The memory of sounds.

      Winds from the North Sea lash the island of Averoy, on Norway's west coast. Negstad Fjord lies inland on the large island a little way from the coast. My grandparents, Lars and Sigrid Negstad must have had some familiarity with wind during their life there. Grandpa also spent winters fishing near the Lofoten Islands by the Artic Circle and certainly experienced winds at sea.

    In 1885 Lars and Sigrid left Lac Que Parle, County, MN., and moved to a homestead in Brookings Co., Dakota Territory. With them was their oldest child, Albert, my father, who was less than 2 years old. Lars had purchased the rights to finish homesteading on 160 acres of land. There was a wooden shack on the land to house them. Almost certainly there was not a tree in sight in any direction. In South Dakota the wind blows, if not incessantly, regularly with force. How did those prairie winds compare with their winds in Norway?

    Grandpa's response was to plant a grove of trees around the farm yard. These trees, planted in a U shape open on the east, were mature during my childhood on that farm. Just west of the house was a row of ponderosa pine, to the south a double row of spruce screening the driveway. On three side of the yard there were multiple rows of trees, ash and other varieties, and in the yard a huge cottonwood. This grove provided ample protection from the prevailing west and north winds. 

    Smells can evoke memories. The scent of Jurgen's Hand Lotion always reminds me of my mother. Sounds also can trigger memories. As I write The Little House is in blizzard conditions with 30+ mph wind howling in the trees. That sound brings me back to my early days in the farm house when winter blizzards would create that sound in the trees by our farmhouse. While I have memories of having to go out and tend the livestock in blizzards the sound evokes the cozy, comfort of a warm house. Even as I watch snow streaming by the window and branches tossing in the wind the sound speaks comfort.

    Trygve didn't get a vote but with today's wind we didn't do our daily hunt. He thought a jaunt to the post office was a poor substitute.

Takk for alt,

Al

PS. Dealing with my grief about missing Thailand by posting pictures.

                       A baht bus in Bangkok, so called because the fare is 1 baht, about 3 cents.