... at the grass root # 50999
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... at the grass roots. Hólmfríður K. Gunnarsdóttir tells the story of her ancestors.
Man is never alone. Everyone has ancestors and forefathers, each with their own story. Often the story of the ancestors is traced somewhere, but the story of the foremothers is written in the ashes. Here is a story of people who loved and lost, rejoiced and grieved, took what they could, and often did nothing else.
These people were no more remarkable than other people, but no less remarkable either. The servant at Bessastaðir, who had a child in a loose play, the sheriff's daughter in Fljótshlíðinn, and the girl from Laxárdalur, who fled with her child in her arms across the swamps and moors west of America, have all disappeared from view.
Hólmfríður Kolbrún Gunnarsdóttir tells the stories of these women and other women and men who are relevant to her own story. She herself recalls memories from when she was a child in a northern valley and the future was a blank slate.
Man is never alone. Everyone has ancestors and forefathers, each with their own story. Often the story of the ancestors is traced somewhere, but the story of the foremothers is written in the ashes. Here is a story of people who loved and lost, rejoiced and grieved, took what they could, and often did nothing else.
These people were no more remarkable than other people, but no less remarkable either. The servant at Bessastaðir, who had a child in a loose play, the sheriff's daughter in Fljótshlíðinn, and the girl from Laxárdalur, who fled with her child in her arms across the swamps and moors west of America, have all disappeared from view.
Hólmfríður Kolbrún Gunnarsdóttir tells the stories of these women and other women and men who are relevant to her own story. She herself recalls memories from when she was a child in a northern valley and the future was a blank slate.