My Ancestral Home

My Ancestral Home

We came to a beautiful little farm.
From photos I'd seen
I knew this was the place. The house
and barn were painted in the
traditional Falu red, trimmed with white.
It was nearly mid-summer,
the trees and grass, lush green, when
we arrived the family was gathered
at a table on the lawn
for coffee and fresh strawberries.
Introductions were made all around,
Grandpa Sven, Lars-Olaf and Marie,
Eric and Gudren, Cousin Inge
and her two children… It made me
think of a Carl Larsson painting.
But, of course, it was all modern,
the Swedes are very up-to-date,
Lars-Olaf was an engineer for Volvo,
and they all spoke perfect English,
except for Grandpa, and there was
a great deal of laughter
over my attempts at Swedish.
We stayed for a long time
laughing and talking, It was late in
the day, but the sun was still high.
I felt a wonderful kinship.
It seemed to me that I had
known these people all my life,
they even looked like family
back in the States. But as it
turned out, we had come
to the wrong farm.
Lars-Olaf said, "I think I know
your people, they
live about three miles from here.
If you like I
could give them a call."
I said that no, it wasn't
necessary, this was close enough.

Louis Jenkins

Posted over on The Writer's Almanac