A Norwegian Trunk: An Immigration Story
I come from a line of incredibly strong women. On my mom's side, we trace the story back 150 years ago when Brita boarded a ship for America. It's a story of leaving and a story of welcoming. It's a story for Mother's Day because haven't we all known the goodbye and hello of our story? The loosening of apron strings. The one less plate around a table. And the one more. This is a story of 33 less plates.
And 33 more.
This goodbye and hello happened across an ocean, when 150 years ago, my mom's family came to America. I wrote this piece last year, but when I went to rewrite it for this 150th anniversary, I decided it already said what I wanted to be said.
The year was 1866.
My great-great-great grandmother, Brita Gjertsdatter, packed her belongings in a trunk and boarded the Victor Emanuel for America.Brita did not travel alone.She left home with thirty-two other family members, twenty-four of whom were children:
Gjert Jorgenson Landa and wife Christine Asbjornsdatter Landa and their five children, the oldest was eleven and the youngest was two.
Brynhilda Jorgensdatter Landa and her husband Lars Saboe Thomson with their five children, the oldest was eight and the youngest was 3 months.
Anna Jorgensdatter Landa and her husband, Haldor Baardson with their six children, the oldest was eleven and the youngest was 3 months.
Amund Asbjornson Landa and his wife Brita Hetlesdatter Landa with their eight children, the oldest was thirteen and the youngest was 3 months.
The Landa Farm on Halsnoy Island taken from my trip there in 2005.
Recommended Packing List for a 10 week journey from the Norsk Utvandrermuseum (The Norwegian Emigrant Museum)
Norway Trunk at Mom's
Norwegian trunk at my brother’s home
That's right. Twenty-four children, ages thirteen and under, including three babies born that January.
The families spent months preparing. All winter long the women spun wool into yarn and knit socks, mittens, sweaters and bedcovers called okla. They wove blankets, made shirts and other garments. As spring drew near, they began to bake everything that could keep as a dry food.
The men made containers for food and clothes. Heavy chests were made for clothing and lighter ones for food containers. At one end of a large chest each family had a special compartment built near the top. It contained family treasures, perhaps jewelry, scarves, small books and an atest. The atest was a very concise family record presented as a passport and also as a letter to any church they wished to join in America, showing baptism, marriage and confirmation dates.
On May 7, 1866 they began the six week crossing.
Brita, the matriarch, age 66, never intended to leave Norway, but after the death of her husband and son -- fishermen who drowned at sea-- she decided to join her remaining children and grandchildren on a venture to a new world.
All went fine until Pentecost Sunday, May 19th, when the 103 passengers were awakened by a sudden and terrifying storm, so intense neither the captain nor the crew believed the small vessel would survive. Family history records the Landa families were a praying people and their prayers reached the Throne of Grace and all were safe.
The ship arrived in Montreal on June 8, traveled through the Canal Zone and docked at the frontier city of Chicago. The captain chose to accompany the families through the city until they boarded the train, where he bade them a fond farewell.
Two weeks after passing through Montreal, the families arrived in Nevada, Iowa a day ahead of schedule, so nobody was there to meet them. The first night as newcomers to America was spent in a basement of an unfinished hotel. The Landa families often spoke of the kindness of the man who provided them with lodging and of the farmer who presented them with a full bucket of fresh milk, a special treat after the six-week crossing.
The next day relatives arrived with three heavy farm wagons to take them across the prairie to their brother, Gjert's cabin (he had immigrated earlier) in Polk City, Iowa. They were thankful to God for their safe arrival. They were thankful they were well and strong.
The mothers were thankful that after six weeks they could finally do laundry. The women made their way to a small brook on the farm to wash out some clothes. (What DID they do for diapers on a the six-week journey!!?)
Through the years the generations spread out across the Midwest.
Fast forward to South Dakota in 1997 to the estate sale of Brita's great-grandson, Walter Kloster (my grandmother's brother). My mom returned home with one of the Norwegian trunks.The small trunk, which Mom protected with a lace tablecloth, was placed in the living room between two chairs. Mom placed a Norwegian Bible on top of the trunk and other Norwegian books.
Fast forward to 2014. My siblings and I were closing our parents' home. My brother chose the trunk from Norway. He boxed it up and packed it in a trailer headed to my house.
In July of 2015, Katelyn and I made the drive from Arizona to Sacramento with the Norwegian trunk. It now resides at its new home on the hearth of my brother's fireplace.
Norway to Illinois to Iowa to South Dakota to Minnesota to Arizona to California via ship, train, farm wagon and car.
The Norwegian trunk would have a few stories to tell.
Perhaps the most important story would be of a land that welcomed thirty-three family members from three generations whose entire life possessions fit on three farm wagons. They had been poor, but comfortable, in Norway. They realized when they landed that they had never been as poor as they were at that moment. Yet, the men and women were willing to work for a new start in a new country.
Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free;
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore,
Send these, the homeless,
Tempest-tossed to me
I lift my lamp beside the golden door! - Inscription on the Statue of Liberty
Some stories need to be remembered. Stories of prayer. Of families. Of kindness. Of new starts. Of welcoming arms.
Some stories need to be shared. In living rooms. On social media. In public forums. In political arenas.
It is vital that some stories not be forgotten.
I was a stranger and you took me in. - Jesus
Thanks to Bertha Barnes Peterson who recorded the History of the Lande Clan in 1932. Landa was changed to Lande when the families arrived in America.