The Old Country Newsletter – National Day & Search for Ancestors

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Statistics you didn’t ask for

Allemansrätten, or "Everyman's Right," is a unique (almost) Swedish principle that allows everyone to freely roam and enjoy nature, including private lands, as long as they respect the environment and property. This means you can hike, camp, pick berries, and explore the countryside, but you must not disturb wildlife, damage crops, or leave litter behind.

In 2021, 77 % of Swedes said that they had made use of the principle during the past year. As many as 96 % of the respondents answered that they viewed Allemansrätten as something that was positive.

In other news

🐈️ During the first half of the football match between Värnamo and Mjällby in Allsvenskan, a small cat ran onto the field, apparently eager to play. The cat ventured quite far onto the pitch before Värnamo's Victor Larsson intervened by gently lifting it up and handing the cat to a match steward.

🚓 Four men have been sentenced to lengthy prison terms for a deadly shooting near Farsta Centrum in southern Stockholm last June, which resulted in the deaths of 43-year-old Tesfamichal Beraki and 15-year-old Elias, and injured several others. Two of the men received life sentences for their roles in the incident, while the other two were sentenced to 15 years and 10 months, and 12 years and 10 months, respectively.

📹️ The government's investigator, Kazimir Åberg, recommends that police be allowed to use real-time facial recognition surveillance in public spaces. This technology would be used to specifically search for trafficking victims, missing persons, and in situations with imminent threats to life, such as terror attacks, or when suspects are involved in crimes punishable by four years in prison.

Historic First Strike in 16 Years: Mixed Emotions

My search in the New Country

The following is a personal story of how I located the grave of one of my ancestors while visiting the U.S. The story featured in the first edition of The Old Country, but since the readership has increased by almost 1,000 % since then, I thought it might be a good idea to post it again. I hope the story will inspire you to reach out and share a story of your own connections between the old country and the new.

In the summer of 2022, my girlfriend Lisa and I realized a dream that I had nurtured for many years: we traveled to the U.S. and drove coast-to-coast. During the course of seven weeks, we spent the night in New York City, Washington D.C., Tonawanda, Toronto (sorry, Americans), Detroit, Chicago, Saint Louis, Tulsa, Amarillo, Albuquerque, Flagstaff, Page, Hatch, Las Vegas, Bakersfield, San Francisco, Santa Rosa, Los Angeles and, finally, Honolulu. It was the biggest trip we had both ever been on. And it cost us all the money we had saved whilst working part-time during our school years.

It was worth every dime.

For as long as I can remember, I have been fascinated by the stories of the Swedish emigrants that left for the New World between 1850-1920. My girlfriend and I are both originally from Småland, where I dare say that almost every family has at least one relative that emigrated. For Lisa, that was her great-grandmother. During one of our days in New York City, we took the ferry to Liberty Island and Ellis Island. For many migrants, Ellis Island was the first American soil that their feet touched. Today, the museum offers an opportunity to search in their archives for registry documents of family members that went through Ellis Island.

Here, we found the documents for Lisa’s great-grandmother. It was a moment of reverence for both of us, as well as Lisa’s family at home.

My grandfather’s older (much older) brother also left Småland for the USA. He settled down in Michigan and started a family. A few years earlier, I found an online obituary of his son, who had passed another few years earlier in Ann Arbor. The son of my grandfather’s brother passed away when he was older than my grandfather is today.

When Lisa and I had spent the night in Detroit, our next destination was Chicago. As fate would have it, our travels led us through — Ann Arbor. We had to re-route our drive from time to time while crossing the country. Therefore, I never assumed that we would actually get to Ann Arbor. I was ill-prepared.

Initially, we stopped at a random cemetery. There, I started to search the internet from front to end to try to locate again the obituary of my grandfather’s deceased nephew. The obituary stated that the memorial service for my relative had been at the St. Francis of Assisi Catholic Church. So we went there.

Outside the church, construction was taking place. And we were alone. Until a biker stopped. I asked him for directions for the cemetary, as I could not see one. He was new to the area and couldn’t help me. However, while we were talking, a group of ladies exited one of the church buildings. I stated my business to one of them, who led me inside the church where she presented me to another lady that worked there. Together, we went down through the basement of the church to find a memorial garden for ashes. We went through all the plaques but couldn’t find my relative’s name.

So, together we went back up through the church and exited the building. The lady that worked at the church went into an office and later came out with a big folder containing information about every ceremony that had taken place in the church. She told me that my relative had been buried at a cemetery just north of Ann Arbor, called Washtenong Memorial Park.

Thanks to the enormously helpful women at St. Francis of Assisi Catholic Church, we continued our search by driving north. Upon arriving at Washtenong, we realized that a ceremony was taking place at the far end of the park. Therefore, the offices were vacant. We spent more than an hour strolling around, randomly looking for the name of my grandfather’s nephew. After a while, we realized that we would soon have to leave for Chicago, if we wanted to arrive before the sunset. Still, no one had returned to the office.

Here we were, so close, but still not close enough.

Just when we had decided to give up, a janitor returned to the office. I immediately explained my situation to him. And he, like most Americans we had stumbled upon, was more than happy to help. He searched through their digital archives for the name of my grandfather’s nephew. Finally, he gave me a map of the mausoleum. We went to the hall that he had marked on the map and found the number we were looking for well up on a wall. Once again, the janitor hurried away to retrieve a ladder. He came back. I climbed it.

And there it was. The name of my grandfather’s nephew. His urn. An American flag. And some pictures. The resemblance between the man in the photos and my grandfather was evident.

About 100 years after his father had left Sweden and Småland, a relative from the Old Country was able to visit the son’s final resting place. And pay respect.

I was so thankful for being there, and for all the help that we had received from the kind people we had met throughout the day.

It felt momentous, not just for me but for my family at home — and especially for my grandfather.

Do you have a story from the past that could be worth sharing? I bet you do! Or would you like to see something else in the newsletter and have suggestions for topics? Please reach out!