Today is the day I have been waiting for since we arrived—we will be going to Vanse to see all the places my father talked about from his childhood. During the drive my father kept saying, “You know, I am sure things have changed a lot since 1945.” As we entered the town he had a wrinkled brow as he kept looking out the window. “So much has changed,” he said discouraged, shaking his head. “I think we need to take a right here and then a left.” We followed his directions and his eyes opened wide.
“There it is! Now I know where we are. This is the church where Bestefar and Bestemor are buried. Pull over and park.”
We followed my dad as he walked through the graveyard to the graves of his grandparents.
“It was my job to take care of Bestefar’s grave when I lived here. I would stop by every week or two to tend to the flowers or to remove the snow piled up against the headstone. Now with Bestemor beside him I am sure he is not lonely anymore. I will get some flowers to put here when we have finished seeing everything else.”
There was a smile on my dad’s face as we climbed back into the van and followed his directions up the hill. Our next stop was the one-room schoolhouse. As we approached it, I could see that the old blurry pictures my dad had shown me did not do the school justice. The large open field with a background of trees and mountains made it look smaller than I had imaged it would be from photos. We walked around and peeked through the windows. The building was now only used for meetings and they had left the outhouses in place. They were still used as well—well, at least they were today by my father.
Our next stop was the house where he grew up. On the way there we passed the location of the store where my dad worked for Mr. Ellenes. All that remained was the foundation since it had burned down a few years prior. While driving up the hill nearing the house, my dad’s legs were nervously moving back and forth. If he had not just used the outhouse, I would have blamed it on that, but that could not have been it. As the house came into view, my dad shouted out something in Norwegian and pointed, a grin on his face. His legs were now still and as soon as the van came to a stop he was out, pointing things out as he walked up to the house. It had been remodeled and looked different than the few pictures I’d seen, but the basic shape was still there. I saw my dad jogging up the hill, waving to us to follow, still speaking in Norwegian. I went after him.
Everyone else remained by the van as the two of us headed up the hill. I turned to see that they were talking to a couple that I believed were the current owners of the house. When my father and I reached the top of the hill he turned to me and said, now in English, “This is a very emotional spot for me.” What he shared next is the story of Occupied.
