In memoriam, part 2

One of my father's absolute greatest joys throughout most of his adult life, was holidaymaking and outdoor life at our mountain cottage in Rauland in the county of Telemark. It was built partly by a local farmer and also by my grandfather and great-grandfather in the early 1950s.

If you know anything about cottages in Norway dating from that period, you'll know that generally they are small, and quite a few of them come completely without modern amenities such as electricity or tap water. Typically, we've always had to collect our drinking water at the village petrol station as often as we've had need to. But until my father finally grew tired of our family hideout a few years back, it never bothered him that life there would always be a lot more 'primitive' than at home.

He loved the scenery, the quietness, the chance for total relaxation. It was to him, probably, also the farthest he could get away from a very demanding job and from the frequent business trips that came with it, and it provided a much-needed respite from the 'forced' intimacy of living in the same house as his in-laws. From all that I know he excelled at what he did as a salesman, and later as a sales manager, but I doubt that he found much joy in whiling away lonely hotel hours in the absence of his wife and two sons.

That's why this log cabin in the mountains of Telemark probably held its appeal for so many years. And that's why he always insisted on dragging his youngest, couch-potato son into the white, snow-covered landscape: he could think of few, if any, joys that could parallel breathing fresh, icy mountain air, while simultaneously perusing the natural wonders that came in throves along our cross-country paths.

The memory of a few, special trips to our mountain cottage sweeten the current pangs of pain of having lost the chance to relive together the days of laid-back living. A good many years ago, fifteen to be exact, we travelled together to what would be our final weekend together in Rauland. The smell of fried bacon, the autumn forest scents, and the infrequent, uninhibited father-son conversations remain the precious gems of recollection from that special experience.

Going back to Rauland next time is going to be hard, but as long as there's breath in this body I will try to pass on to my own kids what my father passed on to me: the joys of soil, air, and light, and the tranquil satisfaction that comes from doing nothing but enjoying nature.