestors, Oeystein Magnusson, the Peace King. These sagas always described him as the King of Norway who had started a country, not a war. Steinar Oeystensson, the current descendant, surely had inherited those genes. His children were always impatient as he thoughtfully considered all possible options before he rendered the decision about a matter. As adults, they respected his deliberate judgment but were still annoyed at the time lag between the query and the response.

Nils expected this delay, but was still unnerved by it. He wanted to have his father’s support. But he had already determined that he would go south even without it.

Friday, there was no discussion of the issue.

Saturday, when the family started eating their morning meal, Eldrid mentioned to Nils, Your father and I will miss you as you are going south. Take the small sled and the old deerskin out on the rack in the smokehouse. You will need them in this weather.

Nils looked at his father, who was looking back at him, but did not speak.

Nils’s younger brother, Karl, announced, I want to go, too! I want to see the great sea, the Gulf of Bothnia, on Sweden’s east coast. I have heard much about it at the lake from the travelers and the men of the sea. I am a man now, and I need to seek my own way.

Eldrid and Steinar immediately looked at each other. They were not at all surprised by Karl’s announcement, but this was the first he had spoken of it.

Your father and I will discuss it, Eldrid replied simply.

Sunday, there was no discussion of it. Nils began preparing for his journey.

Monday, there was no discussion of the question regarding Nils and Karl. Privately, Eldrid pointed out to Steinar that Karl was now almost nineteen—already a man. Steinar knew that Karl had the survival skills he needed as he had taught him these long ago. He knew Karl had a sharp wit and was eager to see the world. Eldrid reminded him, just as they had already discussed regarding Nils, that their oldest son, Olaf, would inherit the land and the home, so Nils and Karl must make their own way. Steinar and Eldrid were also painfully aware that with these two strapping young men adventuring out together, it would be far safer than either one of them being out alone.

Tuesday, Nils spoke with his mother about the provisions and cooking utensils he would be taking. They had no discussion about Karl, who had gone into the forest with his father to search for game. When Steinar and Karl returned that evening, Karl seemed happy -– even though they brought home no meat.

That evening after the meal, Karl followed Nils out to the smokehouse where he was finishing the packing of the sled.

I’m going! Karl blurted. They did not say no, and they gave me a small amount of funds for my journey.

Nils shook his hand, and they began to collect the extra things Karl would need for the expedition, both knowing that their lives would never be the same after this night.

Mid-March 1438: On the way to

Sweden, twenty degrees, snowstorms

Nils and Karl had estimated that their trip from Sor Fron in the Gudbrandsdalen into Sweden and then down to Vanern Lake (which was a part of Norway) would take about twenty-five to thirty days plus whatever number of days they spent at stops along the way. The forest and lakes would provide their meals, they determined, just as they had for all of their lives.

Heading southeast along the shores of the Gudbrandsdalslagen River, they traversed down and into the Mjosa Lake region. They had always heard that this was the largest lake in Norway, narrow but over sixty miles long. Nils and Karl fished the lake, acclaimed for its trout. Somewhat successful, they caught enough for their evening meal and for the next day. Relaxing on the shore, they took in the surrounding gray-white boulders, the large granite shelves on the water’s edge, and the pastures at water’s edge —still somewhat ice-covered from winter.

At Lillehammer, they joined a small group of older female pilgrims who were following Saint Olaf’s Way south toward Hamar. The pilgrims requested that these two young men—whom some of them knew—go along with them for protection. The group passed farms and dense ancient pine forests, saw the tall spires of the stone Ringsaker church in the distance, and stopped for a meal at a stone cliff overlooking the breathtaking Mjosa Lake. The next day, the group continued to the Tolvsteinringen, an ancient, circular twelve stone ring. They reached the impressive Hamar Cathedral near nightfall and were allowed to stay the night inside.

Ascending from a promontory, the castle-like edifice was enormous to these countryfolk and was clearly the largest building any of them had ever seen. Awe-inspiring, the church was a magnificent tribute to the Christian God, and all of the travelers solemnized the occasion by partaking in the worship that evening.

As he did every night just before bedding down, Nils conversed with Sigrid—up in Asgard—relaying diary-style the day’s events and his descriptions of the scenery.

The next morning, Nils and Karl struck out on their own, having wished the pilgrims a good journey during the morning meal. They continued southeast past the town of Hamar. The two admired the scenery: a peninsula jutting out into Mjosa Lake, facing snowcapped mountain peaks with houses clinging to the steep mountainsides.

Their journey south now took them along the banks of Varma River down to the Glomma River, then east to where the Glomma sharply turned at the village of Kongsvinger. They rested well there that night, as they had been warned of the difficult terrain south through the snow-covered mountain pass through the Ovre Fryken Mountains.

Entering the pass into Sweden the next morning, Nils and Karl found that the weather was not terrible even though a blustery snowstorm made it hard to see very far ahead. The pass was fairly wide, though, so they completed the trek with minimal difficulty.

As they were just coming out of the pass, the storm subsided. The view was impressive: a chain of three long narrow lakes—navigable by small ships—with some hills on the sides. They recognized that here in Sweden there were still mostly the same Norway Spruce with some Scotch Pine. They began to see a few reindeer, and they spotted a hare. Berries were more plentiful.

They traveled southeast for a while and reached Glafsfjorden Lake. Narrow and winding with a rock shoreline, tall trees grew down to the edge of lake. There were large gray-brown jagged boulders and quiet meadows nearby. They caught a few beautiful fish covered with black spots outlined in silver-gold with gold-green underbelly. After roasting them on a fire on the lakeshore, the taste made the journey worth it!

Nils relayed this day’s important events that night to Sigrid:

Karl and I followed the trail south toward the Glafsfjorden Lake. We navigated the heavily forested valley, which led to a smaller river flowing through and emptied into a sheltered mountain lake. It was on the banks of this lake that we met three Swedish carpenters who were traveling back to Bjorko Island in Eastern Sweden, near the Gulf of Bothnia. These carpenters were enthusiastic and expounded on the island; they shared that it was the largest sea trade port anywhere. They promised that jobs were plentiful and that two rugged young men like us could make lots of money there. They also noted that many Norwegians already lived and worked at the port.

Having heard satisfactory answers to our other questions about Bjorko Island, Karl and I decided that this would now be our specific goal. We acquired general directions from the carpenters, but privately the two of us agreed to go our own way—more directly across the forest where we could make progress at our own pace.

Sigrid, I truly believe that this was a sign from the gods above with you that we were to make Bjorko Island our new home. Please ask the gods in Asgard to protect us on our further journey.

After completing a short and relatively level ski path further along the shoreline of the lake the next morning, Nils and Karl reached the small village of Arvika. They viewed a very small, quiet fishing village. Along the shore were medium sized reddish-brown boulders. Many canoes dotted the lake in front of the village.

Obtaining supplies, Nils and Karl had a friendly conversation with some locals. They heard tales about the Danish king now fighting against some Swedish nobles, with both groups being desperately short of soldiers. Nils and Karl were warned about the risk of conscription.

Early April: Forty-five degrees, gray, overcast, windy

about every third day with occasional light rain

Along the way south toward Vanern Lake, Nils and Karl met a group of local Swedish trappers. The trappers’ sled was stacked high with furs they were taking to Grums, a small village on the north shore of Vanern Lake, to sell to the merchants who traded across the Baltic. These trappers encouraged Nils and Karl toward Malaren Lake. The trappers reasoned that Nils and Karl could get on a ship at Grums to traverse Vanern Lake. Then, the trappers suggested, the brothers could sail further by ship to Bjorko Island, where young men were desperately needed to load the many ships that traveled back and forth across the Baltic to many countries. Workers were also needed, they related, for transferring furs and fish onto Hansa ships, which also traded all over Europe. The trappers described Bjorko Island as a small, friendly place; beautiful, near the sea but with a very reasonable cost of living. Nils and Karl decided that this was a good plan, so they designed their route to go to Bjorko Island—the first leg being by ship from Grums, as they had been advised.

Before they had departed from their home, Nils and Karl had agreed to visit Dalsland, just west of Grums and Vanern Lake, because they knew that their father’s northern Meanmaa Finnish-Norwegian ancestors had long ago migrated to that part of that region on the lake (which was still part of Norway in 1438). Their new path, then, took them right by the region they had originally wanted to see.

That night, cuddled inside his furs on the shore of the Vanern Lake, Nils talked to Sigrid in Asgard:

Today, we found an old fisherman laboring to row his rather large old plank boat out on the lake. We called out to him and offered to row and to haul in the fish; then to clean the fish and help him take them to the market in exchange for some fresh fish for us to eat and for some smoked fish to take along on our journey. He happily agreed, explaining that his son and another young man who usually helped him had both been conscripted by the Swedish Army and he really could not handle the task by himself.

The lake was calm but gray today, with heavy fog hanging over it. The old man knew the lake well, however, and despite the high gunwales on his boat and the antiquated fishing gear he used, we had no trouble navigating and catching many fairly large salmon. We were jubilant when we caught two giant ones, which he said were not that common in Vanern Lake. Surprisingly, the old man did not have a homemade net to catch smelt like most people do at home.

When fishing was slow, the old fisherman talked. He warned us about events taking place in nearby Sweden, where we had told him we wanted to go. Even though he did not really know too much about it as it had never directly affected him, he had heard that the King of Denmark wanted a strong Kalmar Union of Sweden, Norway, and Finland. The nobility of Sweden, on the other hand, wanted to separate, and they had even elected their own king. Because of this constant conflict, both sides were short of soldiers, he pointed out, and both sides were conscripting or buying men from all over.

Watch out, he warned. There is evil afoot!

We just laughed, but took his words seriously.

After a long day, he invited us over to his tiny ancient log house with a sod and grass covered roof where his wife helped us cook fish for the four of us. After eating, the old man told us his plans for the next day. The three of us were to row east up the coast of Vanern Lake to the village of Grums, which he said had the best market in the region for selling all of the fish we had caught. We salted most of the fish; then set a few on a tall line between two trees over some slow-burning embers to smoke overnight. The fisherman’s house was so small that there was barely room for the two of them; but they had a small, run-down wooden shed for the cows, so we slept there on the hay. One thickly furred cow insisted on staying in her shed with us; but she allowed us our much-needed rest. It was actually better shelter than some of the other nights of our voyage when we had slept in the forest or in a cave.

The next morning, we loaded into his boat all of the fish that he wanted to sell, together