On a glorious late-spring morning in 1730, Steinar's third daughter Liv roamed the hayfield near the creek, braiding long-stemmed daisies into crowns and wreaths. The eight-year-old took care not to trample the hay so near to mowing time, and not to soil her skirt and apron, though the hems already hung heavy with dew. Arms full of greenery and blossoms, she ran back uphill to the cluster of buildings at the heart of Moen, now crowded with a noisy mob of family and friends.

"Liv!" cried her mother. "Clean those muddy feet and put your slippers on. It's nearly time to go. Olav! Olav Steinarsson, you naughty boy, climb down from that barrel."

Liv decked herself with the brightest wreath and tossed the rest into the pony cart. Feet washed and stuffed into goatskin slippers, she joined the line of merry kin setting out along the track. At the head of the bridal procession, her cousin Egeleiv rode in the cart, a wedding crown on her head, her black dress trimmed with red braid around the hem, and the bodice embroidered in vibrant oranges and reds. Her belt and necklace were both of silver.

Liv paid the groom little notice as he rode behind the cart on a fjord horse. She had eyes only for Egeleiv, glittering with silver and radiant with joy.

Someday it'll be ME wearing the silver crown, Liv told herself as she straightened the wreath on her brow, and riding in a decorated cart at the head of the line. Someone had draped one of her garlands around the cart pony's neck. She grinned in delight.

The bridal procession wound its way along the path that cut across the hillside, some distance above the muddy, narrow valley bottom. Liv could hear the ripple of the creek down below, and the jingling music of the silver bangles hanging from Egeleiv's crown.

The trail broke out of the forest onto the steep sloping fields of the Dalen farm. The groom's relatives came out to join the parade. A young goat pranced along at Liv's heels, its tether, well chewed, dragging behind. She frisked with the kid until its owner caught up and snagged the rope.

Back into the woods, the path turned away from the creek, following a lesser stream northeast up the ridge. Liv picked wildflowers along the way, violets and blue anemones and a stalk of white-belled lily of the valley.

When they came to the scooping hillside meadows of Homme farm, twenty-five-year-old Sveinung strode out to meet the throng, along with his younger brother and sister.

"There rides the second prettiest maiden in all the dales," Sveinung said to Egeleiv with a fancy bow.

"The second?" she demanded. "What a fine thing to say on my wedding day!"

Liv skipped closer, the better to hear. What bad manners, to spoil a bride's day of glory. Would Egeleiv give him a tongue-lashing? Would she burst into tears at the challenge to her beauty?

"Ah, but there's to be another wedding," Sveinung answered. "And to these eyes, my Åsne is the loveliest creature on the face of the earth!"

Egeleiv put a hand to her mouth, and her eyes widened in delight. "A maiden has captured your heart at last!" She glanced back at her betrothed who had dallied behind in conversation. "Well, I must forgive you, then, but please don't spoil my day by arguing with Såmund over the charms of your beloved. Åsne, you say. What farm is her home?"

Sveinung of Homme walked beside the cart, gossiping with Egeleiv and the other young folk.

No spat. No tears. Liv rolled her eyes at the syrupy talk of sweethearts, and ran back along the line to find her friend Olav Jonsson who lived at Tveit farm, several miles down the long, narrow valley known as Dalane. He was eleven years old, and just as horrified by such conversation as Liv.

(to be continued)

* * *

BEHIND THE SCENES (or the horses!)

We don't have a wedding date for Egeleiv, but since her first child was born in 1731, it is likely she married the year before. Her cousin Liv's name is pronounced "LEAVE."

An ornate silver crown was traditional for a bride to wear at her wedding, with silver bangles jingling around the edge. A fiddler traditionally leads the bridal procession to the church.

Egeleiv's groom grew up at Dalen among his kin, but moved to the highest farm in The Dales (farms scattered up the valley of Dalaåi creek) once he got married. His ancestor Olav Dalen was born in the late 1500's.

(Dalen: "DOLL-en": the dale. "Dale" was a word common to both the Anglo-Saxons and the Norse. )

Sveinung ("SVINE-oong") Taraldsson was born in 1705, the older of two brothers and thus the heir of his father's farm, Homme ("HOME-meh"). He had three sisters.

We don't know what farm Åsne (OH-zneh) Jonsdotter came from. (A "J" at the beginning of any syllable is pronounced like the "y" in "yes.")

The Norwegian fjord horse is pony-sized, usually of palomino coloring with a black stripe down the middle of the white mane and along the back, and a central tuft of black in the white tail. The fjord horse has been bred in Norway since Viking times and used for both riding and harness.

In 1664 a silversmith from Kongsberg (known for its silver mines) moved to Tveit ("tvight") near Moen. He may well have passed his craft to his descendants. Olav and his older brother Torjus were great-grandsons of the silversmith.

Photos by the author in 2006.

Photo above chapter title: Hommesnip, the peak above Homme farm.

Photo in the middle: the sloping fields of Homme farm.

Photo of fjord horses: at a living museum in Norway.

Photo of lilies of the valley: well, that one was from my own backyard, but I saw them in Norway too!