Söndag

Sunday we returned to Falun, but first we went for a walk around a beautiful huge waterfall somewhere in Dalarna.  The unifying theme of the weekend seemed to be millstones, which we saw in spades.  This place had many old millstones, as I'm sure someone used all that waterpower for the greater grinding good.  There were definitely some lying about in Boda and Gulleråsen, but now I can't remember quite where...then later on that Sunday one had been used as a tabletop in the garden at Carl Larsson's house.  I can sense my mother's jealousy six thousand miles away, but good little things from that house are coming to her in the mail for her birthday on the third!

 

All sorts of charming 300-year-old legends come along with this waterfall, which include a foreign (Scotch?) man working in the early 17th century as an overseer of some manual labor in the area (no, no, I was listening, I swear), depressed as hell, trying to throw himself over the waterfall...saved by his horse, who was apparently much less depressed and refused to throw anyone over, and brought him back to his lodgings.....but then a few years later he unfortunately succeeded, presumably on foot.

 

That forest area is called Styggforsen, which basely translates to Wicked Water, but more like a child is naughty than, say a witch.  And "forsen" is more like rapids, but I did like the alliteration.  Anyways, it seems appropriate apropos that man, and the geological anomaly of the place (it was hit by a meteor!) has created seriously steep and thin cliffs.  The other legend translated to me was that if three spinsters stood on one of those cliffs together, it would collapse.  There were some pretty old and lonely-looking women hiking the trail with us, so I'm glad Eriks mamma is married and I'm so spry and youthful.

No spinsters here....


Next we moved on Carl von Linnés marriage house.  We didn't really know why that was a significant landmark, although he is a big deal in Uppsala, and his house museum and garden here are really worth a visit.  This has another great garden, which is what we wanted to see.  I also should be more supportive, because I love historic house museums, and this site has recently become a govermentally-legitimized one of those. (you know what else is k-märkt? my friends' boat, Vega...more on that soon)  But it's less famous for its residents than the fact that he was married here, which I find a bit weird, but...Sweden.  Speaking of which, it is located in a place called Svedens gård, which no one else was excited about as I was.  Do you know how many Americans refuse to say the name with proper English pronunciation but instead say Sveeeeeeeeeeden?  You don't want to know.  Anyways, I found it!  Sveden!

It was a priest's farm, and many farms back then made their own snaps, so there were lots of snaps-specific herbs, which was fun to see.  A really beautiful day after so many overcast days of rain.

Carl Larsson's house and garden were, of course, dreamy.  It is what a historic house should be, really, and all of his things are so well preserved!  Inspiring for both household and museum mind.  So many parts of that house were totally weird and artsy and so overwhelmingly beautifully Arts and Crafts...so many textiles and hand-woven cushions hiding chamber pots.  And Carl painted pictures of and carved the names of himself, his wife and all his children all over the house, right on the walls and mouldings....really incredible!  

We had a great tourguide, who spoke so clearly, slowly and deliberately that I understood most of the tour...in Swedish.  Yesss.  She also looked so perfectly like what Americans think of when they hear the words "twenty-something Swedish girl with long blonde hair".  They all wore these great Reform-style dresses of striped cotton, simple interpretations of Karin Larsson's progressive dress.  I am sure I will write more on that later.  No pictures, since they are not allowed in the museum.  You'll just have to come visit yourself.

Anyways, I can't resist posting this picture of Erik from later that evening (yes, evening, but I don't remember what time...it looks like this until 10, anyways, so if you want it to be 9.30, it's all yours).  In the garden in the backyard in Falun, on a little granite bench, listening to the river and reading Pappa Goriot by Balzac.

 

Puss!