The last full day with the Downeys was filled to the brim. An early rising at 6:43am (odd that this is early since a few days ago I happily or habitually woke up at 4:22am) had us dressed, fed and in the car for a day trip to Dalarna. This northern area of Sweden is about 300 km away or 3 hours and contains a lovely assortment of hills and large valleys full of lupines. As we drove, I felt transported back to Wyoming where Indian Paint Brush flowers line the roads with similar vibrancy and beauty that these purple and pink plants offered us. Dark red homes and barns also dotted the green landscape in typical Swedish fashion. Madeleine, Valerie and I soaked in the natural colors, unaware that such vibrancy would meet us in our destination of Sundborn, the home of the artists Carl and Karin Larsson.
Carl and Karin lived as artists with their seven children in a small farming community. Carl is like the Norman Rockwell of Sweden, painting and sketching everyday scenes of his children and life in the town. Karin was an expert at sewing and weaving. The entire house glowed in their work as color cushions and chairs, portraits and painted ceilings touched every room. The house still belongs to the family and Carl’s grandchildren play in the rooms, inviting friends for tea and sleep-overs. If it were me I’d play a massive game of sardines; there are so many cubby holes that the game could go for hours. We enjoyed the rest of Sundborn by visiting the church where Carl painted the walls and ceilings and a few other exhibits that featured his art and other Dalarna artists.
On the way home, Madeleine decided to take an alternate route to catch a few sights along the way. On such spontaneous stop landed us in the bottom of a hole. The Falun Copper mine, now a World Heritage site, provided employment, pride and great wealth for this region and all of Sweden for over 1400 years. With the sun beating down on us, we decided to find reprieve in the middle of the mountain and thus took a tour through the mine. Never have I experienced a tour so sensory embracing. From the moment we stepped out of the elevator, the chill and dampness crawled up my skin and into my nose. The darkness cannot be described in any other way but utter black. I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face and my eyes tried constantly to readjust. The sounds of stillness and abandonment seemed to ring in my ears as it echoed throughout the drifts of the mine. Fantastic statistics met us at every corner:
* The rope used in a 280 m shaft required 500 oxen hides.
* A Christmas tree can survive 5 years in the mine.
* Workers wore wooden clogs in the mine, and children played in the tunnels.
Upon arrival to the surface, I thanked God for sunlight and people who do really dirty and dangerous jobs. We hopped in the car to make home before the sun goes down…wait there’s no rush in that. Anyway, another stop to see the biggest painted horse took all of five minutes to gawked over and home we came to relate all our tales to Steven, our very own water miner.
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