Yes, I have time traveled - here a farm of my Swedish ancestors.
My brother Greg just sent me a February 20, 2010
Wall Street Journal article: Finding Our Way Home. It tells us that returning to childhood homes can often be disappointing. You can't go back, but how about a little time travel? I admit that my desire to move to my paternal Grandmothers hometown in Red Wing, Minnesota includes a bit of nostalgia.
Childhood memories of fresh cinnamon bread, Memorial Day parades and sitting on the porch, bathed and in our pajamas on balmy summer evenings are still part of my romantic notion of the way life should be. As a teenager I would take the train from Minneapolis on my own and walk down East Avenue to visit Grandma B. Those visits lead me a sense of independence and adventure that I still enjoy. Grandma showed me how to bake, knit, crochet and shared stories of the her childhood in the bluffs of Wabasha. Her home was simple but immaculate, and her closets of crocheted and embroidered linens and the shelf of teacups very felt elegant to me.
The Journal article says that knocking on the door is a line that few people cross. Well I did. About twenty years after my Grandma died, I knocked on her (old) door and the owners very graciously let me tour their home. It had been updated, but the space and even smells sent me to that wonderful place of childhood and back to my Grandmother.
About that same time, a high school friend called me to say she had bought my childhood home in Minneapolis. I visited her and had a similar experience. I was delighted that my darkroom was still being used - as a darkroom! The karma of childhood was there in my bedroom, the sunporch, the living room.
I asked a third time and toured the original home of my Swedish relative Adolph Berling near Stockholm Wisconsin. The rounded window stucco farmhouse had been "updated" with shag carpeting and design flaws of the twentieth century - but the windows, the light, the original wainscoting made it easy to imagine the Berglings in 1868. I wish I had been bold enough say "If you ever want to sell..." I didn't and a few years later I drove by to find that charming little farmhouse had been replaced by a prefabricated home. Tragedy.
A few years later, I traveled to Sweden to look for Adolph's and other relatives homes. Pure coincidence lead me to an eighth cousin walking a dirt road. In another town, my curiosity lead me to be invited into the original farm house that Kerstin Persdotter left to come to this country.
When in Halifax Nova Scotia, I encouraged my husband to find his Grandmothers house. He was hesitant because he was afraid it "would be a slum." We were delighted to find the apartment had been restored and converted to a condominium.
Call me nostolgic and sentimental, I don't care. I like time traveling. I for one will keep going home.
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