One of many treasured memories from last year’s trip to Scandinavia was an overnight visit to Sogndalstrand.

A Norwegian newspaper article from 1987 told of a house built there by my 3rd great-grandfather Tønnes Christiansen. It is still standing. Across the street from Tønnes’ house is the lovely Sogndalstrand Kulturhotell which consists of eleven houses in the Norwegian coastal town of Sokndal.

We stayed in one of the houses overlooking a small river that spills into the North Sea just steps away. The town is so picturesque it is a vacation spot for travelers from around the world. I can see why Tønnes may have loved living here.

When I made our reservation, I mentioned my relationship to Tønnes and my desire to see the house he built. I was delighted to learn that one of the owners is related to a local historian, and thrilled when we had the opportunity to chat with Jan over breakfast during our stay.

Jan brought a bygdebok for the area and quickly found the page matching a photocopy I’d brought. After we talked about Tønnes and his family, Jan regaled us with stories about Sogndalstrand past and present. He asked if we’d be interested in buying a bygdebok ~ my husband and I quickly answered YES!

Jan gave us directions to a local resale shop (I’m not making this up) where we found (among the plastic bowls and bottle brushes) shelves filled with beautiful new bygdebøker. Thankfully Jan told us which volumes I needed. For a mere $25 each, I became the proud owner of Norwegian farm books mentioning my ancestors. Oh my gosh, they were so heavy (!) when we had to carry them through train stations and airports afterwards, however the thought of having my own copies made every muscle ache worthwhile.

But, I digress.

When Jan read the article about the house that Tønnes built, he asked if I knew about Tønnes’ shop. I did not. So we left the restaurant and walked down the street to see the place where my great-great-great grandfather made his living as a merchant in Sogndalstrand. Can you imagine?

Afterward I walked down to the river behind Tønnes’ house. This is the place where he slipped into the water at age 71 and drown in 1886. I felt such reverence while I stood listening to the sounds of the water and the birds.