Elise Björnson-Langen (X,c,2,1 ) ist die Enkelin von Albert Langen bzw. die älteste Tochter von dessen Sohn Björnstjerne Albert Langen (1898-1988), der vor dem 2. Weltkrieg nach Oslo umzog und den Mädchennamen seiner Mutter (Dagni Björnson) dazu nahm.

Pioneer-days in the Northern Country

A few years ago I was asked to give a "blurb" about why and how I came to Canada. This was at the Norwegian Ladies Club, and this is what I wrote.

I came to New York in 1965, 21 years old, where I was married to my next-door neighbor from Norway. He had just finished his engineering studies in Champaign, Illinois. I had not seen him for 6 months, and I can to this day remember what I was thinking, when I saw him at the airport. I have to insert here that when I came to North America, I thought I had a reasonably good command of the English language, having completed high school with what we called "the language line". But, Shakespeare's plays and the Gettysburg Address and such left me ill prepared for the everyday practical language, and there were many embarrassing situations in the beginning. A group of friends wanted to give me a shower (that was a belated wedding shower). I was extremely proud that I had finally learned the difference between shower and the Norwegian "douche", but was surprised that they did not know that I took showers at home. On another occasion a lady had to go to the ladies restroom and asked me if I wanted to come with her, when I promptly answered: no, thank you, I am not tired. But, we got married, bought one of the first Mustang convertibles in Detroit and began our journey up north to Hudson Hope in BE.CO. I'll never forget how relieved I was when we got the first glimpse of the Rocky Mountains after having driven through the prairies of Saskatchewan. We had been given the advice that for a new engineer all the possibilities were north, and my husband got work with Northern Construction at the Bennett Dam. We were told that we were going to live in a trailer. I had never seen a house trailer before, and was picturing something that one could pull behind a car. Instead, to my big relief, it was a rather respectable looking house, in form of a train. Every time I walked down the long hall with all the doors on one side, I always thought that I was on a train.

The winter in Hudson hope (or Hopeless Hope as we called it) was an xperience, and 50 below was not unusual for weeks on end. To start the car in the morning was quite an ordeal, because the wheels had frozen flat on the ground and it took a few miles of driving before they were round again. One day when I opened the door to go out, one of my glasses cracked due to the extreme temperature difference. The more delicate Americans from warmer climates went into hibernation, and we really never knew who was living in our camp - until spring time, when women, children, cats and dogs came crawling out of their trailers. It seemed like the population tripled in a matter of days.

My first child was born in Dawson Creek, which was a 2-3 hours drive from Hudson Hope, all depending upon weather and road conditions, which bridge had collapsed and which detour one had to take. So, when labor started, the doctor packed his black bag, climbed into the back seat of our car and came with us in case we got stuck on the way. Another Norwegian came and worked for my husband, but we did not know then that I was going to marry him 18 years later, after he had become a widower.

After Hudson Hope we lived in San Francisco and Churchill Falls in Labrador, but then we were finally on our way back to Norway , with Bergensfjord from New York. At least we thought that we were going to Norway. Instead my husband got work through NORAD to go to Africa, and there was just enough time to pack away our Labrador winter clothes, get out our summer clothes and get ready to leave. We spent 3 years in Zambia, and that was the most fantastic experience of my life. But, that is another story.

In 1982 I was back in Canada again, newly married to Leslie Eiken. And there I was again, heading up north for a second time. This time in a sturdy Chevy Blazer, towing a U-haul trailer, on our honeymoon, with 3 children in the back seat: two of his and one of hers. We were going to tumbler Ridge in B.C. where Leslie was in charge of the construction of the preparation plant for Quintette Coal. It was with mixed feelings that I again moved into a trailer, although this one was a little longer and a little wider than the one I had lived in 18 years ago. But, a trailer remains a trailer, and I had a feeling that I was going backwards in time instead of forward. Fortunately I was now a lot older and a little wiser, and had learned to truly appreciate the opportunity we had been given to be pioneers and to watch tumbler Ridge grow out of nothing. When we first came, there were only paved roads, sidewalks with streetlights, a city hall and lots of forest. When we left 18 months later, Tumbler Ridge was a self sustained town with every convenience. For many months our children went to school on the construction site in a trailer with 2 rooms and 2 teachers. We had to drive in to Dawson Creek once a week to go shopping, a two and a half hour trip on a poorly upkept gravel road, and we soon learned that what we forgot to buy, we'd have to be without till the next trip. Many interesting recipes were created up there when we had to substitute for ingredients that were two and a half hours away. In the winter, however, we could make the trip in half the time, because all the potholes were frozen even with the road surface. One time, during one of our weekly trips through miles and miles of forest, we heard from the back seat of the car: "If little Laura Ingalls from the Little House on the Prairie, in her long dress and bonnet, came jumping out from the forest, I would not be surprised!" Up there I again experienced winter in the North Country. I can especially remember one Easter Sunday when we went by helicopter to the top of Babcock Mountain and spent the whole day skiing down again. From the top, with one sweep of the eye, we could see the prairie, the foothills and the rocky Mountains.

We have now lived in Vancouver-Surrey for 10 years and have added one "ours" to our substantial flock of his and her children. My hope for the future is that we will never have to move further north that where we are now, and that my trailer days are behind me, once and for all. I guess the bottom line is: not another husband, not another trailer.

EBL ca. 1995