Farewell to Furudal

Let's start with saying I have a love/hate relationship with goodbye's. It won't surprise many of you to know that I love to feel like I belong somewhere, and sometimes it takes leaving that place for me to fully recognize that I belong. That said, It hurts that much more to take an instant of belonging and compare it with an uncertain future without the support of my cherished friends. The last night at Furudal was one of those goodbye's.

The campfire was crowded. More people came than had been there all week. We grilled hot dogs until there weren't any left to grill. C-G and Brita made pancakes, served with jam they made with berries picked in the Furudal woods. Everything was delicious. Have you ever tried to make pancakes at a campfire? It didn't look easy, but it sure tasted good!

Eventually, Martha broke down and started in on the evenings musical entertainment. She played for a while with some others and eventually it got down to her and Chris. I knew I would join them eventually, but I was enjoying the feeling of being surrounded by friends; wrapped in their warmth I felt safe and clear-headed.

Suddenly, there was a cry from the crowd! It was time for fattigman. Martha had asked earlier if I knew anything about fattigman and I had replied, 'Yes, It's a Norwegian cookie.' Of course, even I can be wrong sometimes. This fattigman was a highly entertaining children's game/song led by C-G and Brita (have I mentioned that I think they're awesome?).

Once the rich man became poor, we all sat around the fire again, and I arrived at that eventually from above, joining Martha and Chris with my fiddle. We played some great tunes. We played them at a blistering, undanceable speed, but they were hot! We even took requests from some of the locals who came down to the fire to join us. (Three young men!)

We played until the mosquitoes were winning and then turned in for the night. In the morning each group of dancers got one more round of classes. We washed our last bits of laundry (in the direct Swedish sun, it hangs dry in about two hours), presented our dances, and crammed everything back into the suitcases. We were on our way to Östersund!

At the campfire

On Monday night there was a dance at the Boda Gammalgård. The music was scheduled to be excellent. Many of the Americans were going. My list of reasons for not going was long. I'm running short on cash, my feet hurt, I'm tired, I've been to Boda, and most importantly, I love to sit by the fire.

It would have been easy in spite of that list to talk me into going to Boda if I'd been able to get cash from the bank in Furudal. I'm glad that I didn't and no one tried real hard to drag me away from the mosquito infested paradise by the lake. With all of the Americans in Boda except for me and Tom, I arrived to a campfire of friendly faces speaking Swedish, laughing and talking and relaxing like old friends do at the end of a long hard day.

The scenery is breathtaking. A still lake, clouds strafing the sky which varies from light blue to fuschia in the Swedish sunset separated by pristine forests. At our feet was the perfect fire, tended religiously by Yngve and Busse, it was always just right - never too hot or too cold for grilling and producing enough smoke to keep the mosquitoes to a tolerable level.

After a half hour of Swedish immersion, the natives got restless and demanded some music. I was happy to oblige. After I played a Swedish tune they asked for something Norwegian. Well, I don't need to be asked twice. I was joined by Pär on fiddle and Lennert on accordion.

I'm not sure it's possible to describe how wonderful it is to sit at the fire with friends and sing, play, and eat in the norther twilight, but I can say it's good for the soul. I am glad I didn't go to Boda last night, not because of the money, but why would anyone want to leave paradise? As Tom said on the way back, those are the best memories.

Of course, I never want to go to sleep after an evening like that, so I was happy to find some others sitting in the common area outside my door. I joined them for some conversation about dancing and a couple cookies before turning in for the night. It was a perfect evening.

Furudals bruk

We found our rooms. They are delightful. Youth hostel like, but leaning toward the hotel end of things. Linens are provided, the beds are cushy (even for a princess like me), and we all have our own bathrooms. I'll repeat. I have my own bathroom and shower. It's like heaven.

The main kitchen is in the building next to the one Elaine and I are staying in, although all three of the 'hostel' buildings have some kind of kitchen facility. We got a good spot in the refrigerator and the kitchen has been running smoothly, considering how many people are using it.

There are several other buildings here, the dance hall, the manor house, a cafe, some cottages, and several houses of various sizes that belong to private individuals. The dance hall is also owned by a different person than the lodging. It is charming. The floor is beautiful, although the humidity and too many weddings seem to be getting to it. We also spend a fair amount of time at the lake, grilling hot dogs and getting eaten by mosquitoes. I'm pleased to report that I am less allergic to Swedish mosquitoes than their American cousins. They bite through everything.