3 Amazing Days with Suzi

It's been 13 years since I last saw my sister Suzi and I’m so glad I decided to visit her as part of this journey: we both needed it.

From the moment she met me at Fayetteville Airport on Friday evening until she dropped me back there again on Monday, we didn't stop talking. We had a lifetime worth of stories to remember and years worth of news, thoughts and feelings to catch up on.

I think we both came away with revised perspectives of each other. I’d guess that she is more aware of my vulnerabilities and fears than before. I see her as stronger and more willful than ever before (In fact she told me that her strategy has always been to seem to agree with what she was told, but then to go ahead and do what she wants anyway). She's also more joyful than I've ever seen her: she told me she's always loved to play and (particularly) now that she’s passed the age where she has to be responsible for others, she’s free to indulge in her own childlike joy. She plays with her grandchildren (and always has) and they love her for it. They all have rich stories to tell of spending time with her.

On Sunday Suzi had planned a lovely family reunion-supper and I had a wonderful afternoon getting re-acquainted with 3 of her 4 children: Amy, Eric and Wendy (Sarah and her family live in Texas and couldn't come), as well as Eric's (lovely) fiancé, Melissa, his bright and fabulous daughter, Sammy and Wendy's extraordinary husband Tony and their fantastic daughters Brittney and Brooke. I particularly enjoyed getting to know 9-yr-old Brooke who is bright, curious and intrigued by her (exotic) Australian relatives. We promised to write. It's a promise I intend to keep.

It was wonderful to flesh out the family stories from their perspective: Amy told me that she and Dad used to debate about things: he’d challenge her and she’d go study up on whatever the subject and come back with fresh and informed arguments. They once debated the Communist Manifesto (sounds remarkably similar to my own debates with him over nuclear proliferation). I told her that when I'd made a particularly well-constructed argument that Dad couldn't find holes in (but still didn't agree with) He'd say (smiling mischievously), "That's just dumb-ass, Sandy!" Suzi's kids also told stories about how Mum used to roller skate with them in the driveway.

Suzi and I got quite deep into it on Saturday night and talked late into the night about our childhood memories. We were both quite open about our experiences and feelings growing up. She seemed to feel a little discomfort with the depth of our discussion the next day and I understood that the concern might be based on her uncertainty about how I might use the information I gather on this journey (perhaps because of this blog or how all of this will figure into my thesis). I tried to reassure her that I realise that my perceptions are just that - my perceptions and that I know that my truths are not necessarily everyone's or THE truth. Suzi told me that just as we were falling off to sleep, angels (or something similar) came to her and though their energy seemed a bit confused (or confusing), she felt they were saying that we need to be careful about the stories we pass on: that it’s okay for the two of us to share our mutual stories, but that we need to take care that we don’t colour what others might think of our ancestors by perpetrating our own perceptions. I told Suzi that I was quite sure something did come to her to tell her that: it was very much the message that I got from Nana my last night in Malden. I told Suzi about my own similar experience and what I had taken from it. And we both realised that the only real difference was that what she perceived as angels, I perceived as ancestors. But, I also told her that I thought there may have been more to their message than just a warning: I think they had also come to say that the fact that we were together– with NO barriers between us – honouring, enjoying and deeply connecting with each other again - is a blessed thing, a sacred thing.

And finally, here's a really tasty piece of genealogical intrigue: As we looked through old photos, Suzi talked to me about a family reunion we'd attended as children (mainly, I think, of the Ruggles side of the family) to celebrate Aunt Gus (Ruggles) and Uncle Walter's 75th wedding anniversary. Sometime during the event, Nana Tolstrup pointed out some particular relatives to Sue and said that they'd come all the way from Australia. So...I want to know...who were they, where are they and can I find them? Only time will tell, but wouldn't it be a kick if they lived nearby?

Delivering stones to George and George (Magnus)

Uncle David took Dave and I to visit the cemeteries where George Tanner and Magus Tolstrup are buried so that I could put my stones on their graves. Aunt Barbara came along.

We went first to Everett Cemetery to find the grave of George Tanner and looked up and down several rows before Dave suddenly came upon it. I'd brought along my stone from Maeve's Mound and had meant to justlay it on the top of the grave, but both Uncle David and Dave had suggested that if I simply left the stone on the grave, the maintenance staff would likely remove it. So, I buried it instead (along with a little piece of quartz) then whispered a wish that the stone might help George and all his descendants find connection to his Ancestral Irish homeland. Though I'd forgotten, my parents are also buried at Everett Cemetery, so we visited their grave, as well. Their grave felt oddly disconnected to me: we'd buried their ashes together after my father's death as a way to console my grandmother Tolstrup. Their choices - to be cremated and their ashes dispersed - without a wake and without a gravesite had left Nana without the comfort of the death rituals she'd always known. There was no place to go to for quiet contemplation and grief; no where to place wreaths and flowers. When Dad died, Uncle David asked me if we could bury the ashes in a plot at the cemetery so that Nana could gain some semblance of a sense of closure. Knowing that my parents never meant their funeral arrangements to cause my grandmother any distress, we agreed. Nana's gone now, though and standing at their grave, I wondered if my parents might now want me to disinter their ashes and dispose of them as they'd originally wished. There could be no compelling reason to keep them here: not only did their consignment to this place contradict their desires, but the places themselves and the rituals of burial here felt sanitised and abstract compared to what I felt at Loughcrew and Bear River. There is, it seems, a difference between burial grounds and sacred spaces; funerals and ancestor ceremony. We continued on to Forrestdale Cemetery and quickly found Magnus Tolstrup's grave. We had a moment of laughter when I read the inscription: George Tolstrup. Uncle David had continually been telling me that his grandfather was George, not Magnus, and indeed Magnus himself had called himself by his middle name, George from the time he came to America. (He's still Magnus to me). Buried with him was his wife - my great-great grandmother, Louise (Moller). I began to dig a little hole for the stone I'd brought from Norway and it suddenly dawned on Uncle David what I was doing. Uncle David is an old rock-hound (and gemologist) from way back and I'd already shown him the Rekkevik rock (because it is unusual) and also that I had picked it up at the ancestral Tolstrup farm. As I was burying it, Uncle David asked, “Is that the stone from Norway?” I answered that it was and that I was buring it there as a way to connect Magnus back to his homeland. To which he smiled and said, “That’s good.” With it, I also buried a piece of quartz and whispered a wish for Magnus' easy passage to his ancestral homeland.

While still at Forrestdale, we also visited the graves of (me greatly beloved) Nana and Grampa TolstrupNana Adams (and Aunt Laura)
Grampa Adams and Great-grandmother Ruggles. For each of them, I left pieces of quartz.Like Everett, Forrestdale Cemetery - while more peaceful, and certainly more beautiful - is an oddly empty place: unlike the cairns I’d visited in Ireland, there’s no sense here that death relates to life; there's no sense of continuity; no magic.

I would, however like to express my deep appreciate for the efforts made by my Uncle David, Aunt Barbara and cousin Dave to help me complete this piece of my task. Thank you. I love you all.

A Genuine Adams Family Reunion

Went to the Adams Family reunion and apart from Jim, Mark and Dave, it featured a room full of 40 or so people who I really didn’t know. I think most everyone was in the same boat. There were factions of people who seemed to have some on-going combined history, but for the most part people were strangers to each other...and almost everyone was a stranger to me.

This reunion was the doing of my father’s only surviving sibling, Aunt Alice who I last saw at my father’s funeral 20 years ago. Also present was her husband, (Uncle) Bob and their children Steven, Chris, Mary and Mike who I last remember seeing when I was about 10; My cousins Beverly and Doug who I’ve probably not seen since the 1950’s; and my cousins Adam and Matt who (despite seeing them the night before) I hardly knew and had seen only once before that when I was about 15 years old.

Though somewhat surreal, the day was pleasant and I think that’s mainly because we all just wanted to get together. Aunt Alice and Uncle Bob seemed genuinely happy to see me - actually to see us all - and despite the busy-ness of the day, I managed to have quite deep conversations with both. With Aunt Alice there was a lovely conversation about our shared appreciation for my father: I know that she was closer to him than any of his other siblings and it was nice to connect with her that way. She is one of the few people who sees him the way I do – most everyone else is/was a bit in awe of (or felt intimidated by) him. Aunt Alice and I talked about my the depth and strength of my father's character; his deep love for his family; his goodness. We both miss him, immensely. Uncle Bob expressed his (surprisingly deep) appreciation for my adventuresome (restless) spirit and wanted to know - in great detail - about Max's and my life abroad.

Most of the people present were my generation of cousins: I caught up with a few of them, spoke to their wives and children (some near-adult 2nd cousins from Cleveland who are now plotting their own travel adventures in Australia), but the most glorious piece of it all was my 2nd cousin Julia (daughter of my cousin Dave) and her lovely little family. Julia is married to a wonderful fellow named Chris and together they have a gorgeous pistol of a daughter, Ella. Julia is of Max’s generation and she, like Max, handles and manages the insanity and intensity around her with grace and dignity. Perhaps the difficulties of their early years is what has helped forge them into such remarkable adults, but I think both of them must have been born with an extraordinary sense of self to have become such strong and clear adults. I am grateful for the opportunity to get to know Julia better, am hugely proud to be related to her and am very happy that she has made it a point to reconnect with Max . I am going to encourage him to attend to that connection.

If you think you're enlightened, go home for the holidays

I Arrived in Boston just in time for the pre-reunion reunion: that is a reunion of the various, disparate factions of my family who are related through an intertwined series of marriages, divorces and liaisons. Follow this, if you can. First, my father Ed (Adams) married my mother Marjorie (Tolstrup). They had 2 daughters - me and my sister Suzi. My father's sister (Laura) married my mother's brother (David). They had 3 sons, David, Mark and Jim. David and Laura were friends with Carl and Barbara Goodwin, who had 2 sons, Peter and Paul. So far, so good.

Then Carl and Laura fell in love. They divorced their spouses, married each other, and had 2 more sons - Adam and Matthew. Sometime later, David and Barbara married and their families merged: David, Mark, Jim, Peter and Paul were raised together in a house on Nobel St in Malden Massachusetts that originally belonged to my grandmother and grandfather Tolstrup.

So, the official Adams family reunion included David, Mark, Jim, Adam and Matt, but not Peter and Paul. This despite the fact that David, Mark, Jim Peter and Paul were all raised together as brothers. Complicating matters is the fact that, though they were not raised with any of their half-brothers, Adam and Matt are related to Dave, Mark and Jim through their mother and to Peter and Paul through their father. Because there is no blood tie, Peter and Paul were not invited to the Adams family reunion and everybody but them seemed a bit disgruntled about it.
The solution manifested itself as the pre-reunion reunion where ALL of the brothers, their wives and children (and in one very special case grandchild), David & Barbara were present. I arrived out of a month's worth of ecstatic adventures and was welcomed into the fold as a kind of prodigal daughter. It was really quite wonderful. These people are my people.

I'm (literally) on a roll, now

I'm so grateful to Elisabeth (my former hostess, now adopted daughter-friend) for setting in motion the next bits of my journey. On her suggestion, I made contact with a wonderful woman named Aine Aske at the Larvik Museum. Aine is the Cultural curator/historian for Larvik - so the perfect person to ask questions about my ancestors and their history. As I mentioned briefly before, Aine was immediately very helpful, but she suggested I contact a man name Tor Bjørvik, an avid local history buff for some even more in-depth help with records. I emailed Tor and he wrote back that genealogy wasn't his real specialty, but he'd ask another man - Kolbjørn Næs - if he would help me. Kolbjørn emailed me and we made a date to meet up on Saturday to go through the available records..and to try to sort the puzzle of who came from where, with whom and what for...and all that.

We were to meet up in Hedrum - which I thought I thought I could walk but turned out to be about 20k away, so Elisabeth took charge and asked her father, Olaf Holm to give me a ride and - along the way - to show me the Hedrum church, where Kristen Tolstrup's children were all baptised.

Hedrum Kirke is famous for it's exquisite interior, parts of which date back to the 12th century. Olaf has a particular fondness for the church because, for the last few years he's been the bell-ringer (this must be a dying art). Now for those of you who knew my Dad, Olaf reminds me a lot of him - a very straight-forward, intelligent, saavy, modern business man - not exactly what I'd think of as a bell-ringer type. On the way he showed me the house he was born in, where his parents hid from the Nazis (his father was a priest and therefore a particular target) and then showed me the interior of the Hedrum Kirke (as bell-ringer, he has keys). It was magnificent! Honestly, I've seen some huge and amazing cathedrals, but nothing more powerful than Hedrum Kirke. And like all really sacred-feeling churches, it was built on a sacred site recognised by prior generations: At the back of the churchyard there are Viking burial mounds - dating to the 500-900's or so, and recent archeological digs nearby have revealed even earlier use with the discovery of bronze and even iron age artifacts. We arrived at Hedrum Bygdetun (an old town square used by the local historical society as their base of research operations and for historical events) and Kolbjørn had raised an American flag in my honour! I can't begin to describe how touched I've been by the willingness and enthusiam of strangers to help me with my search.
Kolbjørn and I started to comb the records and shared bits of information back and forth. I was happy to be able to contribute pieces of the puzzle by alerting Kolbørn to some records that Kolbjørn hadn't seen - the 1801 census, for instance (discovered by Dave) and the names of the ships Mathias captained (gleaned from my meeting with Ruth Eli). I became aware that I was playing a very particular role in the process - as a kind of weaver of the various pieces and sources of familty history.
Kolbjørn was able to put a lot of information into historical perspective by interpreting the records in ways that made sense of and filled out the dry and simple lists of dates, places, and other entries. Turns out, both Kristen (gr-gr-gr-grandfather) and Mathias (gr-gr-grandfather) were very wealthy men and Kristen, quite possibly was the administrative overseer for the Hedrum Ironworks: you'll like this, Max - Hedrum Ironworks was connected to the Larvik Ironworks, but was where they specialised in forging metal for blades.

The records were definitive that Kristen was born in Tolstrup (near Aalborg) Denmark and that he lived and worked in Hagnes (near Larvik). In 1809, he married Maren Mattisdatter from Skoli (or Scholi) near Andebu and they had 5 children, all of whom were baptised in Hedrum Kirke –3 daughters, Line Magrethe, Maren Petrine and Else Katrine and 2 sons, Kristen (who died unmarried and without children at the age of 24) and Mattis (my ancestor) who was a sea captain. In a footnote, the entry also mentioned another son, Peder, born out-of-wedlock before Kristen married Maren. Peder Christensen seems a pretty interesting fellow: Though not raised by either his birth mother or father (he was fostered out to a farm), he was self-taught and educated, became a sea captain and at the age of 50 (unmarried and childless) he wrote a book about his life and sea-faring adventures. Ruth Eli told me that Mattis' first experience as a sailor was as a navigator on a ship captained by Peder, his illegitimate half-brother. I hope this means that, at least, there was no bad blood or resentment between Peder and his half-siblings. This, along with the fact that he was well educated, gives me reason to think (or maybe, hope) that Kristen looked out for him, somehow and tried to give him opportunities he might not otherwise have had. I’d like to get a copy of the book (and learn to read it), because maybe there’s some more personal and individual history there - a sense of who all the people really were.

Kolbjørn and I covered a lot of ground and ended our research session with the arrival of Tor Bjørvik who came to take me on a tour of the locations where my ancestors lived and worked. He asked if I was able to ride a bicycle (Chris, I know you're smiling now): it seems that one of the roads we needed to travel was in the midst of roadworks and closed to traffic. I said that was fine (but not without a moment’s trepidation – I haven’t ridden a bike in probably 20 years!) and I’ll admit that the bike (and I) felt pretty unsteady at first...besides which I needed to walk the bike up some of the steeper hills, and down some of the most slippery trails...but we were all the while passing through some incredible ancestral countryside and soon came to our first stop - Hagnes Nedre Verket (Hagnes lower ironworks) – the ironworks site where Kristen Tolstrup worked and the very house where he lived during the early part of the 19th century. I think it’s extraordinary that the house is not only still standing, but still inhabited. The man who lives there was mowing his lawn and when Tor told him why we were there offered to let us look inside.

Tor then showed me the point on the river where the forge had been - an exquisite place, with a small waterfall to drive the water-wheels (no longer there). The water flowing was particularly heavy because there’d been so much recent rain. The beauty of the place and the power of the water was stunning! We got back on our bikes and by this time it was feeling like an adventure..seriously winded or not, the day was perfect, the discoveries compelling and the experience entirely engrossing. Our next stop was the Hagnes Østre Verket – the upper Hagnes ironworks. The property is now owned by an extended family: the first house – which was part of the ironworks, is now being renovated and occupied by a young couple. We met the husband by the side of the road and Tor told him why I was there. I asked if the house had any ghosts and he said that he was pretty sure there was a spirit in one part of the house, but hadn’t dared to tell his wife. He said the spirit seemed friendly enough, though and I said that maybe it was my gr-gr-gr-grandfather! We went on to the river’s edge where the parents of the young husband we’d met had built a huge, gorgeous house with sod roofs. Honestly, it was one of the most beautiful houses in one of the most stunning locations I’ve ever seen. Back on our bikes and back to our starting point...and all too soon, the adventure was over! I was genuinely sorry to see it end.On our way back to Larvik, I asked Tor if we could stop again at Hedrum Church so that I could photograph the gravestone of Kristen’s sister, Else Katrine Tolstrup. Kari had said the day before that she thought Kristen and Maren Tolstrup might be buried there, too. This time, too, I was taken by the Viking burial mounds just beyond the churchyard and can’t help but think about the power certain sites seem to have to inspire a sense of the sacred in succesive and often quite disparate cultures.
Once again, I am struck by a sense of absolute gratitude for being here, now, doing this: and as well, for all of the help, good will and friendship that’s been offered me. I would never have come so far in my efforts to locate past and present family, to learn their stories and to piece together our history without it.

Thank you Elisabeth, Thank you Aine. Thanks for your good humoured and inspired research Kolbjørn and Thank You Tor for your graceful, soft-spoken companionship and an unexpected adventure.

Forgive me if this blithers a bit.....

I've been keeping a little secret...that all started with the little walk I took out to Rekkevik and the silly little note I left hoping to make contact and find family...that very evening I had a response! I got an email from a man named Kai, who said he was the husband of my 3rd cousin once removed, Marthe (Tolstrup) Strøem. It turns out that the houses I found belong to descendants of Paul Hermann Tolstrup – Magnus’s youngest brother and the only one who stayed in Norway. Over an exchange of emails, Kai and I made arrangements for me to come out to Rekkevik again - but this time to meet the family. He told me that he'd read my blog and was surprised to see a picture of his house! (theirs is the big house I photographed -brand new, actually – but built in a traditional style). The little house next door belongs to Ruth Eli Tolstrup, born in 1920, the youngest daughter of Paul Hermann – which would make her my mother's age, but my grandfather's 1st cousin. She is the oldest living relative on that side of the family and keeper of all the family stories, photos, papers and memories. Kai wrote to me that Ruth wanted to find some old photos to show me and also wanted to get someone to come during my visit to act as translator – as I can’t yet speak Norwegian and she doesn’t speak any English. Arrangements were made for me to come to meet Ruth at her house on Friday at 4:30pm and then we’d all have dinner at Kai and Marthe’s house at 6. I could barely contain my excitement.

When Friday arrived I suddenly wished I'd expected rather than hoped to meet family, because I would have brought wonderful gifts from Australia gifts for everyone. But I hadn't - I guess I just hoped, but never really thought it would happen...or failed to realise that when it happened it would feel so important. So instead, I asked Elisabeth (my lovely B&B hostess) what would be customary and/or appropriate to bring. She suggested flowers, so I went off to a shop she suggested named Himmelen (Heaven) around the corner (I can't remember the rest of the Norwegian)..

At about 3:30 I headed off again on the4k trek to Rekkevik and as I turned onto Tolstrupveien the whole neighbourhood was out doing yardwork and everyone smiled at and greeted me as I passed - clearly, word had gotten around that that weirdo who 2 days prior walked up and down the street photographing her shoes was family and coming for a visit. It felt nice...I already felt welcome.I knocked on the door and Ruth answered. Kari, who is her neice and daughter of another of Paul's children, Rakel, (mentioned on that infamous scrap of paper, Dave) was also there. We started to chat and at first they were most curious to know about people in some photos they had from America. Mostly they were Magnus and Louise, Harriet and Doris - there were none of anybody I knew very well - Nana and Grampa, Mum or Uncle David. I really wished I could have told them more, but I didn't know all that much. One picture, though,- looked like it might have been taken on front steps of 44 Noble St. I asked Kari about Paul Hermann's descendants and she told me he had 10 (!) children - Paul born in 1910, Waldemar, 1912, Dagmar 1913 - 1958, Borghild 1915-18, Grethe 1918, Rakel 1920 -1987, Hangry 1922 - 1989, Magnus 1925 - 1982, Marthe 1927 -1993 and Ruth Eli. (Don't worry Dave, I have more specific details about spouses and children, too). Then, Ruth brought out some more photos and some letters: These were photos of Magnus and Louise - probably when they were first married and one of Mathias as an older man. But the letter! It was from Magnus to Paul, dated Oct 1888 (about 3 1/2 months after he arrived in Boston)! Kari translated it and it told about his voyage (particularly about the food), commnted on news about a neighbour, gave advice for Valdemar's journey (So Magnus must have gone first, after all) and tells a bit about his new life. He also talks about sending home money - so he must have trid to help the family as he could. I knew David would be desperate to see it - and even felt a little guilty that I was getting to see it without him...so I asked if I could photograph the photos and letter. So, here they are Dave...especially for you.

After a while, Kari asked me if I'd like to go to the Tjølling Kirke to see where Paul Hermann, his wife Hanna and their sons Hangry and Magnus (and as it turns out, Magnus and Grethe Nikoline, as well) are buried. Tjølling had been a place I had really wanted to visit and so said yes and of we went. As we were driving we talked more and I asked Kari if Magnus had ever lived in Tjølling (as the records seemed t say) she said no - always Rekkevik, but had gone to church in Tjølling, so that's why he's sometimes listed there. It seemed a long way - they used to walk it every Sunday - but Kari said they had no doubt cut through the fields and taken a much more direct route. The church was quite stunning - it dates, I think to the 11th century - which is kind of hard to fathom when you grow up in the US or Australia. I took some photos and we headed back. Ruth then brought out some old papers - shipping manifests, crew lists, commissions and provision lists for ships Magnus captained. She had an amazing amount of stuff - but she saved the best for last: when they started to build Marthe and Kai's and Ruth's new houses, they tore down the old house that had stood between them. Under the floorboards they found an old school lesson book belonging toKristen Tolstrup, dated 1765 and referencing Salling (an old term for Denmark)! Yes Dave...here are the pictures. I really couldn't imagine the visit getting any better... Then it was on to Marthe and Kai's house for dinner. Elin (Ruth's daughter, Marthe's mother and my 2nd cousin once removed?) and her husband Bjørn and Marthe and Kai's 2 children Emil (6 and about to start school!) and Emma 2 were waiting. I introduced myself all around and Elin asked what had brought me to Larvik and I said, I came to find all of you. Then she asked how I'd found them and I said that Dave had told me the family came from Rekkevik, so I looked on google maps to find Rekkevik and saw there was a street named Tolstrupveien...and figured it was a good place to start...then when I saw the mailbox with Magnus Tolstrup on it....I had to leave a note. She seemed flabberghasted and in fact asked me a couple more ties over the course of the evening if I'd really only come there to find them and if I'd really found them by walking down their street...the answer was always 'yes' and she'd get this big grin, shake her head and look pretty amazed (I'm pretty amazed, too!) The evening was fantastic...warm and connected. I could sense a growing interest in some of the others - especially Kari - about the family history and I showed then the work Dave has done on Ancestry.com.

All too soon, it was 11pm and time to say goodbye...Marthe and I both took some photos..so here, Boston Tolstrups is your Larvik family...

Kari and Elin

Ruth EliMarthe, Kai and Emma (Hei Kai and Marthe, I need good photos of Marthe's father and Emil!)So Larvik family, if you read this... I'm just so grateful that I've had the chance to meet you. Thank you for your kindness, your interest and warmth. I promise to keep in touch and I'll be in Boston at the end of August - so keep a look out - I'll be posting photos of the Boston Tolstrups soon!