"We're ready, Pappa Halvor," called seven-year-old Margit from the courtyard. She bounced on her toes, swinging her mother's hand.

Liv smiled down at her daughter's eagerness.

"Coming, coming, Miss Moppet." Halvor came out the cottage door with an old blanket rolled up on his shoulder. "Give Farmor a kiss and off we'll go."

Margit ran to her grandmother for a quick kiss and darted off to join her older sisters who waited up the trail.

"Start off towards Huvestad," Halvor told the girls. "But don't get too far ahead or you'll miss the turnoff."

"So what surprise awaits us at the top of Homme's Crest?" Liv asked as they strode along the cart track.

"You have to wait and see." Halvor grinned. "Otherwise it's no surprise."

"Is there a story to go along with it?"

"Of course!"

"Tell me the tale again," Liv said, "about your grandfather the peddler."

"My great-grandfather. He often passed through here, coming from Setesdal in the west on his route eastward with his load of wares. He brought salt and wheat and packets of cinnamon to sell to folks like you who were going mad with the same old barley day after day."

Liv made a face.

"I believe you'd trade your grandmother's brooch for a loaf of wheat bread," Halvor teased.

"Would not, though I'd be awfully tempted."

"Great-grandfather found Homme a welcoming spot to overnight. Back then it belonged to Gunnar up at Huvestad. One year when he and Gunnar were sharing a mug of mead, old Gunnar said, 'Since you like my lands so well, you must buy my outfarm Homme. I'll set you a fair price.' My great-grandfather took another swig, thought a moment, then said, 'When I come from the east again, I'll do just that.' He paid 300 daler for Homme and its two subfarms, and my folk have dwelled here ever since."

"Did he quit his traveling?"

"Nei, the roaming was in his blood."

"In yours, as well?" Liv asked.

Halvor shrugged. "I do like to see new places and hear the old tales, but my heart stays here. Especially now." He shifted his bundle of blanket and food bag, and tucked an arm lightly around Liv's waist.

She leaned into his comforting hold.

"So, what old stories do they tell in your family?" Halvor asked.

"Seven generations back, I'm descended from the bonde at Holtan. He owned almost all the farmland on the shores of Sundkilen. There are still many large oaks just uphill from the bonde's main dwelling, old and huge around as a giant's leg."

"Hmm," hummed Halvor. "Any of them hollow?"

"Ja, sure! There's supposed to be a treasure of silver spoons hidden somewhere in that grove. And a nisse lives in the biggest tree's hollow."

He laughed.

Liv pouted her lips. "There is, so all the stories say. There's even an ancient stone table sitting nearby where they used to put out offerings for him."

"Truly? Hmm--" Halvor strode along, his head cocked. "We have three hallowed ash trees at Homme, but not a single holy oak. Maybe we should plant an oak sapling, and by the time Baby is grown," he patted her belly, "we can see about luring a nisse to move in."

"It'll take a lot longer than that to grow a respectably gnarly old oak!"

The old hollow oak at Holtan farm.

The stone table near the haunted hollow oak at Holtan farm.

BEHIND THE SCENES

A bonde (like Liv's ancestor) is what the English might call a country squire – a wealthy landowner without any title of nobility but with plenty of local influence.

Homme's Crest is my name for the knoll actually called Hommesnip. "Nip" means peak. It's just under one mile as the crow flies from Homme farm's courtyard south to the top of Hommesnip.Hommesnip juts steeply over the sloping fields of Homme, though not as high as the ridge behind it to the north.