Last summer, my family and I traveled together to Norway, where my great grandmother on my dads side, immigrated from. There I met family my father had met before, but my sister, my mother, and myself hadn’t. The experience was one of a kind, the landscape looked like history itself, the sound of the river a gentle hum, the chilly wind. What really made this feel odd, however, was the lack of connection. Since I was little, my sister and I have spoken Latvian, so lacking the Norwegian language and connection to relatives caused me to look at things differently. My grandmother was never taught Norwegian as that was the norm during that time, and so the language ended there. The trip really made me think about the other aspects of my heritage, and that, even if I did not know much about the language or the culture, that did not take away my title of being Norwegian. On the trip we visited Lillehammer and Ringeboo. I got to see where my great grandmother grew up with her eight sisters and brothers, explore where they used to play in the mountains, and were baptized in the Stav church. As a parting gift our family hosts gifted us a cheese slicer, or “Ostehøvel” Chell informs, made in Lillehammer. Today anytime I go to slice a block of cheese I think back to the colossal mountains or the taste and smell of brown cheese.

– Milija H

Relationship:  Great-grandchild of im/migrant or more Great-grandchild of im/migrant or more