Forsa Sightseeing

Forsa is Tom's ancestral homeland. Today we did our best to see it all. After, of course, the obligatory stops at the library, the bank, the insurance company, and the public restrooms. We also made it to the train station, but that involves a long story I don't have time to tell.

Shortly after 13:30 we arrived at Gerd and Gunborg's picturesque home a short drive outside of Hudsiksvall. Gerd was wearing white capri pants and a great linen blouse with princess sleeves in Ingrid teal. The blouse set off her eyes and made her seem even happier to see Tom. Gunborg, recovering from pneumonia, introduced herself and surprised us all by announcing that she would join us for the first stop on our tour.

We were off to Trogstasätter'n. If I recall correctly, Gerd's mother was born there and her cousin, Tonya (who is also Tom's cousin), now owns the house and will move there permanently when she retires, hopefully next year. In the meantime, she and her husband spend the vacations working on restoring the buildings, which Tom thinks are about 300 years old, but no one is exactly sure about. From the looks of things, the are doing an excellent job restoring things.

The property sits next to the lake and out the back windows you can see it through the trees. From the yard between the barn and the house, you look out across beautiful green fields, with Forsa Tre, the lumber yard, off to the left. It was here that we sat for coffee and cakes. Tom's belated birthday party. Much pleasant conversation later, Gerd mentioned to Tonya that she had promised Tom a look inside the house and in we went. I took a lot of pictures, so I think you'll have to wait for those to see the treasures we found within. We also squeezed in a call to Gerd's son Joakim; we all hope that he and Tom will find a way to work in a visit while Tom's in Sweden. They are both busy men this summer.

From Trogstasätter'n we went to the Forsa church leaving Gunborg to rest in Tonya's company. At the angle we approached the church, it was difficult to tell how big it really was. Not usually being much interested in churches, the idea of stopping at the church hadn't really excited me at first, but this was Gerd's day and it was her church, so we went. It was beautiful inside. The walls were two meters thick. The pipe organ at the back, mostly only played on Christmas eve, is impressive in its stature and detail. We spent an hour looking at the gravestones of Tom's ancestors. Gerd guided us through the cemetary and the family history, connected the names on the stones to each other and to Tom. By this time, we were getting hungry.

Back at the car, Tom found some cheese sandwhiches he had brought along. He ate most of them and passed one back to me. I greedily accepted. We were on our way to Ystadgården (I think). Upon arriving, Gerd discovered that the restaurant she had hoped to take us to for the famous Forsa ostekake (a kind of cheesecake not related to the sort from New York), had closed twenty minutes earlier.

Gerd, possesing the family charm which Tom so often benefits from, managed to get us four servings of Forsa ostkake and coffee for two - me and her. This cheese cake is made, if I understand correctly, by cooking the whey out of the cheese and then pouring it into a mold. It is served with a light lingon syrup and it squeaks on your teeth. It was tasty, but I was too hungry to truly appreciate it and couldn't finish my portion. The coffee, however, was the best coffee I've had since leaving Seattle.

Not only did they open the restaurant for us, they let us poke around in the gift shop for a solid twenty minutes. Then there was a photoshoot in the courtyard. Then the fifteen minute goodbye. And then we were on our way to Bystroms.

This stop was just going to be a quick look around. The farm belongs to the family of a woman who works at the Hudiksvall tourist bureau who had been particularly helpful to both Tom and Elaine. Since Gerd knows everyone and her name had come up, the lady from the tourist bureau had told Tom to have Gerd show him where the farm was.

We pulled up to Bystroms and there was a man getting off a tractor; this was not going to be a short stop. Steffan said we could most certainly look around at the buildings and take pictures, so, like the obedient tourists we had become, we three Americans headed into the courtyard surrounded by several typical Swedish farm buildings in their oh-so-practical arrangement. A few minutes later, Steffan returned wearing clean pants and carrying the key to the big house. Gerd had talked him into giving us a tour. Again the pictures will come later.

At Bystroms there had been a younger man, whom we think was also named Steffan and who mentioned that he lived up the road next to our dancing friends Barbro and Eric. He suggested that we could take a look at his house if we went up that way. So, we went. Why not, right?

Barbro and Eric were outside as we drove past and, since Elaine had some gifts for them, we stopped to say hello. This short stop turned into a garden tour; Eric's garden is really quite remarkable. We ate strawberries and red and black currants; both Tom and Gerd got a bag of greens to take home. All of us had the pleasure of meeting Säbb, the very friendly dog. At 20:30 we climbed back in the car and headed back toward Gerd's house.

We took Gerd home and said our goodbyes. I won't be seeing her again, so we all got out of the car to exchange hugs. Perhaps I'll see her next summer in Sweden.

On the ride home there were some attempts made to plan tomorrow morning, but at the forefront of at least two minds was dinner. Tom and I had been hungry for a good five hours and the cakes had only distracted us from that fact. Two bowls of soup is a substantial breakfast, but it won't hold me all day under any normal circumstances.