By My Dad and Me ~ Continued....

(Note ro reader:  This is part two.  If you haven't read part one yet, you can scroll down a bit to my Sept 12th post titled "My Dad and Me" ~  Follow my blog and be notified each time I post more of my father's amazing life story.)

Off the coast of Norway on the island of Stord at the mouth of the Hardanger Fjord perched a tiny sod-roofed cottage built over a boathouse. It’s bright colors added a cheerful note to the dreary gray of the sea and sky. At first glance it seemed as if the sea could easily reach up and grab the little house and pull it right back in but the stone foundation held fast against the fury of the waves and this storm, like it’s many predecessors, would not penetrate the cozy warmth inside. There were only two rooms and a kitchen, and although there was no sign of luxury, the old carved and painted furniture and handmade rugs, knitted afghans and embroidered tablecloths gave it an air of respectability. The only access to the boathouse below, other than the big doors where the boats were pulled in, was through a trap-door in the kitchen floor.

In the bedroom, in a huge bed that her father had made and where she herself was born, lay the captain’s wife in the pains and agony of childbirth. Her worried thoughts were mostly of her husband at sea in such weather and were interrupted only by the pain of each contraction and at times a cry could be heard above the howling wind outside. It wasn’t to be much longer and soon, almost within reach of the angry grasping sea a child was born. A son. The wail of the tiny infant sounded puny and weak compared to the howl of the storm and he was given the name Ingard Arthur. Although he would go by his middle name, Arthur, he would come to be known by many throughout his life simply as “Cap”.

It wasn’t long before June came and the midnight sun reflected off the chilly waters of the Hardanger Fjord like many diamonds floating out to the sea. Arthur, just three months old, was to travel from his birthplace with his mother and brother to join his father in America who had taken command of a ship with an American steamship company and their plan was to reunite in the captain’s new home port. As they steamed out from the fjord and across the bay they sailed right past the island and the tiny boathouse that was home. Holding her new son in her arms with a toddler at her side, the young mother stood on the deck watching her tiny but cheerful home grow smaller in the distance. She would miss her little boathouse with the big view of the glaciers that mirrored an upside-down landscape over the fjord and she couldn’t help but wonder if she would ever see her family home again. They had lived in America before, in Philadelphia, where their first child Edvard had been born and the new parents had taken a new citizen ship. Such a great opportunity to be an American but right now all she could think about were the little flowers that were blooming in the grasses of her sod roof.

To Be Continued ....
this text is from copyrighted materal (c)2002