On the other side of the lake 3

Then, it was five o’clock, and mom was like, “WE HAVE A HALF HOUR.” Underneath her words, she was like, I’m doing this because you want to, but we aren’t going to find anything because when I look I don’t find anything unless I spend a minimum or three day on it.

So, after convincing the Liberian that we knew what we were doing with microfiche, even though SHE didn’t… she left us in the room, looking dubiously at the crazy Americans.

We were methodical in our search. Mom got the first microfiche, I chose one at random. We knew his name Anders Erik, and we knew his birthdate, and there was 80 pages per slide. We knew the father’s name was Erik, because Anders Erik’s last name was Eriksson, and in Sweden at that time, patronymics(sp?) was in practice. And we were off.

Mom found the first reference, two microfiche later. But we couldn’t read everything on that one, but we got the Parish name and the Farm name from the entry, and the first letters of his parents.

Then, I just happened to have the next time bracket’s household surveys, and was looking at that farm when my mom came across her reference. Some searching with Grandma Edna looking over my shoulder, and WE FOUND HIM AGAIN… now with more brothers and sisters listed and the parent’s names clearer. We now knew that Erik Andersson and Majsa Svensdotter (sp?) were the parents of Anders Erik Eriksson, who had three brothers. We have enough information to continue our search, after being STUCK for several years. *Does victory dance*

Well, during all that searching we found out the library didn’t close until seven, so at six fifteen we left the library, and started our mad dash back to the Vargön, where the hotel was. Our reservation was at eight.

But I really really wanted to stop at some standing stones we had seen on our way to Visnums-Kil, so we stopped, took some quick pictures, and made it back to the hotel for twenty minutes until our reservation. Success! We had just enough time to change into some nice clothes and then we went to have our dinner. It was a five course meal… and really really yummy. The first course was Tomato Themed. There was a Tomato Salad, Tomato Sherbet and Tomato Soup. Normally I don’t like tomato soup, but this was quite good. The next course was a fish type thing in a dressing on a toast. It was… all right. Not as good as the soup. Then, there was a palette cleanser made of a type of icy serbet… but not quite. It was called “Orange Duet” (I liked the musical names the cook gave the different foods). We found out later from the chef it was shaved orange juice ice and shaved blood orange juice ice… specially prepared so that it wasn’t too sugary and didn’t freeze right.

The next thing was the main dish. It was duck, served over a Parmesan cheese, carrots, cabbage, risotto and yellow beets mix. *licks lips* It was the first time I’d had duck and liked it. It was really really really really really good. Very natural and just… tender and sweet and the contrast between the sweet duck and whatever it was glazed in (some type of fruity gaze), and the cheese… IT WAS GREAT.

(just conferred with my mom… found out the fish I ate was raw. Not bad for undercooked, I mean, uncooked meat)

Last, we had the ‘chocolate trio.’ There was a truffle infused with whiskey, and quite good- smooth and nice, and you couldn’t taste the whiskey at all. There was a chocolate mousse and a chocolate bar with nuts in it. The chocolate mousse had a white chocolate foam over it, and the bubbles were preserved by a protein. We found this out later when my mother got into a long discussion with the cook, who was also the owner of the restaurant. It’s funny, sometimes I forget how smart my mother is until she does something like this, and I’m reminded that in her own way, she’s just as valuable and educated as a doctor is.

By far my favorite part of the meal though was my grandmother’s antics. I’m fortunate that my grandmothers both get along quite well, and are really good friends. Actually, they give new meaning to the phrase “thick as thieves.” Well, at this formal restaurant, much to my mother’s mortification (well, not really, but she pretended like she was embarrassed) my grandmothers got into a giggle fit. It was great.

On the other side of the lake 2

From Visnums-Kil, we decided to go to Trosö, because there was a really cool bridge there, and also a café my mother remembered and liked. The café was closed, but the bridge was beautiful, and there was a neat standing stone marking the bridge. The stone was much older than the bridge, but still both were cool.
At Trosö we went to Trosö Kyrka, where we knew that Hanna’s father, Anders Erik Eriksson was born. The problem was, we didn’t know his parents, because we couldn’t read the first Parish Register we obtained online of his birth. We were hoping to find a gravestone or some type of… something to help us get his parents names and/or find out where he worked before he got married and moved. Aka… the farm he worked on, or something like that.

While Mom and the Grandma’s were wandering the farm, I decided to go in the other direction because I was cold and the sun was shining on that side of the church. There I met a very nice Swedish woman who only spoke Swedish, and the gardener. In my broken Swedish I tried to tell them who we were looking for, and what we were doing there. Meanwhile, Mom and co. were off wandering around. Finally, they made it to me, and the gardener (who had been listening and silent) showed that he could speak a little English, and offered to let us in the church so we could look at it. We accepted gratefully. (I have pictures of all the different churches… postcards too)

Well, on the way out we encountered a daughter and her mother who were going to visit graves, and they gave us some helpful information. If we went to Mariestad Biblotek (Library) there were records of the parish books. They told us we might be able to look at the microfiche if we got there before six. It was then around three, and we had eaten breakfast at seven-thrity and a measly half cup of icecream at eleven. We were all DYING of hunger, and quite dizzy when we stepped out of the car in Mariestad. So we FINALLY got something to eat… but not TOO much, because we were having dinner at a nice restaurant at eight. There was a really really good raspberry crumb tort… it reminded me of the topping you put on apple crisp. They served the raspberry crumb tort warmed with vanilla sauce… it was similar to a vanilla pudding or custard, but like all Swedish candy, it wasn’t very sweet. It was yummy though.

On the other side of the lake

Today we went to the other side of the lake, where relatives from the other side of my Grandmother’s family lived. Hanah Maria Eriksson, Grandma’s mother’s mother. She was the one that emigrated to Proctor, Vermont with her three children. And a year after (14 months) after she arrived, she died. She was buried in Proctor, Vermont, in the cemetery by the house I first lived in when I was born. (How creepy is that... the house was built on the site of the hospital, and when we moved to the area before I was born, my parents had no CLUE that she even came to that town. Mom didn’t start doing Genealogy for our Swedish family until later) Creepy creepy creepy.

So we went to Visnums-Kil Kyrka (church), which was the place my mother re-established three gravestones the last time she was here in Sweden, 2002. The graves where Hanah’s Mother and Father and Brother. (Emma Christina Carlsdotter; Anders Erik Eriksson; Otto Eriksson) It’s sad because when Otto, the baby of the family, went to America to go see his sister’s grave, and on the way back got sick and died, leaving his young family behind. Visnums-Kil was quite neat… They had some 13th and 14th century artifacts there that we could look at and read about, which was quite neat.

From there it was just a short drive past the new school and the old school (about a mile) to the Homestead Museum. We went to the Homestead, where we suspected that there was some information or buildings about Hanna’s mother, Emma. Emma stayed behind in Sweden even when all her family had emigrated to America, staying… somewhere. We suspect the house on the Homestead property, which was converted into a home for the old people, is where Emma spent her last days growing old. The couple there was very nice. We also got to see a bakery that had been moved from Kilsby Farm, where we know the family worked. On that farm, in Kilsby, is where Hanna was born in 1869.

After that we went to the Old Schoolhouse, where we know that all the children from Kilsby farm went to school. We know that Emma and her daughter Hannah both went to the school. The school was built in 1840.

From the schoolhouse we drove out to Kilsby and drove through the farm. There were a lot of little houses, all in various states of disrepair, but the timber was still there, so we could get an impression of what the farm had been like, if we could imagine away the forest.

On the way out of Visnums-Kil we stopped and took photos of someone who was raising (instead of cattle, goats or sheep)… deer. Or if not deer, then some type of reindeer. They had big racks (antlers) and were quite beautiful. I took pictures. Then we grabbed some icecream to hold us over because we were starving, but wanted to keep going. Besides, the food at the rest stop was rather… sketchy. My mother used the word… questionable. (generational differences in semantics)