HILL HARE IN WESTERN FARMS

Lihare on the move. Illustratet by Finn Bringsjord

(This is primarily a google translation).

A Sunday afternoon with rain and indoors weather, were mother and sisters fed the hustle and bustle of the twins and sent us out the door. Since we went in Sunday clothes, we could not banished to the barn, so they were so clever that they sent us down to Uncle Anton Garden.

"Now go down and ask uncle if he does not soon to be married," was marching order that we got with us from mother. She had learned that Anton was accomplished tired of the hustle and bustle of the oldest sister about marriage, leaving the task to unsuspecting delegates. Men got nowhere in the world to be lazy and see time depends. It was hard contest for the widow in Kvås, and better party she could not envision for her little brother who now lived all alone in the old house for his late parents.
Now Uncle had acquired three-wheeled Tempo with large goggles, gloves and kidney belt, so it was just to embark on a random Sunday tour up the valley.

Anton had slept long enough that Sunday, for when we knocked, he sat at the round dining table in the living room and ate Sunday dinner's. There were half a blight-potato and well with potato peelings neatly arranged throughout oilcloth, and the plate was brown colored by sauce residues. Although he sat slicked and smiling reclining - with open waistband and unbuttoned shirt collar - and feasted on the flesh of a long thigh bone.

"Degn (church clerk /canttor) Brinch * price! Will there like fine Sunday visit to an old uncle, "he munched up with a mouth full of femoral meat," just sit down here at this table. " He kicked hospitably out a couple of chairs to the right and left, and we sat down at the tip of the seat and let ourselves be fascinated by an uncle who meticulously ate up all leftovers.
Finally clucking he vigorously to get a piece of meat out of hol tooth and pushed his chair back in comfortable position: "Nothing in the world is as good as a fat lihare (hill hare)," he said as he put his hands under the elastic suspenders and patted him self well pleasing on the stomach.

* Degn Brinch was Uncle Anton's ancestor. See down- blog page ...

"What you said, uncle; lihare? What hare is it? "asked Kjell.
Anton raised eyebrow and then feigned amazement at him. "Are not you the son of Thorvald L. - the keenest hare hunter on Bringsjord ...? And then you do not know what a LIHARE is ...? "
Anton shook his head over such a comfortless ignorance, and I fell into his trail and shook my head and grinned good of my stupid brother.
"Tell him what - you Finn!" Said uncle and pulled me right into pillimentet.
"Lihare," I said uneasily and wandered around in the chair, "it ... it's a hare as eating when it starts to li (linger) out at the afternoon."
"Ho, ho! It was great! No, you, that there was total failure. "

He got up and cleared pan and plate of the dining table. So he went into the kitchen and put the coffee pot. We followed with potato peelings and other small things, and I was ahead as and got grind coffee at the mill. Meanwhile cleared Kjell room table for Arbeiderblad newspapers and put up a coffee cup, tree saucers and a blue glass bowl with piece of sugar which he found in mirror-bureau. As soon as the coffee had boiled over three times, it was bestowed in the cup and in the bowls, and so was Sunday coziness started.

"Now you must tell,Uncle! What is a lihare "? said Kjell, and sucked on a strong coffee listed sugar. But uncle had as usual good time, he pulled up a snuff boxes and left a juicy rosehip under cheekbone before he - with his hands clasped behind his neck - leaning well back in his chair and began to tell:
"A lihare - you see - is a hare race which can only live in a li - a the hillside on the slopes around a hill that is shaped like a sugar loaf. It is completely lost if it is to stand on a plain or in a forest. "

We looked a little perplexed at each other, this was something completely new for two inquisitive boys heads. "Completely lost?" I said, "why is he completely lost?"
Anton leaned even more back, let his legs on a wooden chair, and continued: "Yes, I'll tell you, Finn; That is because it will be taken off the fox before nightfall; liharen is so created that on flat ground running it around in a spiral, and it is only for the fox to seek the center of the spiral and wait. "

"But why", said Kjell, bursting with curiosity.

"It is because li-hare's right foot is considerably longer than his left foot. In this way they have a huge advantage when they jump away along a slope; one li. It's easy to understand! And that is why this breed is called lihare, or as it says in the lexicon; Lepus timidius clivo. "

Anton smiled proudly and nodded in all directions as thanks for an imaginary applause and admiring glances, so he pushed snus over on the other side of his mouth and took another gulp of coffee and two sugar cubes. He was obviously in his element, and continued in high gear:
"But to have longer legs on the right side of the body, is not only an advantage for liharen. For example, it can only run in one direction around the peak; in the same direction as skaters and trotting horses running around its orbit. If they try to run the other way - as clockwise - it goes completely wrong; then comes the long bone in the upper slope and short leg bottom and tilts over and rolling helplessly round and round down to he is knocked out at the bottom of the hillside. " He showed and demonstrated the "tall man finger" and "Little Petter fiddler" on a slanted copy of "Kon-Tiki Expedition".

"Do you know where there lives liharer, uncle? It is only with the widow in Kvås? "It just slipped out of me, and I grieved me deeply for it was very shameful to bring women and marriage on the court at the time.

But uncle was as always the gentleman to finger tip. He blushed easily and overheard it all. "Here in Bringsjord heath is just liharer in two places; on the hillside with Voråsen and the hillside with Kålåsen.
As you well know situated Voråsen here Vestigarden, right up there behind my kitchen window. The hill ends into the horizontal delete we call Fladen. Now in hunting season, when I hear dog pilot goes up there, I often take a trip up at Fladen and picks up a knocked lihare. How do I get me a wonderful Sunday dinner without so much as loosening a shot. "

I was sitting gape: "In Degn Brinch name *, uncle, is this true? Why it ends up that hares trills like ripe fruit cakes down at Fladen? "

"A good question," stated uncle. "We have researched up a bit, and think we have found the answer."
"It is the speed that kills," he said, nodding knowing for both of us, "speed kills, you see. Liharen run so fast that it shortly after taking back the dog with a round. When the dog that he gets liharen just behind in heels, yes it breathable and panting even trying to push past, the dog insulted and sits on its hind legs. Thus, it is done. Haren must turn around and run back ... in the wrong direction. It goes of course wrong, and he rolls downhill. "
We got busy - raised the under bowl and wanted with grave seriousness "Degner bowl" before we supt in the coffee remains - and hurried home to talk further with the father about where to add tomorrow's hunting trip.
When we breathless came home and told our father about liharer on Voråsen, father smiled well and told that Anton had served us an ancient lie about liharen. I remember that we were quite snurtne and promised bloody revenge.

Anton was too soft-hearted to shoot an animal, so in reality he ate a hare he had received as thanks of a hare hunter who hunted on his estate in Hobaskogen.

Afterword

* The first Degn on Bringsjord, Ole Omundsen b. Ca. 1678, should on the way to his church-work had a strong personal affliction down in Døldegrova when he had to give up in a wrestling with the Devil himself, who tore from him Kingos Psalmebok and throw it into Kjørkevadet. (Church wade. Brigde came first in 1884). The book was taken off the river stream, but by god luck ran it ashore at Bank Hølen. Degn was wet and forsoffen when he churned in the sacristy that Sunday. Ole was Degn (clocks and church songs) in Lyngdal Church from 1705 to 1739 when he had to stop because the pastor and congregation for some time had annoyed at his obvious drunkenness.

Son Omund Olsen, who was married to the vicar Nils Cold Bergs sister, took over as Degn father. He was right swell and swagger basse and called himself for Amund Brinch (ab Brinchfiore). Uncle Anton in Garden claimed stubbornly that Degner Brinch was his right ancestor, and he let himself into the ugly habit that he always ended a festive party to demand that all had to stand up and drink "Degner bowl."

Referred as Degn in Lyndal Church passed down for five generations. The fifth and final Degn on Bringsjord, Lars Ånensen, was fired by Pastor Gabriel Kielland in 1840 due to acidic pitch and deficient singing voice. A grandson of Judge Balle narrated that Lars sat in the choir with huge breeches and big wig and "Brek stykt" and Kielland even wrote that it was only with the new Degner from Bergsaker that he first heard "edifying hymn" in Lyndal Church .

This bloggside was printet in the
paper Lister 23. May 2015

THE KING VESSEL AND THE CLUCK HEN

In front from left; Kjell and Finn. Behind; Ludvig

(This is primarily a google translation).

Someone in the family say that this story shows just how ("ukjuraktige") rascals twins were. But that's because it's big brother Ludvig who usually tells it, and then you get the always unfortunate, subjective approach. This is what really happened:

In 1947 the war ended and the victors had returned from London and controlled and tended. An ordinance went out that it would gather money for a folk gift to King Haakon VII in gratitude for his great efforts for the motherland during the war. The People Gift was royal ship "Norway".

Although it was voluntary one would give, and how much one would give, it was decided that all households should be sought out by trusted men in the municipality. Teacher and church songer Torvald Haugeland was one of them. Some of the farms in the circuit lay deep on the moors, and Haugland confided when our older brother Ludvig (on Bringsjord pronounce the name "lådvi"), who by then had turned 18, the honor of visiting the most roadless farms built on the heath.

Ludvig in this way was away from the farm for a day, was a fortunate event for us twins. He had in fact a "klukkhøne" lying on nest out in the barn , and this klukkhøna passport he viewed as a blacksmith. (Klukkhøne called a hen who has "decided" to hatch chicks. It will then stop laying and begin to incubate as soon as it has gather some eggs).

It is essential that a dominant rooster rules the henhouse at the time eggs are collected for hatching, but it had not. Our rooster should have remained headless on the chopping block last fall, and now it was arthritis and no longer and lazy and ignored just as it was clear invitation from the white Italian fingertips (gallina bianca). But luckily grandmother in Nyhus one virile rooster, and Louis got traded with 15 eggs from her chicken run. These were placed under klukkhøna, and so was the countdown started, and until this royal collection day had passed 13 days.

Louis, which already at that time had left for the day pronounced intellectual interests, and who drank coffee with teacher Haugeland with his wife and daughters, went throughout the year at high school in Mandal. Already then he saw enough of an educational career, and took little brothers on her lap and explained as schoolmaster fun he could just about developments day by day was started inside the eggs. The conclusion was something like this: "If only Grandma's rooster has flapped in chicken and eggs, and klukkhøna not constantly was intimidated by hammering with the door, it will in three weeks get ready-made chicks from the eggs." Well, at that time was not the concept of time so strong, so already after five six days we began bustle if not the ready-made chicks soon to come.

For our parents came Ludvigs chicken-interest as a thunderbolt. During its first 18 years of life he had shown zero talent or interest in being a farmer, or closely related activities such as hare hunting and salmon fishing. They had well any written him as a future heir farmer, and had risked everything to get even a male child. They then would be blessed with two boys, was therefore of some viewed as a bonus.

But they could have been mistaken? Did not put himself grom boy here and raved about the chicken farm and egg production on a large scale, while he told about coffee drinking and trusted collection mission Torvald Haugeland and King Haakon VII?

Norway. the kings own ship

So far, the mother's egg production attracted to pancakes and hard boiled, sprinkler-sliced ​​sandwich toppings and a birthday cake every now and then. In addition, deliveries to the trader, which gave scanty cash to buy lottery tickets when representatives of the various associations woman knocked on their number books ahead of the bazaars.


Fortunately should not go so long before everything was back in good old thread. As soon as the royal collector had cycled off guard, took the twins for a walk out in the barn to investigate what happened to the chickens. When klukkhøna was uncooperative and chopped fingers, was she resolutely lifted away and shut out in the yard. Then we listened carefully on the eggs to hear about chickens was awake and wanted out. But no beep was hearing. Strangely, they overslept entire bundle?

This had to be investigated further. Relatively gently minced we hole in the eggshell to drop chickened out. But it was a big disappointment; just something slimy goo gushed out of the egg. Without rooster, no chicken, we remembered schoolmaster-germ had explained when he came carrying 15 Grandma's eggs in cap. Yes, yes, we thought; grandmother-cock must have forgotten fluttered on this egg. We'll check it out next ...

A while later looked our mother out of the kitchen window and saw klukkhøna who wandered around the yard. Once she saw that somthing was wrong and hurried out into the barn where she found two unhappy boys and 12 broken eggs nicely spread across the floor.

The young scientists Finn and Kjell in activity.

When Ludvig weary came home that night, he was greeted by his mother in the yard, and warned that a terrible accident had befallen chicken project. But then the culprits for the longest sent to bed and slept happily outside big brother's immediate reach.
The following day we were up early to go back and chase the cows when Mom and Dad hired them in herds, on the headland. Ludvig could lie and take up long into the day. Unfair? Fair enough for us!

..........

This blog page was printed in the newspaper "Lister" on Saturday 18 July 2015.

CHINA MISSION WOMEN´S ASSOSIATION IN LYNGDAL

My oldest sister, Marie Opsahl (1923-2012)
shows here China mission old moneybox.

(This is primarily a google translation).

Grandmas great interest for the China Mission was wakened by the charismatic preacher Tormod Rettedal when he early 1900s, on a mission to attend the "Ekjowe Bedehus" (chapel) on Bergmoen, spoke about the personal obligation Jesus had placed on believers to make disciples of all nations and about the great distress and anguish it now ruled on the mission field in China.

Both grandmother and Malla in Norbakken was so moved by the speech that they immediately were joined by other interested parties and founded "Kinamissionens Kvinneforening in Aa Sogn". The minutes of the association's foundation was destroyed during a fire, so the year has been somewhat uncertain, but all indications are that it was in 1905.

"Ekjowe" is a very special name of a chapel in Lyngdal. It spelled with 'w' indicates that the name is neither Norwegian or biblical. The word then falls nor easy on the tongue, and it turns out to be a Norwegian "distortion" of the place name "Eshowe," the name of the oldest town in Zululand. That being said locally in South Africa that the name Eshowe's etymology is inspired by the sound of the wind in the forest, which shows that the Norwegian "EKJ" sound must be a linguistic antics.

Eshowe was the name of Lyngdal-man and missionary priest Ommund C. Oftebros mission in Zululand which he established in 1861. He came from Oftebro, then croft under Aa vicarage.
Why the name was changed from Eshowe to Ekjowe in Norway, we can only guess. The fear that it would be pronounced "Æsj-hove" (= dirt head) of irony tongues is stumbling close and then not long that chapeau people also would get the tag hanging on them.

The name was introduced in Lyngdal when Aa Sogn Mission Society bought a small use of Bergemoen * they called Ekjowe, where villagers met to volunteer; primarily potato setting and potato harvesting. Revenues from crops went to Oftebros mission in Zululand. Soon old houses on site where demolished and replaced by an new assembly house; Ekjowe Bedehus.

* There was a piece of land that was purchased by heirs after Martine Øygården, of the Mission Association in 1880, that was named Ekjowe. Poor Bertine froze to death the night of November 18, 1879 when her row boat grounded in the river between Grøndokka and Bringsjord Neset. She was not able to get the boat away from the ground, and nobody could have heard her sore cries for help.

When Alleen Bedehus was erected in 1910, was Ekjowe Bedehus moved to Dragon Land and renamed Drageland Bedehus. Interest in volunteer work dabbet of gradually, and in 1919 the farm was leased. Later it was listed a detached house which was made available to refugee committee.

When my oldest sister Marie Opsahl (1922-2012), who is named after my grandmother, in 1993 received municipal Culture prize "for her work on Lyngdal Missionary Museum" took Farsunds Avis this photo of her with China Mission Female Society old monny box.

"The women of the association gathered in turn in each other's living rooms, and when grandmother had union at his home, was this monny box placed on the table", she tells the newspaper, remembering when she as a little girl was allowed to be part of the association's meetings the grandmother's house.

"The first thing I remember is the smell of coffee which finishes against me when I came into the kitchen. And it was little wonder that it smelled so, for something later I went around and collected the small bags of ground coffee that each one brought with them to the meeting - and which was then emptied the boiler. All also had his own lunch, so they should not be to any load to the hostess. Otherwise, I sat on a stool by the door and knitted and listened to what they talked about, and what was read from the magazine "The Chinese man".

Female Associations made an enormous effort for the mission. In the early 1900s ¾ of mission companies' revenues from the country's women associations. Later the eagerness been declining, and the belief to succeed in making all nations disciples of Jesus is strongly decreasing.
But Malla and grandmother Marie was in this respect optimists, and they knew everything about giving from a good heart. On Lyngdal Missionary Museum you will find this solid shaker that was always open to the widow's mite.

Grandma and Mallas moneybox stands today among many others in a glass case
on Missjons museum in Lyngdal.

THE LEGEND ABOUT INGRIS CRADLE SONG

The "Sel" in Egelandsdalen. 
Oil Painting of Finn Bringsjord

(This is primarily a google translation).

In 1349 was Bringsjord-people affected by "Black Death," an epidemic that took many lives, also in Lyngdal. Bringsjord was at that time divided into two farms; Austigarden ( East Bringsjord) and Vestigarden (West Bringsjord). The farms were among the largest in Southern Norway. Nowadays are Austigarden divided in 11 farms, Vestigarden in 9 farms.

The summer when the plague arrived, the eldest daughter of the wealthy farmer in Austigard, Ingri, given the task of herding cattle in the heath. On Bringsjord Neset grain was harvested, and the corn fields had to be kept shielded from grazing animals until the corn was harvested. Since Lyngdal Sletta is old seabed, as the last Ice Age is filled with several tens of meters thick layer of sand and gravel, there where no stone fence by cornfields, as otherwise arranged in Lista and Jaeren. The solution was therefore that all cattle on Bringsjord were grazing inland moors in summer.

The farmer in Austigard had built a "SEL" (Cabin for people) in Egeland-valley, well half a mile inland moorland. When it was getting towards evening gathering Ingrid animals around on "seteren" mountain farm and milked the cattle that had milk to give. Milk from cows cheek she butter, and the goat and sheep's milk cheese to her cheese.

Once a week, her younger brother up shutters road with packhorse. Usually he had with fresh foods in kløvkontene and returned with seats produced butter and cheese. But sometimes it could be that his father had filled one of the posting (cont = carry basket braided of birch bark) with bone and kjøttslingser from slaughter, intended for Ingris powerful companions; a pair of dogs of a breed which was then called "west manna dog *". Ingri called stud dog for "Westman" and bitch for "Vestinna."

* "Westman Dog" was the forerunner of the breed known today as "Irish wolfhound", the largest dogs.

Life smiled at Ingri. She loved "seats lives" and she loved Bjørn, farmer's son in Vestigarden. Bjorn had with her elder sister - who ran Vestigardens seats inside the Gjedebo - responsible for Vestigardens grazers that summer. He traveled the often miles inland moors with the three bears- dogs, and could be gone for days if they follow large predators. Many a time he was staying under the open sky, and many a time in harness with Ingri.

Ingri and Bjorn had betrothed himself last July, and the wedding was set for the days before Michaelmas (September 29). For a while she thought she was going to speak with the mother to push the wedding date. For already when she went to the seat she had started to become round in the stomach, and by John's Mass (Midsummer) Bjorn know little kicks and lively activity when he gently put her hand over her stomach.

Life smiled at Ingri. She loved "seats lives"  and she loved Bjørn, farmer's son in Vestigarden.

Oil Painting by Finn Bringsjord 

Two weeks before Michaelmas was grain harvested, and farm folks on both farms came and took down the cattle and brought them out on the juicy autumn pastures on Bringsjord Neset. Ingrid was again a few days to churn butter and yste goat cheese and do seterbu ready for winter. But the day his brother would come to fetch her, he did not.

The day after she instructed her Westman to fit seater, while she and Vestinna proceeded to go down the hillside. Once you reach a cliff she saw her father come up shutters road with his packhorse. But he went so strangely slack and passively, indeed almost like to be tow after the horse. When Ingrid happy shouting "Hello Dad", he stopped and wiped the sweat from his face, and shouted back with a breathless, alien voice: "Do not come closer Ingri, - a terrible epidemic is upon us." Then he told about the great disaster that had befallen Bringsjord the last few days, and how her brother and little sister had vainly struggled against the plague.

"Now it's only you who is our hope, Ingri, you and the small carrying the mother's life. Therefore want your feverish mother and I that you are in Egeland valley as long as you can this fall. You will be spared the plague if you avoid dropping some into you on the harness. Your dogs will ensure that rushing people remain at a safe distance ... Can you promise me this? "

"Yes, Dad, I promise to do as you say," said Ingrid with tearful voice, 'but ... have you heard anything from Bjørn? "His father loosened "Kløven" on horseback and hung it across a oak branch. "Yes, I spoke with Bjørn before I left. He asked me to greet and say that he would go to the "taflesteinen» (table to wright messages on) you shared as often as he could. Would he joined me today, but I refused him. Could not take such a risk. " For a moment he read the charge in Ingrid's eyes, then turned away. "God bless you, my child," he said in thick voice, "but now I have to home; Mother and I will take the last journey together. " Trembling, he found a stone marker and climbed up on horseback, whereupon he halfway lying ahead horse mane gave the old faithful Fjording (Small norwegian Horse) free rein on homeward.

Ingri stood as petrified back a long time, so she leaned outward and shouted after him: "You did right, Dad ..." but then he had disappeared down the Olderskogen. (alder wood).
Ingri had most wanted to lie down and end harsh cry, but now there was no time for such things. In the north the sky was deep blue, and she had to salvage the contents of the two horse packages (kløvkontene) befor the storm began. She climbed up on a hill and summoned Westman, so they went down to "kløvkontene".

It was a half-filled sacks of flour in each of "kontene", and in addition some other useful matters wool blanket, "lighter", knife and scissors and thaw leaven. Ingrid distributed flour evenly on each end of the bags and leave them over the shoulders of west manna dogs who thrilled his new roles, would rush back to sel hut. But even if she only bar at the nearly empty kløvkontene, she struggled up the hills and at the end she felt a new and unfamiliar pain in the lower abdomen.

When the items were in place in the hut, she threw herself down on her bench and sobbed and burst into tears. Why had God sent this punishment? That she and Bjorn had broken commandments, there was no doubt, but why would her good parents and siblings had to pay with his life? So vehement and hopeless were tears that Vestinna gently poked its nose into her face and licked her tears. Ingri found comfort in this, sat up, and almost forced herself to begin and think ahead. A small child was on the way, and she would give birth alone far from people. Best to prepare, it could happen anytime.

She stood up, took out the leaven and touched half into a bowl of lukewarm cheek milk. So she filled flour in the trough and mixed leaven into the flour, along with a rosehip salt and a handful of ripe blueberries.
When it burned properly on the hearth, she hung black cauldron over the fire, filled it with water from the stream and let the water boil under the lid for an hour.
Then she pushed the pot aside, distributed embers beyond the hearth, placed an iron trianglefot midt in the coals, and let the old baking pan gently down on foot. Slowly and methodically she kneaded bread dough, patting it into smaller chunks sprinkled some flour beyond baking slab and began to roast small round nan-like bread.

She found comfort in the heat of the embers, the scent of bread, and in the quiet breath from Vestinna. Before she crawled into bed, she poured some of the boiled water into a wash thub, she got "soap" (a mixture boiled in askelut and sheep tallow), and washed thoroughly. She had done what she could, the rest she confidently in the Virgin Mary's hands.
This night was a boy child borne in seterbu in Egeland valley - almost two weeks early. The birth went fast and without complications. Having ascertained that the heart beat and breathing regularly went, she tied woolen thread about umbilical cord and cut it off with the scissors her mother had sent her. Then she lifted the little prince up chest high and gave him warm; skin to skin, heart against heart.

Later in the morning she experienced that tragedy had hit her hard, her body was in shambles; there was nothing wrong with breastfeeding. She had too little milk for the boy who felt peckish and cried a lot. Ingrid became more and more depressed and overwhelmed. She had to raise additional milk for the little child, otherwise he would starve to death. Resolutely she wrapped a wool blanket around the boy and put him down in one of kløvkontene, leave plenty of wood on the hearth, and instructed Vestinna to stay behind and guard the child. Then she unwrapped one of the flour sacks over the backs to Westman and set off towards the top of the oak-covered hillside.
At the top there was a large rather who at the time was called Buhelleren. It was used by experienced local hunters and shepherds when they had to seek shelter from the weather. Ingrid packed the sack of flour into a sheepskin and buried it in the innermost, dry corner. She envisioned that her father would have liked such safeguards: "Do not put all your eggs in the same basket," was one of his many, well-worn admonitions.

The trip went beyond heath few hundred meters until she came to Tjønn mountaintop. On the top was a great move stone from the ice age and marked the north-south divide between the two farms. This "boundary stone" had Ingrid and Bjorn chosen as their private "taflestein" this summer. Under the stone they had hidden a black slate and some soft, white limestones. On "the black table" they wrote the secret greetings and messages to each other. She saw immediately that there was a new message on the blackboard: "Dear Ingri - we will manage this!". Ingri felt one hundred kilograms lighter; Bjørn survived and were in good vigor. She dried well of the blackboard and wrote: "Must have milk for our little son".
Then she sat forward on the edge of the mountaintop and ate picnic bread and goat cheese as she looked beyond the Bringsjord Neset and sea that circled half the horizon. Right under the hill lay Tjønna and flashed - blue and beautiful in the evening sun. She should have known that a few years later would both mountaintop and tjønna bear her name: Ingri Åsen and Ingri Tjønna.

When she returned to Buhelleren, she saw black smoke rising from the harness down in Egeland valley. The grip of the worst premonition ran and she stumbled down the hillside. But she came too late; seterbu was burned down.
A lonely, painful scream echoed through the valley. Then everything went black, the legs would not carry her anymore, and she collapsed on the mountain farm. And while she while she shook the grass, she let sobbing and despair hit Virgin Mary and all the "skyds saints" she remembered names. Where were they when one needed them most?

Finally subsided tears and accusations, and she gradually began to sense that something was not right. Why had not Vestinna come to meet her? Why had she not come and comforted her in tears, as she usually did? Why did she only stand stationary behind a einerbrisk and stared at her with those great, dark brown eyes?
When Ingrid unsteadily got to her feet, she saw that kløvkonten lay there - right in front of the dog; while she heard the sound of whining children crying, one weeping she should have separated out among thousands. The heavens opened ... the little prince was saved.

That evening installed Ingri with son and belongings in Buhelleren. Nightgown and most of the sheets were salvaged, for she had the morning washed in a tub by the creek and hung out to dry there. Black Gryta and triangle foot was obviously intact, and the lighter and knife she always in your pocket when she was on tour. So it was; kløvkonten, woolen blankets, sack of flour, sheepskin and wash tub.
She nursed the little prince as well as she could, before she returned to Buhelleren, and began to clog parts of opening. It was probably done many times before, but it was the stone wall collapsed again. Then she made a small bonfire, put  the triangle foot in place and cooked evening porridge on water and flour. There would be many porridge meal in the cave the next two weeks, and the cave is why later dubbed Graudebuhelleren.

The next morning she was awakened early by dogs, who were restless and wanted her out. And there, a stone's throw from the cave, stood Fagerros tied to a tree. Ingrid remembered that the cow was heavy with calf when she was driftet down to the farm, but she was not now. And the young mother patted excited hands, for this would ensure her child supplement of powerful colostrum for many days to come.

Then she saw Bjørn standing with his bear their dogs at Tjønn Montan and waved. When she waved back, he put his hands like funnel mouths and said questioningly, "Live -, live the little?" And Ingrid happily answered; "Yes, he does so!"
Then slammed Bjørn his hat up in the air and shouted back: "Take off your shoe

and milk the cow, and give the little to drink.

That evening  the little prince went to sleep sated and happy for the comforting stanzas from Ingris craddel song. (vuggevise / barnesull).

Live, live the little?

Yes, he does so!

Take off your shoe

and milk the cow

and give the little to drink.

This blog page is printed in the newspaper Lister 14th March 2015

WHEN GRANDMA GOT "KRUMKAKE" ROLLER (WAFER ROLLER)

(This is primarily a google translation).

Finns "krumkake" roller. Drawing by Find Bringsjord

"Grandma in new house" was born in 1867 and belonged to a time when neither celebrated confirmations or birthdays. The only time she was celebrated was when she married Louis Abrahamsen in 1890. When grandmother in 1952 filled 85 years, I believed it was time to change this.

I knew what she wanted, for she had shown when we were down and tasted her krumkaker (wafer?) last July. The cone-shaped tree she shaped krumkakene around, then so eaten up by marten that it had split into two. Grandma wafer biscuits were the world's best, and now she would get new Krumkake rolls designed by me. She'd probably jump in the rocking chair when she was surprised with the world's finest birthday gift.

I took out the ax that had the name "Finn" nicely engraved in the shaft; the one that I had received from Thorhild and Arthur last July and which I had used for limbing trees last winter when we "guys" were the woodcutting in Kvassekleiva. Then we had to find a nice birchwood plank and pointed it to the chopping block. It went smoothly slash to the conical part of the roller, worse was to have carved out a suit customs shaft in the thick end. Then had to use a saw, and it was heavy to handle.

Coincidentally, my father came past and then made everything out for the best. He was also kind and lent me his sharp knife. The result was a smooth and fine Krumkake roller, albeit slightly shorter than planned; when it was difficult to get into a symmetrical point. The tree got some dark brown spots here and there when it was not inevitable that I cut my finger, but my mother washed away the worst with when I came into the kitchen, put the plaster on the wounded finger and took out nice wrapping from last Christmas.

Fine should be, so grandma gift was wrapped in American Christmas paper and wrapped around a cord of dark blue woolen thread. Then I snuck a detour so that no twin brother Kjell would hang on, down to the "new house" between the old road and the new post road, where I knocked and were admitted.

 With great seriousness I congratulated grandmother with 95th anniversary (10 years for a lot), and with a manly guy, I handed her a gift in today's occasion.
Grandma did not know whether to laugh or cry, but she was touched, so it poured against the latter. But such feelings she could not deleted reference to a boy, so she went into the kitchen and took the coffee pot, which by smell in the house must have stood and cooked on wood stove from early morning, poured a cup of gunpowder strong coffee and poured on some cream she skimmed off the top of a milk bowl. Then she took the coffee cup into the living room, took out a blue bowl of sugar cubes from kråskapet (corner cupboard), sat down in the rocking chair close to the edge of the table and poured coffee from the cup gently down to the cooling in the small under bowl.

Then she lifted in lap her yungest grandson, and we began to loosen the red christmaspaper round gift. "What can now be?" Wondered grandmother. Since I was sitting with my back to her I could not see if she was pleasantly surprised, but she did enough there, she said it was just such Krumkake rolls she had long gone to the desired ones. Then I got a kind of hug and allowed to dip sugar cubes in her bowl coffee.

 Grandma and Me

It was warm and peaceful in the small living room, and hot and well in Grandma caught, so we sat and rocked in the chair her. I think maybe grandmother sat there and dreamed away to his younger days, when everything was good and grandfather Ludvig was home from the sea and she lull their children to sleep at night, for now I heard that she hummed in a rather monotonous and soporific lullaby . As verse was repeated and repeated decreased words into and song took shape. It was as follows:

Live, live the little?

Yes, he does so!

Take off your shoe

and milk the cow

and give the little to drink.

Slowly floundered I got up and took for a new sugar cube. "What are you singing about, Grandma?"

"Oh, it's an old legend about a young farm queen Ingri and the little prince of her," Grandma said.

"Be so kind as and tell me", Grandma," I prayed with thin and beautiful voice. Grandma poured the rest of the coffee in the bowl, sat nestled in the rocking chair, and began to tell: "For many, many years ago there lived a beautiful young girl named Ingri here in Bringsjord ...»

Sequel follows in the next blog: THE LEGEND ABOUT INGRIS CRADLE SONG

This blog page is printed in the
newspaper Lister 14th March 2015

THE STORY OF GRANDMOTHER IN NEW HOUSE

(This is primarily a google translation).

The bark "Gemma" of Arendal

My grandfather, Louis Abrahamsen (f.1860), signet on, 15 years old, the brig "Penda" of Arendal. In 1890 he married Marie Abrahamsen, f. Tobias Daughter, Dragon Land. From then until November 1898 he sailed six tours in home waters (North Sea / Baltic Sea) with the ship "Haakon Haakonsen".
In those years he was at home and work on the farm when the boat more or less firm went wintered.

On the last trip across the North Sea realized grandfather that the boat was about to go up at the seams, and when the company got rid of the ship fall -98, patterned he too off for good. "Haakon Haakonsen" shipwrecked outside Skagen in 1903.

The only memory I have for grandfather, three scorpions sealed in a bottle of spirits.
Since I'm a scorpion, I'm sure it brings happiness.

When grandfather 12th May 1900 signed on bark "Gemma" of Arendal as steward (see photo of S / S Gemma), he sailed perhaps for the first time in his life as a seafarer across the Atlantic to Central America. On returning, they were loaded with timber and last visited Saint-Marc, Haiti. From there they set out against Le Havre, the port city of Paris, but they never got there.

In 1902 the company announced that the boat was wrecked on the return voyage, and the ship assuransesum paid in May that year. In ancient documents referred shipwreck follows: "21 st November 1901 afseilede Skibet from St. Marc decided to Havre. Then there later nothing is heard either to Skib or Mandskap, presumably the bark GEMMA had be shipwrecked during November or December months last year."

On Bringsjord sat grandmother again as a single parent of five small children; the youngest Theodor, just one year old, the oldest Abraham, 11 years. But she did not sit down idly. She became a full-time farmer, with horse and cows.
My father, Thorvald, was six when he said goodbye to his father for the last time, and 31 years when he in 1925 bought the farm - the horse Bjuty (Beauty). two cows and some sheep - from his mother for a sum (KR 14,000, -) which was big enough that my grandmother could build a new house on the headland between the old road and the new post road. We therefore called grandmother for "GRANDMOTHER IN NEW HOUSE".

Finn and Kjell in front of grandmother house

Was there still a hope?

But it is unlikely that the grandmother and the older children still had a little hope that grandfather would come back? The ship was missing, yes, but she could still emerge somewhere else? Was it not enough of stories about ships that were hijacked by pirates in southern waters? Or on vessels where the crew did mutiny and headed toward strangers worlds? Or on ships that had lost masts and sails under stormy weather and then drove to the weather until it stranded on an island and slowly turned to smithereens?

As far as I know, grandma never told  something to us grandchildren that she had gone with such thoughts, but it's still a couple of incidents that indicate that for a time she harbored such hopes. Firstly, the history of the grandfather London coat, secondly, the "Haakon Haakonsen", the particular book she had in the shelf.

Grandfathers London-coat

Grandma had as friend and confidant his "almost" neighbor to the east, "Malla in Norbakken." She hood really Emalia Abrahamsen, f. Olaus Daughter, and was grandfather's sister, and my mother's sister. Grandma and Malla was jointly founded Kinamisjonens Kvinneforening (China Mission Women's Association) in Lyngdal.
Malla and her husband Emanuel Abrahamsen, lived in Norbakken but sometime after the census in 1910 conferred the farm to the eldest son Olaus and moved to Nygård. It allows Emalia for posterity is best known as "Malla in Nygård." Mallas middle son, Abraham, drowned in Navershølen age of 14, and the youngest son, Oskar, later took over the farm Nygård by parents. Malla also had five daughters, one of which, Laura, was married to our "almost" neighbor to the west Leif Bringsjord, who lived beyond Katrina and Jacob. (Jacob and Leif were brothers).

Laura has told, referring to her mother Malla, that my grandfather on his last trip with the ship "Haakon Haakonsen" visited London where he bought a camel colored coat of very good quality.
The coat was so nice that it was rarely used in Lyngdal, and then grandfather a warm spring day in early May in the year 1900 would go to Oslo to patterns as steward on the bark Gemma of Arendal, packed grandmother the London-coat into the sailor coffin together with the rest of the pargaset. But as soon grandfather checked the contents, she was asked to take the coat out of the coffin - then he would use it on the voyage to the capital.

Shortly after grandfather had said goodbye and disappeared with a horsewagon down Døldegrova where the wade went over to Prestneset, discovered grandmother that he had left his coat behind. Immediately she ran down to the river brink, but the wagon already halfway to Prestegården, and far beyond the hearing range.

Despairing run grandmother all the way out to the Node Neset, where she stood and shouted and waved his coat when the horse carriage passed by Oftebro on the way to the ferry in Agnefest.
But no one responded to her shouts and waving, and she sadly had to go home with the coat. Later on she should then have entrusted Malla that she thought it was very strange that no one noticed her.

A few months later she received letter, posted in France, where grandfather told that the boat had a new and unexpected mission and were traveling to the West Indies, but in return for his unexpected long absence, he could comfort her with that wages were almost doubled.

Along with the letter came sneaking suspicion that grandfather already when he signed on knew he was going to sail on the Pacific and that he consequently had traveled from his coat knowingly. In all the years she had refused to make the dangerous voyages to the Caribbean, and with the fifth child in his arm, he had no reason to believe that she had now changed his mind.

The coats fate may indicate that the grandmother's hope of seeing Grandpa again lasted for over 10 years. So long was the coat lying untouched on the coffer. When her elder boy Abraham traveled to America in 1907, only 16 years old, he could had good use for the coat, but he did not get it. Only when her daughter Lydia in 1912 went and read for the priest, the coat was retrieved and made into graduation-gown. Aunt Lydia told often about how proud she was of the precious mantle fabric she had received from her father.
As I understand it, hid grandmother the coat for 11 years. Was it a sign of hope? Or was it just that it looked like that?


Haakon Haakonsen

Grandmother's only secular book

Grandma in the new building did not have many books on his shelf; Bible, one Postill and hymnal. In addition she had stapled books from the mission field in China and old editions of mission magazine "Chinese man", which in 1937 was called "Perspective"(Utsyn).

At grandmother's shelf was also a profane book that stood out completely. The original title was "Haakon Haakonsen - a Norwegian Robinson," and was a YA novel from 1873 written by the Norwegian author Oluf Vilhelm Falck Ytter. The book's content is inspired by "Robinson Crusoe" and "Treasure Island." The novel also describes how life on the Norwegian sailing ships were in Norway heyday as a maritime nation. (Note coincidently with the name of the book and the name of the ship that grandfather sailed in 9 of the 11 years the marriage lasted).

During a storm the wreck problems and lost, and the captain and the rest of the crew leave the ship without your first stay with the boy. Earl wakes up on a deserted island where he for a time discovering a little of everything, including, he finds a big pirate treasure. After many years, he rescued and return to mother and father and siblings in Norway as a well-kept man.

It was only with difficulty we guys got borrow this book by Grandma. But when we promised to be extra cautious, and keep your hands clean for jam, we take it home. Her copy was a new release in 1926, and one outstanding boy book. The book was filmed in 1990 under the direction of Nils Gaup.

The bark "Haakon Haakonsen"  who grandfather sailed in 9 years

Grandma must have purchased or received this book around the time that she sold the farm to my father and moved into "new building". All the children then had long since left home and who would provide a boy book as a gift to a sixty year old lady? We can only wonder if she knew about this book from her younger years and now looked able to buy her own copy. If so, it was enough with a little guilty. The price was Kr. 3.50 and it was money that could have come in handy on the mission field in China.

Grandmothers dream

Grandma must have reacted with shock and disbelief when she saw grandfather letter from France. She refused to believe what she had read; and without a word to the children, she opened the hatch on the wood stove and threw it into the fire.

But the letter was not the worst message, it came with the bad dream that she many years later recounted to my sister Marie. One night early in Advent 1901, she dreamed so vividly that her Ludvig lay struggling for life in troubled waters. "God - Help me!", He should have called in despair as he basket between debris, more under than over water. He salvaged up on something floating, got grandma never see. For she woke up from "nightmare" and spent the rest of the night on her knees at the bedside.

And many weeks later, when Pastor Ole Lindeman Dons, eventually came with the final death message from the shipping company had discouragement tears dried out in the numerous, long, winter nights. So how should she cry? And how should she mourn her dead husband? She had no grave to visit.

Grandma had no grave to visit.

Death in Navershølen

As mentioned had Malla in Norbakken a son, Abraham, who in 1902 drowned in Navershølen as a young man, only 14 years old. In earlier times meant "nave" drilling (Navar; braces). The name has been given because the Water flow drill body toward the bottom.

It must have made a tremendous impression on Grandma when men on a spring day came carrying the drowned 14-year-old from Navershølen. Four men carried him on a ladder up Kjeringdølda and home to Norbakken. It is perhaps not surprising that the vision burned into, for it was only a few days after the minister had delivered his message that grandfather's boat was "gaaet under" off the island of Tahiti.

That evening went grandmother across the fields to Norbakken, where she together with Malla finally got weep long and bitterly over rivers and seas who stole from them what they loved. Grandma Never since set a foot on a boat.

Lifetime considered grandmother Navershølen as death vise, a place where the flow - without warning - could nave a man down on the bottom and keep it there in the cool embrace. This she had finally confirmed when a German soldier - who after completing training at the football Germans filed on Presteneset  - waded over to take a bath in Navershølen. He was dragged under and drowned.

Navershølen in front of the red arrow, is here seen from Presteneset.
We catch glimpses of my parents' yellow retirement home among the trees.

On hot summer days, when there was little water in the river, and the salmon was caught in Priest Hølen, it was after father's opinion, not more dangerous to swim in Navershølen like everywhere else in the river. We have all learned to swim there and we twins loved to dive from the rocks on the shore.
But as soon as the grandmother saw that young herd went to the river to bathe, she turmoil and came by in his white / gray / black all cladding; sidt black skirt with embroidered white apron, and greyish black knit shawl around her shoulders.

She sat down on the brink above the pool and came with her warnings about the danger that both threatened and lured down into the depths.

Although she was raised on Dragon Land (Drageland), and in its basin where there was on an ordinary summer's not possible to come by deep water. Where one could neither drown or swim. After grandmother's opinion, the ideal swimming spot for wanton youth.

Grandmother's house today. It is no longer owned by the family.

ONE OF THE LAST TOILERS

It was only in her very last years of life grandmother got running water in the "new house.". For 25 years she carried water from the well down by the river, or - in the winter - from our farm. She used then this yoke and bar water in two open cans. Well was it to have a thick crochet shawls over her shoulders. Aunt Lydia came home from America and axle yoke for her the last years of life.

Grandmother's worn yoke

Grandmother was one of the last toilers. It also testifies her hands on. There is a farmer's hands, accustomed to masters horse and plow and work in the woods. She was widowed in 1901 and ran the farm until 1925 when my father came home from America and took over and she moved into "new house.".

Grandma and Me - and her working hands