Anna Hansdatter: Hunger In the Dale

Early in the morning, Peder Skurdal came to the stables to see Nels off. “Here is your passport, some coins for your lodgings, and a letter to my cousin Olav Erstad of Lillehammer. You have traveled there before.” Nels nodded. “He will take the grain and sell it. You will continue on to Oslo. There will be a load waiting for you at the Kielland shipping docks.”

This took Nels by surprise. He had never traveled beyond Lillehammer, itself five hard days by wagon. From there to Oslo was twice as far again, according to accounts he had heard from other teamsters. The entire journey would take at least a month; much longer (and very dangerous) if the weather turned bad. “Yes, sir,” he said, tentatively. He wondered if his master had designed the plan to create the greatest risk for him. It was almost November already.

“My cousin will tell you of way-stations where you can wait if you are delayed by weather,” said Peder, as if sensing Nels’ concern.

“Ja, all right.” Nels said, with hardly more confidence.

“Godspeed, then, best of luck.”

“Thank you,” said Nels, as calmly as he could. He mounted the wagon, and drove away.

The first day, the horses were balky. They smelled the hay in the wagon behind them, and sensed they were in for a long journey. “Hey, Hey there, girls, pick it up,” Nels repeated in his best voice, but his heart was not really there, and they knew it. It was suppertime when they reached Ringebu. At a wayside farm, he watered the horses, fed them some of the hay, and ate from his own supplies. They continued on to Faavang, where they stopped for the night.

Nels unhitched and tethered the horses. “By God, girls,” he cooed to them, approaching with both hands full of hay. “You will need to walk faster, or we will be a week getting to Lillehammer.”

In fact, the horses came around, but even so, the planned five-day journey took them eight days, due to heavy rain and muddy roads. Several detours were necessary. Fortunately, Nels had traveled this route before, and knew which farms were the best way-stations. Where he could, he slept in barns and sheds, for which the farmer usually did not expect any pay. At some of the larger stations, he paid a silver crown for a bed, a hardy meal with beer, and fodder for the horses.

When Nels approached the Erstad farm, Skurdal’s cousin came out on horseback to meet him. With a delighted smile, he said, “Well now, are you the servant of Peder Skurdal?”

“Yes, sir, I am Nels Poulsen. I have a letter from Mister Skurdal.”

“Of course. You are welcome here! Come ahead.”

(Continued)