Bente’s Bash

Where I live in America, there really is no silver lining to a downpour; the rain magnifies some of the already unpleasant features of living in a heavily populated city. The labyrinthian roads of Washington, D.C. become that much more treacherous to navigate, and while I do not possess a car myself, my occasional reliance on ridesharing apps turns prohibitively expensive. Struggling, older building foundations are forced to reckon with even more sitting moisture. Litter that has been discarded by the careless masses turns to sopping crud. Rain is necessary, of course–ask residents of California–but it can be difficult to appreciate when none of the benefits are immediately tangible to you.

In Sogndal, heavy rain is a nearly equally unwelcome nuisance, and, as the city is in no danger of a precipitation shortage, it can be similarly onerous to look at the bright side of nasty weather. But there is perhaps one unique perk in this town to a multi-day, never-ending stream of showers: the waterfall in the middle of Sogndal, the foss that lends us our name, becomes an empowered force, a terrifyingly mighty–and equally beautiful–natural wonder. In accordance with our opportunistic bent on this trip to Norway, we started our journey outward with a visit to behold the sight. My dad has been to Norway eight times; seven of them have included, if not entirely consisted of, a visit to Sogndal. He stated unequivocally that he had never seen the foss reach these heights, or even close to them. In America, we say when life gives you lemons, you must make lemonade. I suppose in Sogndal, when life gives you water, you must go see the waterfall.

Our first meeting with relatives came in the early afternoon at Erik and Kari’s house. It has become clear that Erik is the corresponding ancestry enthusiast on the Norwegian side of the Foss family to my father on the American side. Both have safeguarded an exhaustive stockpile of primary documents chronicling the past, present and future of our family, from basic renderings of our expansive family tree (though I hesitate to call them basic, as I know many hours of research are required to construct anything resembling the complete picture) to the obscurest of correspondences between family members. While it is rare for even the most astute Foss family historian to stump my father on any minutiae, Erik has proven his match on many occasions, frequently unveiling new and captivating information to add to the growing encyclopedia. Today’s perusal of photo albums dating back to the early 1900s, as well as letters and other documents, was enough to pique my personal sleuthing skills, but did not reveal any groundbreaking information to our resident know-it-all; however, Papa’s curiosity was notably whetted by the revelation of several letters in Erik’s possession originating from Erik Foss, my great-great-grandfather. He will undoubtedly join Erik to embark on a probe of these letters before our departure from Sogndal.

The feature of the day, however, was a birthday party hosted at Bente and Arild’s house, also my first opportunity to meet them. Bente is Erik’s eldest daughter and therefore heir to the Foss homestead. We were joined by their daughter, Renate; her husband, Kristoffer; Bente’s two other daughters, Marita and Katrine; their partners, Kenneth and Øyvind; familiar faces Trude, Bjørn, Kasper, and Therese; family elders, Erik and Kari; and several children of the aforementioned whose names I did not all catch. Needless to say, it was a full house, made fuller still by a delicious spread of home-cooked treats and lively conversation.

I greatly enjoyed the opportunity to meet birthday girl Bente and her family. She is a matriarch in the best sense of the word: clearly respected and beloved by the rest of her family, warm and comforting in her tête-à-tête with each guest. “I don’t speak English,” she declared early in the festivities, a line humorously–and falsely–discrediting her perfectly adequate grasp of the language. She possessed the rare skill of making you feel like the only person in a room when you are surrounded by many. Her nurturing demeanor left no room for surprise at the revelation that she works as a kindergarten teacher.

An unexpected benefit resulting from this trip has been an entry into uncharted territory for me. At home in the United States, I have a very unusually small family; I can count on one hand the number of relatives with whom I remain in close contact. This trip to Norway has, quite literally, increased my pool of relatives manyfold. I have so enjoyed meeting so many of them, and I hope to also maintain contact, aided of course by the ease of transatlantic communication ushered in by social media and other forms of electronic connection. I hope that I have been able to express this eagerness in person, but, in the event that I have failed, it is officially registered herein. If you are a relative reading this post, I do hope we can stay in touch after this trip has come to a close.

While our plans for the upcoming days stand at least partially at the mercy of the weather, we look forward to the provisional plot to begin some of the apple harvest in the Foss orchards in the immediate future, and our back pockets hold ideas at the ready in the event of unexpected sunshine. Until next time, ha det!