« In Which I Make A Complete Fool Of Myself (Yes, Again) | Home | In Which I Feel Old »
In Which I Meet The Ancestors
December 12, 2006 by Mike
Astrup
Route: Ringkøbing - Esbjerg - Ribe - Astrup
I'm sitting this evening on a worn and rickety settee in an old, thick-walled farmhouse down in the low marshes where the strong winds come racing in from the North Sea. Rain is lashing down. The settee has probably only been here for 40 years. The walls are only a couple of hundred years old.
My family lived here 600 years ago: the farmhouse is built on the site of a farm which belonged to my direct ancestors for 300 years until Nils Nilsen Astrup emigrated to Norway in 1770. It's a mile or so from the sea, which I appreciate; it feels about 1000 years away from my life back in England.
What was Astrupgaard -- the farm -- is now two working farms, including this one. There are a hundred head of cattle (as they say) in the barn next to where I'm sitting. The lady of the house also has a job in town. And they take in paying guests for Bed & Breakfast.
"There's a special reason I wanted to stay here, you know. My great-great-great-..."
I didn't even have time to tell her how great Nils Nilsen Astrup was. She finished the line for me.
"... left here to move to Norway? And you've come to see where the family came from. Welcome!"
A fair proportion of the people who check in here as guests are Astrups, or descendants. We come from Norway, the US, all over. (Yeah, but how many of them went to the wrong Astrup first?)
That seems all the more remarkable after a walk around Astrup, which took about 15 minutes, but only because I stopped a couple of times to take pictures. There are 10-12 homes here: half-a-dozen working farms, bonded cottages, a couple of larger homes built at the end of the 19th century. I saw two tractors, one woman walking, two ponies, a long shed full of cattle, a discarded skateboard, a plastic Santa shinning a drainpipe. No shop, no church, no street lights, no nothing else.
As to how it feels to be here? Let me sleep on it. More tomo.
--
Earlier in the day I traced my first, faltering steps on the trip. I rode down to the ferry terminal in Esbjerg where I rolled off the SS Dana Sirena, a biking tenderfoot on 27th July. It hasn't changed.
Have I?
--
Half the rural population of Denmark appears to be selling Christmas trees. The other half, potatoes. Presumably, to each other.
It would only take one atheist on one side, or a couple of tree-sellers going to the Atkins Diet, for the entire, finely-balanced rural economy to come crashing down.
Comments
Leave your comment
Latest comments
- By robert and peter in Diary
- By Wayne in Diary
- By Boris in Diary
- By Sandy from Leeds in Diary
- By Sascha in Diary
- By clive marie goldwing in Diary
- By carlos pascual in Diary
- By Erkut Dora in Diary
- By david gwilliam in Diary
- By Nick in Diary
- By Mike Bowyer in Diary
- By Dick With in Diary
- By Gordon in Diary
- By KC in Diary
- By steve in Diary
- By Mike in Diary
- By Sascha in Diary
- By P Dawson in Diary
- By Mike in Diary
- By Helen in Diary
- By Mike in Diary
- By KC in Diary
- By Sergiu in Diary
By KC | December 14, 2006 6:40 PM
Hiya bro - Really gr8 to read about your journey to find our ancestors - look forward to hearing about it in person at Crimmble time.. It'll be good to see you again. All the very best - ha det! SIS