Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - VII. Lapland
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in Uncle Lars’ long black Sunday coat of
homespun cloth and wooden shoes while Ristin sat by
the oven in the kitchen where Mother Kerstin
was hard at work baking the bread. The stranger
who had come there yesterday with a Finn Lapp
had eaten up all the bread in the house. Their
son was away cutting timber on the other side
of the lake, I was to sleep in his little room over
the cow-stable. They hoped I would not mind
the smell of the cows. Not in the least, I rather
liked it. Uncle Lars said he was going to the
herbre to fetch a sheepskin to put over my bed,
he was sure I would need it for the nights were
already cold. The herbre stood on four poles of
stout timber, a man’s height over the ground, as
a protection against four-footed visitors and the
deep snow of the winter. The store-room was
full of clothes and furs neatly hung on the antlers
nailed to the walls. Uncle Lars’ fur coat of wolf’s
skin, his wife’s winter furs, half-a-dozen
wolf-skins. On the floor lay a sledge rug of splendid
bear skin. On another peg hung Mother
Kerstin’s wedding dress, her gaily coloured silk
bodice beautifully embroidered with silver thread,
her long green woollen skirt, her tippet of squirrel
skin, her bonnet trimmed with old lace, her red
leather belt with buckles of solid silver. As we
climbed down the ladder of the herbre I told
Uncle Lars he had forgotten to lock the door.
He said it did not matter, wolves, foxes and
weasels would not carry off their clothes, there
were no eatables in the herbre. After a stroll in
the forest I sat down under the big fir by the
kitchen door to a splendid supper, Lapland trout,
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