Al Carlson
Once upon a time, long long ago, peaceful Sweden was not a single, unified country but a ragged patchwork of bickering fiefdoms ruled by barons or “Jarls”. One of these was my great(X) grandfather, Ragnar, son of Sten. His “fief” was a rather small farm carved out of the oak forest. It had sheep, goats and a few hardy cattle. There were fields for flax and winter wheat. And a lumber mill that served a region as broad as a man on a good horse could cover in a day.
Ragnar’s farm had been in family for generations, as was the case with most of his neighbors. But times were changing. Bjorn, son of Einar, had amassed (more…)
