(Kännestubba = Shan-e-stu-ba)

Internet, Hallelujah! Internet cafes and laundromats are hard to come by here in Sweden, but we make do.

From the Journal of Carl Lundblad, my Great Grandfather, 1914:

…On September 3 we went down to Småland to Hanna’s birthplace. That is in Hultsjö parish and the farm is called Kännestubba. We went by train early in the morning, 7:46, from Jönköping and changed trains in Nässjö. After having seen the town a bit we continued the journey to Sävsjö and were met there by a carriage and went the two mile long road passing lakes and fjords and the church’s school house and the parish house, manor farms and cottages, farms and small cottages with straw roofs, beautiful meadows, fields and potato fields, cliffs and hills, trees of all kinds and sizes, juniper bushes and heather, lingon and blueberries. At last we arrived at grandmother’s old cottage and were by then wet from the rain which had fallen quite copiously but were soon dry standing in front of the fire at the open fireplace. Then we had good coffee and sandwiches and felt happy. We were at home for several days and had the pleasure of all kinds of things among which were picking lingonberries and game parties and coffee klatches in every cottage. One day I and Alfred Svensson were out fishing for a whole day and caught a perch….

From the Scandic Swania Hotel in Trollhäattan by Ciara, 2007:

Sweden is completely rural outside of its cities- no sprawl. Rural as in quaint farms all painted the exact same shade of barn red. And it’s flat. There are a handful of houses painted yellow or white. Turns out the red color was traditionally made from the refuse of a large copper mine in Sweden, and it was used because it was cheap. Tradition keeps the buildings red. We held a contest to see who could spot a blue or green house. I actually saw a purple one. But just one. The lack of creativity (influenced by many stringent city planning regulations, not just by a love of tradition) keeps the rustic landscape covered in pristine farmland and lush forests, and dotted with small villages clustered around tall white steeples. It’s truly beautiful, and I can easily imagine my great grandparents greeted with the same view back in 1914.

Since we didn’t have a carriage waiting to take us to the little backwater village of Kännestubba, mom and I gave up on the train and rented a car. We had lunch in the closest town and asked the waitress for directions, as we still had not been able to locate it on the map. Turns out the village comprises about six houses. We stopped along the way at the parish church and looked in vain for a grave marker of a recognizable relative- almost every single inhabitant was a Johnson or Peterson. Parking at random in front of a barn red house in the village, we happened upon the only person in our Swedish experience who didn’t speak English (we speak no Swedish). Magically my mother managed to convey that her grandmother came from there (and we were corrected as to the correct pronunciation of the village).

The old woman invited us into her house and phoned a friend who worked as a research librarian in the city, who also fortunately spoke English. Ingrid served us a quite excellent Fika while we waited for Ulf to call back with info. He located the name of the farm where Hannah was born and gave Ingrid directions, and she drove with us to the house. The current house was built after Hannah emigrated, but there were still stone steps along one side that belonged to the original cabin (left). Afterwards we went over to Ulf’s 17th century farmhouse where he served us dinner and researched more genealogy. My mother is amazing at talking to complete strangers. We left Kännestubba armed with Hannah’s family names and locations, and three new friends. Pretty good for a day’s work!

We left Carl and Hannah’s path and drove to Vaxjo for the night.

Tags: geneology, Kännestubba, Sweden, travel, Trollhäattan