X. “Meeting Rigmor Andersson”
May 19 & 20
Hossna

Last winter I received an email from a Swedish stranger. I had never met her, nor heard of her, but she knew Anna-Lena Hultmann, the woman who runs the genealogical institute where we are staying, and that’s how Rigmor Andersson heard about us. She knew all about the Lundborgs and Brobergs and the Indians, and she had already completed some research into my great, great grandparents, and she was eager to share her work with me. In a series of email notes she told me about resources she had for me and relatives in Sweden she hoped I would meet. So Rigmor, another one of those previously unknown Swedish names that invites lots of teasing, was put on our agenda as someone to meet.
Monday morning, the 19th, was really the first time on this trip that I was not only physically tired from the busy day before, but I was also weary of genealogy, Sweden, being in a foreign country, and starting to miss home, the familiarity of my daily routine, foods, etc. I think every traveler has those times when the newness of the adventure loses its excitement, and that’s where I was. The only scheduled event was dinner in the evening with Rigmor at her home in Vargarda, about an hour’s drive from here. It was a good day to walk, nap, write, and not worry about being productive. I never even cleaned up until late in the afternoon, but when 5:00 o’clock came Anna-Lena joined us for the drive to Rigmor’s house.
She lives in a brick home not too far from the highway, and her sister was there to help her host this event for us, and we were joined by Jerker Saxentorp, the man we met the previous day. He was a welcome site because he speaks such good English and is a high energy guy who can be entertaining. Also present was a young family—mom, dad, and three young children under five. The husband in this family is my 5th cousin, at least that’s what Rigmor said, and she had done the paper work to prove it. His great, great grandmother and my great, great grandmother were sisters who lived as neighbors in this area in the 1850’s. He is Stefan Gunnar Eliasson, a 44 year old electrical engineer living in Vargarda on a farm that has been in his family for many years. I’ve never met a 5th cousin before, and I wasn’t overtaken by a sense of strong family ties in his presence, but his name popped up on Rigmor’s computer screen as she was studying the generations for a genealogical customer, so she called him and asked him if he wanted to meet me while we are here. We had an interesting conversation, but his wife and children left early because it wasn’t a very child-friendly home or gathering.
What made the evening fun was the conversation generated by Jerker and Anna-Lena, both of whom could talk Swedish with each other and the rest of the group and then quickly translate to English to keep us involved. Anna-Lena knows local genealogy from the church and government records she has studied and can readily access, and Jerker knows his material through oral tradition—the local stories gathered by family and friends who have lived where the Lundborgs lived. They don’t agree on everything, but each brings a special insight to the conversation about my family members, and I really appreciated their perspectives.
The dinner was wonderful. There was what looked a big white cake, taller than a sheet cake, but it was decorated with shrimp, boiled eggs, tomatoes, and cucumbers. The “cake” was layers of bread mixed with tuna and lots of mayonnaise. What looked like frosting was the mayonnaise, and I initially turned up my nose when I realized what it was, but it was really quite tasty and very satisfying. They served cold beer, a European anomaly. Normally, beer is served at room temperature, but this was a treat. But the best surprise was a dessert that was not creamy. It was rhubarb crisp served with a vanilla sauce with coffee and tea. Apart from breakfasts served in a hotel, we haven’t been all that excited about Scandinavian food, but this night’s meal was a good one.
As the evening concluded and we were sharing addresses, we brought out the small gifts we wanted to share and distributed a metal Washington apple refrigerator magnet, and we gave Anna-Lena a dream catcher made by a tribe from the Northwest. Nothing was big or fancy, but they were small enough to be able to pack. Rigmor then handed me a compact disc with “Lundborg” written on it and casually said, “You might enjoy this. There are 3000 names here with your relatives on it for your family tree work.” Oy! Today I downloaded it, and I can’t believe the work she has done. She did part of this for a couple in the Twin Cities who are Lundquists and are related to my great grandfather’s sister, Sarah, who never left Sweden when all the rest of her siblings left with the parents back in 1861. She was married, pregnant, and didn’t want to leave, but her first born son eventually came to Minnesota in 1890 and created a clan of Lundquists who never really knew about us until they met Rigmor on a trip to Sweden about 5 years ago. I made contact with them via email and telephone this past winter, and now I have received all the work Rigmor did for them. Oy!
So I was enthused again for the work at hand. Today (Tuesday) I’ve been looking at maps and church records to shed light on the reasons why the Lundborgs left Sweden, and I’ve barely begun to open the files that go back even farther into history documenting people who are related to me. Genealogy might be considered an illness, a chronic condition of sorts, because you’re never done with it. The searcher never really finds enough because each new discovery seems to open a new mystery, and the cycle continues. But I’m thankful for what I’ve learned for now, and I’m closer to that time to actually put words on paper that will tell a story about these people who are part of my family. Enough for now.

We went out for dinner tonight (Monday) and ate in a pizza place in Ulricehamn, about 8 miles from here. It was our first taste of kebab pizza. Imagine Lebanon meeting Italy here in Sweden, and add to it some beer from Germany. Pretty good. After that we toured a local museum and visited a dairy farm owned by Anna-Lena’s brother. A quiet contrast to Sunday, and a good day.