Ollie married Glen LANDVIK on 27 Apr 1946. Glen died in USA. [Group Sheet] [Family Chart]

Other Events and Attributes:

• Emigration: USA

Carl married Guri PETERSON on 28 Dec 1912. Guri was born on 3 Nov 1891; died on 7 Jan 1979 in USA. [Group Sheet] [Family Chart]

Other Events and Attributes:

• Emigration: USA

Other Events and Attributes:

• Residence: Minnesota, USA

Notes:

Emigrated to the USA in 1871 and Guri emigrated in 1879. They married in 1879. After Guri died, Andres and his son Carl went back to Norway and in 1901 he married Anna Hermundstad before returning to his farm in Minnesota.

Andres married Guri Kristensdotter MELBY in 1879. Guri (daughter of Kristen Mikkjelsen ROGNE and Guro Gudbrandsdtr BUSTEBAKKE) was born on 18 Mar 1855 in Rogne 43/5, Marké Øs; died on 18 Nov 1898 in Minneota MN, USA. [Group Sheet] [Family Chart]

Other Events and Attributes:

• Emigration: 1871, USA

Notes:

Guri took the name Melby for her last name.

Notes:

Han kjøpte Uvdal 7/2 i 1850 av Trond I Uvdal som flyttet til Bøkko under Ellingbø. Han fikk skjøte 5.11. 1849 for 750 spd. Det inkluderte gården og noe innbo, fiskeredskaper og båt i Tyin og livaure for Guri Jonsdotter Eltun (1803 -) som var stemo ren til Trond. Helge begynte å kalle seg Opdal. Om barna se under kona, Berit K Øye Life was good to Helge Andersen Opdal. He was well on his way to becoming a man of means in the parish. Then the sickness struck him. The illness was never given a name. There were no doctors nearby, and Helge probably wouldn't have visited one if there were.

It was only a little sore throat in the beginning. He did not even mention it to Berit, for there was no sense in bothering her with something so small. He was a strong, healthy man, and he would surely be feeling better soon. But the soreness got worse. It seemed to move from his throat to his chest. Now his lungs felt tight, and sometimes it was even hard to breathe. He kept on working. The chores would not go away just because a man had a little chest cold. Besides, the sickness will pass in a few days if a man doesn't give in to it. The days became weeks, and soon it was December. One night Berit was jolted awake by the sound of a deep, hacking cough. She had been sleeping soundly for some time, and it took a few moments for her mind to clear. What could it be? She sat up and pulled a shawl over her shoulders before gettin g out of the bed. The sound came again. Could it be Trond? It was too deep for one of the little ones. Suddenly she realized that the place beside her in the bed was empty. Berit jumped out of bed and hurried into the kitchen. It took a moment for her eyes "to adjust to the dim light of the room. Then her heart sank as she saw her husband. He was wrapped in an old blanket and huddled on the floor by the fireside, trying to find some warmth as his body shook with fever chills. "Nei, what are you doing out here in the middle of the night? And on the floor, too?" Berit scolded. "You are worse than one of the children! Come to bed with you now, and I'll fix something to help that cough." She bustled around him like a bird, leading the way back into the bedchamber and chiding him every step of the way for not waking her earlier. But the brusqueness of her tone only barely concealed her growing anxiety. Helge was too worn out to argue with her. He soon found himself tucked into bed with extra blankets thrown over him for good measure. Then Berit left the room for a few minutes, returning quickly with a mixture of honey and alum that she had prepa red to ease his coughing. Finally, she placed a wooden bowl filled with junipers beside the bed for spitting. "Now we'll see if we can't get some sleep before morning comes. " But Berit couldn't close her eyes. The sound of the regular coughing spells, together with the worry and confusion in her mind, refused to let any rest come for most of the night. It was almost sunrise before she finally dozed. She awoke as the first rays of light peered through the little window. Rising quietly from the bed in order to let Helge sleep, she almost stumbled over the juniper bowl. Carrying it over to the window, Berit held it up to the light. The saliva was stained with blood. One day passed, and then another. It was hard to keep track of them now. Helge spent most of his time in bed. His face was flushed with fever, and the spasms of coughing returned with painful regularity. Berit heated some coarse salt and, wrappin g it in a cloth bag, placed it on his chest. She prepared special potions for him to drink, too, but none of the old remedies seemed to help. If only it wasn't December! The old folks always said that it was a time of sickness and death when the jule spirits roamed. Berit kept reminding herself that it was only superstitious nonsense. But it was hard to drive the fears from her mind. There was no time to sit still. Now she had the farm chores as well as her household work to do. The two oldest children, Ingeborg and Trond, were a big help, but the days were hardly long enough to get everything done. Too much work and too little sleep. When the day finally ended, Berit could still only sleep fitfully at her husband's side. Now she went about her tasks in a daze, her mind exhausted and empty. She was even too tired to pray. One of Trond's chores was to feed the cows. The hay was running short, so one day his mother gave him permission to climb the mountain slopes high above the farm and gather moss for fodder. The snow cover was light and the sun was shining, so th e boy was able to travel farther from his home than usual. He was young, and it was hard for him to sense the seriousness of his father's sickness. He only knew that it was good to be away from home for a few hours, and he prolonged his time up on the seter as long as possible. There was only a slight breeze on that cool December day. So the pillar of smoke that rose to meet the clouds in the distance could be clearly seen for miles. It carne from the direction of the Opdal farm. No one met the boy as he hurried home with his load of moss. No one remembered to find him and break the bad news gently before he arrived. It was not necessary. He had already guessed the truth. He knew that his father was dead as soon as he saw the straw mattress burning in the farmyard. Trond was twelve years old. Now his childhood must cease. The tears welled up in his eyes and threatened to fall, but he brushed them aside. Mother would have her hands full, and she depended on him to help. He was the firstborn son, the oldest man in the family now that his father was gone. There was no time for tears. The next few days seemed like a feverish dream. When would morning finally come? When will the nightmare end? But the boy never indicated for a moment the turmoil of emotions that stormed in his heart. There was work to be done. A couple of Berit's brothers came and constructed the coffin from the dried fir boards that were stored in the barn. Trond stared silently at its soot-blackened sides with their white stripes. It seemed so small for such a big man as his father . If only he had been old enough to build it himself! The body of Helge Andersen Opdal was carefully placed inside the narrow box. Then other relatives joined Berit and the children as they sang out the coffin, carrying it into the stabbur (storehouse). The winter storm that hit the valley during the next few days was a hard one. Travel was next to impossible. Now there were paths to be shovelled as well as the usual chores to be done. The family was almost too weary to mourn. Two weeks passed before the roads were open enough for a funeral to be arranged. Day after day Trond and the others passed the stabbur as they went about their duties. Sometimes he even had to enter the log building to get supplies for the kitchen . At first he hesitated, but there was work to be done and he was too old to be afraid. After a while he could even pass the black box without remembering that his father's body was within. The days passed quickly for Berit. Two weeks were barely time enough to get ready for the funeral. Gro Guttormsdattir, her mother-in-law, had come to help with the kitchen preparations, and Ingeborg was old enough to mind the little ones. Otherwise they never would have been ready in time. The breads and pastries had to be baked, as well as the lefse and flatbrø. The butter had to be churned and the ale brewed. There was cheese to be made, too, and the women even butchered a sheep, cutting up the meat for the large meals that woul d soon be served. Berit fell exhausted into her bed at the end of each day. Now she was alone. Perhaps it was a blessing that she was too tired to think. The day of the funeral, December the 20th, finally dawned. They hurried through the morning chores, and the children were washed and dressed in their best clothes. "Ingeborg, Trond, the two of you keep a sharp eye on the younger ones so that no one gets dirty before our company comes. " Berit was the last to get ready. Gazing at her reflection in the mirror, she brushed her long hair back and pulled it into a tight bun, covering her head with a small black bonnet to match her black satin dress. I am thirty-three years old, she thought, and my life is over.

The guests were arriving, and now some of the neighbours men carried the coffin from the stabbur to the house. The family clustered together by the door as the men passed through with their tragic burden. Ingeborg and the younger children clung te arfully to their mother, but Trond stood stiffly by himself like a soldier at attention. The farmhouse was spacious, but it was soon filled to overflowing with family and friends. The guests bore the familiar farm names of the parish: Opdal, Øye, BØ, Holten, Hermundstad, Grøv, Lunde, Strand, Oldre,' and Hemsing. Some were both relatives and neighbours, coming with their own families to share in the funeral observance. Now it was time to open the coffin, and a hymnal was placed over the heart of the corpse. One by one the guests passed by, each one making the sign of the cross as he viewed the body. The formalities were finished. Each guest now was served a fattigmaand with a choice of beverage. And this was only a beginning, for soon the table was groaning under the weight of a full dinner. "Vær saa god! Come and see if you can make a meal of it, "Berit announced as the food was dished out into wooden bowls and eaten by means of the knives and spoons with which each had come prepared. The dinner ended after a couple of hours. In the absence of a pastor, the klokker conducted a brief devotional service. The familiar words of comfort were read: "It is appointed unto man once to die ... So teach us to number our days ... Be ye also ready, for in an hour that ye think not ... I am the resurrection and the life ... Let not your hearts be troubled ... In my Father's house are many mansions ..."

Berit was seated for this portion of the service, with the baby on her lap and the smaller children on the floor by her feet. Ingeborg and Trond stood close by her side. With bowed head and dry eyes She and the others heard what they already knew , that Helge Andersen Opdal had been a confirmed member of the Evangelical Lutheran Church, a hard worker and an honest neighbour, a good husband and father. The klokker concluded his remarks and led the company in singing: "Life's day is ended, The battle fought and won;

With joy unmingled I greet the setting sun. My soul now rest thee forever, tired of earth ..."

Now the time had come to carry the coffin from the house to load it carefully on a sleigh. The rig moved slowly out of the farmyard onto the road, followed by the family and other mourners in a long procession of sleighs. They rode in the directio n of the village, careful not to allow any open space between the sleighs lest another funeral would follow soon. The bell began its mournful toll as they approached the village, even before the procession could be seen from the church. Passing the cluster of houses, the sleighs turned off the road to the right, following the narrow trail to the churchyard. They halted at the wooden gate, unloaded the coffin and carried it through the portals to be finally lowered into the dark hole that had been cut in the frozen earth. The klokker led the mourners in one last hymn: "A gift to the churchyard we tender, As dust to the dust we surrender; Returning the clay to its Maker, We lay it ;0 rest in God's acre."

All stood reverently by the graveside in silent prayer for the next few minutes. But the wind was too cold to stand there for long. One after the other picked up a handful of cold earth and tossed it into the grave, making the sign of the cross on e final time. The bell tolled again, and people began to make their way back to the sleig9s. The funeral service was finished. "Hei! Get out of my way! Hurry up or we'll be left at the tail end!" Everyone knew it would happen. But the mood changed so suddenly that the children especially were unprepared. They could hardly believe their eyes and ears. All of a sudden men were running for their rigs and yelling for their passengers to hurr y and join them in a race back to the Opdal farm. It didn't take long for Trond and the others to be, carried away by the festive spirit of the crowd, too. Soon they found themselves shouting along with the others and urging their horses to run faster. The funeral already seemed like something fa r away.

Berit and a few of the other women had gone ahead, and were among the first to return to the farmhouse. They barely had time to take off their wraps before having to serve the food to the arriving guests. And what food! The dinner began with bowls of steaming sweet soup. Then the main course of boiled beef and pork was served with plenty of potatoes and washed down with coffee or ale. Finally the feast was topped with generous helpings of rømmegrau t. Trond and the other children were so full of food that they could hardly move. Never had they enjoyed such a feast! The day was already coming to an end, though, so it was time to get ready for bed. "But everyone is still here," little Helge protested, "and we're not one bit sleepy." Yet he was yawning as he spoke, and some of the adults couldn't help smiling as they watched the children struggling to keep their eyes open. Berit carried little Anne into her bedchamber first, followed by three-year-old John. They were sleeping almost as soon as their heads rested on the pillows. Helge and Anders were next, and finally Ingeborg and Trond grudgingly followed, too. The y tried to stay awake and listen, determined not to miss anything. But their tired bodies refused to cooperate, and soon they all were dead to the world. It was midnight, but still no one made any move to go home. Another dinner was yet to be served, and the women had already begun to set the food on the table. The guests lingered over their food for several more hours. Funerals were some of the ma in social events of their lives and were to be prolonged as much as possible.. It was almost sunrise before they shared their parting drinks and headed homeward. The younger boys and the baby were still asleep when Berit awakened Trond, Helge, and Ingeborg to help with the morning chores. "Can it really be morning already?" Helge groaned as he and his brother hurried to dress in the cold sleeping room. "Quietly now," their mother cautioned them. "Don't wake the little ones yet. They will need all the sleep they can get before our company comes back again. "What? More company?" Helge exclaimed. "More company, more work," added Trond. Ingeborg nodded her head in agreement. The guests started to arrive in the late morning, in spite of the fact that the weather was frigid. Berit and the other wwomen were busy in the kitchen one more time, and another full meal was served. Today the menu included fish instead of meat, together with bowls of thick pea soup, and some of the ladies brought rice pudding for dessert. Even Ingeborg and Trond couldn't help feeling a sense of excitement about entertaining so many guests, despite the fact it meant extra work for them. But they both breathed a sigh of relief when the farm house finally emptied by the middle of th e afternoon. And today, when the evening chores were completed, no one needed to encourage them to bed.

But the funeral observance was still not complete. More guests arrived on the third day... the relatives returned, but the farm owners were replaced by hired men and husmenn (landless peasants, cotters) with their families. There was a difference in the guests, and a difference in the mood of the day as well. This time there was even more of a party spirit. After another meal was served, the table and chairs were moved to the side of the spacious room to clear the wa y for dancing. Trond Eltun from Vang was there with his fiddle, and soon the couples crowded the floor as he began to play the familiar dance tunes. The other guests sat along the walls of the room, visiting with one another as they watched the dancers, tapping their feet in time to the music. A few of the men gathered around the table in a corner of the room and occupied themselves with a game of cards. Now the smoke from many pipes floated in the air like a mist, mingling its aroma with the smell of food. And the singing of the fiddle strings soared above the sound of many voices, all speaking at once. Trond and his brothers and sisters watched and listened. It was a sound and a scene that they would never forget. Finally this last funeral day ended, too. The company departed one after the other, murmuring their last words of sympathy to Berit as they left. A few of the men had to be helped to their sleighs due to the amount of ale they consumed. At last the family was alone again. There was not much to say to one another. The evening chores could not wait and the kitchen had to be cleared. Soon it was time for bed. There was still some food to be carried out to the stabbur, but Berit was bone tired and determined to leave it until morning. "Not that there will be very much to store away, "she said to Ingeborg with a weary smile. "Those guests of ours did a fine job of cleaning out the pantry and the storehouse, too, and that's a fact! But we will worry about that tomorrow." There was one last duty to be done. Remembering something that had been neglected during the hectic days of the funeral, she called the children together in the parlour for their customary evening prayers

Occupation:
grb 1850-1859

Helge married Berit Trondsdtr ØYE in 1844. Berit (daughter of Trond Johanson ØYE and Anne Jonsdtr NYSTUEN) was born on 10 Sep 1826 in Øye 14/3, Sørre; died on 9 Aug 1902 in Uvdal 2/2 Sygardé. [Group Sheet] [Family Chart]

Notes:

Da Helge døde bare 48 år gammel, satt Berit igjen med mange små barn, hun fortsatte å drive gården til sønnen John kunne overta den 5.13 1878. Han var den eneste av barna som ikke dro til USA.De andre barna til Helge og Berit er: Ingebjørg (1844- ) gm Nils Myre, de dro til USA 1869, Trond (1847- ) til USA i 1866, Helge (1850-) til USA 1870, Andris (1853-) gm Anna A Hermundstad til USA 1872 og Anne (1858-1866). Alle barna dro til Lyons County.

Notes:

Occupation:
grb

Kristen married Guro Gudbrandsdtr BUSTEBAKKE on 17 Dec 1843. Guro (daughter of Gudbrand Rønjussen DALE and Guri Gudbrandsdtr HEGGE) was born on 16 Jul 1819 in Bustebakke 26/14 Øs; died on 26 Mar 1921 in Manfred, Wells Co, ND. USA. [Group Sheet] [Family Chart]

Other Events and Attributes:

• Emigration: USA
• Residence: Rogne 43/5, Marké Øs

Notes:

Hun var fra Melby eller Bustebakke Hun arvet Melby og tok navnet Melby.De var på den gården lenge, men flyttet etter hvert til Rogne hvor mannen hennes kom fra. Den siste sønnen er født på Rogne. Tore Ey kaller henne Guri.

Notes:

Married:
Da hun ble enke ble hun med barna sine til USA