The diary was one of those small five-year volumes with only a few lines allotted per day. My father kept it from 1937 to 1940, and there were some sporadic entries from 1942. Lars Davidsen’s prose had undergone a revolution since 1937, and I puzzled over his peculiar use of the verb to be and his mutating prepositions. There were several entries that simply stated, Was to school. It took me several minutes to realize that this odd construction was a loose translation of the Norwegian Var på skolen, literally “Was on school.” His syntax and a number of the prepositions were English versions of the family’s first language. I guessed that he had received the diary for Christmas and began writing in it on January first. He recorded visits from and to neighbors: Masers were up for dinner. Neil was along, too. The Jacobsen boys were over in the afternoon. Was to Brekkes today. Was on a party at Bakkethuns. Weather conditions: There was a snowstorm today. The wind is blowing very hard. The weather was nice and melting. Today there was a hard snowstorm. From morning till now. There is a drift four feet high outside the house. Winter illnesses: Lotte and Fredrik were not in school, but Fredrik was up today. Was in bed all day because account of a cough. Animal troubles: Daddy and I was up to Clarence Brekke. He was having bad luck. 4 of his cattle was dead. Daddy was up at Clarence helping him skin the seventh cow. 4 heifers, 1 steer, 1 cow, and one calf have died for him inside a week. Jacobsen’s horse, Tardy, died. Ember’s dog was driven over. On January 28, I found a mention of David. Today is a year ago since dad was up in the cities to identify uncle David after hearing he was dead. By spring there were several gopher entries: I caught 6 gophers today. Caught four gophers. I caught 7 gophers in all at Otterness. On June 1, my father wrote, Today there was a row between Harry and Daddy. June 3, I found the first mention of the world beyond that small rural community. I plowed and dragged today. King Edward and Mrs. Wallis Simpson. On the fifteenth of that same month, my father recorded an emotion. I hoed potatoes all day. Pete Bramvold was here and wanted to hire me. I am so doggoned disgusted because I can’t go. On the day before Lisa sent the letter to my father, June twenty-sixth, I found this entry: We plowed in the potatoes. Daddy was to town. Harry was put in jail.

Who was Harry? When I spoke to Inga, she said she had no idea. I agreed to write to Uncle Fredrik and ask him. Tante Lotte was beyond asking. She was in a nursing home with Alzheimer’s.