Sweden

On a farm in southeastern Sweden, in the area called Almeboda in the Kronoberg region of Sweden, a nephew of my maternal grandfather, owns the house where, in 1864, my grandfather was born and, lived, until the age of 12.
In 1991, as a side trip from our Friendship Force visit to Holland, Ramona and I hopped a train to Copenhagen, where the trains engines moved our passenger cars onto a tracked fairy boat that, further, brought us to Malmo, Sweden.

As we stepped off the train in Malmo, my mind was racing with anticipation. My cousin Sten, who I had only met once before, was there to meet us. He had arranged for us to visit the birthplace of my maternal grandfather. Sten, a year beforehand had visited our home state of Minnesota on business and did the research necessary to find relatives that had migrated to the United States in the 19th century. My mother, who lived in Minneapolis at the time, was the relative he discovered. My mother was a shy woman, she didn't know what to do with this person she never heard of before so she put him in touch with my brother and me.
During our short visit together I informed Sten that I had a trip planned to Holland the following year. He said that, if we would come to Sweden as well, he would bring us to the area my Grandfather was born and introduce us to the families of my mothers relatives.

When we arrived in Malmo, Sten picked us up and drove us a short way to his family home where we met his wife and daughter. Later that day we traveled to a hotel where Sten arranged to have us stay for the night. The next morning we were picked up and traveled approximately 200 miles to the home of my mothers cousin. The home was near the area where my grandfather was born and the house he later lived in until the age of twelve.

As we drove through the picturesque countryside, Sten entertained us with stories of our ancestors and their lives on the farm.

When we arrived at the farm, I was immediately struck by the beauty of the land. The wooden house, dating back to 1864, stood tall and proud amidst the rolling hills and lush greenery. Inside, we were greeted by a warm and welcoming family, who treated us to a delicious dinner of elk and shared their own stories of our ancestors.
I couldn't help but feel a sense of connection to this place and these people, despite the fact that I had never met them before.

I was amazed by how much these people looked like my relatives back in the United States. What struck me most was how much Aunt Lilly looked like my mother. Despite the language barrier, we were able to connect and I felt a sense of belonging in this place. After a period of nodding, smiling and broken English, we visited other sights where relatives lived (or once lived).

We visited the family Church where many of my ancestors worshipped and were buried. I was particularly taken by the beautiful pipe organ that got its air supplied by two people pumping foot peddles. Adjacent to the Church was the grave yard. There we found numerous head stones with names of ancestors I had not previously known about.

That evening we were brought back to Malmo where we spent the night. As we said our goodbyes and headed back to Malmo, I couldn't help but feel grateful for the opportunity to connect with my heritage and family in such a meaningful way.

The next morning we returned to Holland to complete our stay with the Friendship Force group.