Norwegian America

I count myself lucky to know quite a lot about my heritage, with three American-born Norwegian grandparents, and one grandparent an immigrant from Denmark. One of my Norwegian great grandparents took the name Kronlokken (the name of the farm he lived on, belonging to the Crown) to distinguish himself from all the other Pedersons nearby. I am often asked if it is a Finnish name, but no, pure Norwegian.

Norwegian Americans were among the first ethnic groups to preserve their pioneer history by beginning to collect the artifacts related to their journey soon after Norwegian immigration peaked in the 1870’s. Many of these are now preserved in a wonderful museum, Vesterheim Norwegian-American Museum [http://vesterheim.org/index.php] located in the northeast corner of Iowa, at Decorah. “When Norwegian immigrants wrote back to Norway about Vesterheim, their western home, they spoke for countless others from many cultures who helped build a nation in the New World,” according to the museum website.

Norsvin Mill

Among the items available for viewing (during the summer months) is a group of twelve historic buildings. During the mid-1960’s, three of these buildings were located on a grassy, wooded hillside just behind the dorms at Luther College. Two of the small cabins had been a school and a home. They were locked and we could only look through the windows. But one was a mill, with huge millstones which had been brought from Norway. During summer school, the mill was my favorite place to bring books and notebooks and read and write, hidden on a bench just inside the door opening. When it rained, I remember sitting inside, dry and happy, listening to the mild summer rain drumming on the roof. (I don’t think it had grass on it at the time.)

Phyllis and her Sweater

I haven’t been able to visit Vesterheim in a long time, however a friend had a delightful experience of it recently. Phyllis, who is not Norwegian but lives in St. Paul, wanted a genuine Norwegian sweater. She joined the museum and was totally surprised when, in the middle of December last year, a cookie elf visited her! Phyllis wrote, “Turns out they had a cookie raffle last week and I won. A wonderful sweet woman and her sister made me dozens of Norwegian cookies (they are so good -- no nuts or chocolate or anything except butter and sugar) and they drove all the way up and hand delivered them. So sweet.” The cookies were a memorable part of Christmas for Phyllis and her housemates.

When Marya, from Cleckheaton, England, read The Pastor’s Kids this year, she told me she wished a map of the places it describes had accompanied the book. Over tea and biscuits, she suggested that I emphasize the sociology of this interesting time and place, the Eisenhower years as experienced by third and fourth generation Norwegian Americans in the Midwest. My sister and I looked at each other. We knew there was quite enough ethnography in the book already! But it did remind me that, though most European immigrants in the U.S. get lumped together, they have many different cultural backgrounds.