It has become a recurring theme on these trips to Norway to have days that feel like they began four days ago–a sentiment only increased, I suspect, by having started the day in a different city. When my dad and I boarded flight Widerøe en-fire-ni in Oslo headed to Sogndal this morning, I think we anticipated having a relatively full day when we arrived, but, as has been the established case in this town, things rarely go according to plan–and that’s not necessarily a bad thing.
After engaging in a rather one-sided war of words with the automated rental car kiosk, we headed towards Sogndal with a relatively scant itinerary for the day. Our first stop brought us to the home of Lars Hustveit, a man with whom my father has corresponded for many years on subjects related to their shared family history but had previously never met face-to-face. There, we were greeted with the universal expression of Norwegian hospitality, one to which we’ve grown accustomed and that I must admit never gets old. If we predicated every meeting among friends in the United States upon the holy trinity of cheese, crackers, and coffee, I daresay we would be better for it.
Lars, in addition to sharing my dad’s passion for family history and advocating for the preservation of historical documents for the benefit of future generations, is also a dedicated beekeeper (or, as he explained would be the more proper Norwegian term, a bee director–in acknowledgment that the entire affair requires participation from both sides.) This multi-talented approach to life, especially one that pays tribute to nature and the environment surrounding you, is one I’ve found to be popular with Norwegians I have met here. I’ve grown to deeply admire it and often find myself wondering how I can better replicate it in my own life.
Next stop: the foss. For those unfamiliar, my surname is the Norwegian word for “waterfall,” and the reason can be found right here in the center of Sogndal. The fall–our fall–runs right next to the plot of land that hosts the Foss ancestral home, which was recently rebuilt and renovated to a more modern look by current stewards Bente and Arild. Norwegian surnames are often taken from geographic features nearby (Foss for waterfall, Berg for mountain, and Dahl or Dal for valley, to name a few). I can’t overstate how powerful it feels to look upon a force of nature and recognize that it inspired something as personal as your name.
But the foss brought with it other magic, as well. As I walked back to our vehicle following a brief photo op, I spied a man who looked an awful lot like an old friend from our last visit here, and his prolonged gaze back at me confirmed that we had indeed stumbled upon Arnor Foss. Arnor is Geir’s father, one of the six brothers who belong to my father’s counterpart generation here on the Norwegian side, and one of my absolute favorite people to spend time with in Sogndal. Last visit, Arnor took us on a dazzling ten-hour drive through some of the finest scenery I have ever witnessed in my life along Sognefjellet. His wife, Kari, despite knowing almost no English, is one of the most delightful people to spend time with (not that knowledge of English has anything to do with one’s pleasantness, but it’s a rare gift to be so kind with so few words). Their granddaughter, Silje-Marie, joined us in conversation (and handled the role of translator with aplomb). It was a treat to spend another afternoon with all of them, and I know it won’t be the last.
Our evening concluded with our consummate hosts, Marit and Geir, who not only represent two of our most cherished relationships in all of Sogndal, but also are owners of one of the finest living room window views you could ever imagine. Their vista of the majesty of Sogndal is unmatched, nearly demanding your attention for its breathtaking beauty. It’s a scene that leaves a smile on my face and a fullness in my soul, even after all the times I’ve witnessed it. What a joy it is to be back. What fortune I have to be here.
Where the Waterfalls Mean Home 