Conclusion

Summary

In the wake of my grandma Dukleth’s death in 2006, my mother and her siblings returned home to empty her house. Grandma lived in a white farmhouse in Norway, Wisconsin that her father, my great-grandpa Johnson, had built with his own hands. I never knew my great-grandpa, but I have fond memories of visiting my grandparents on his farm, shucking fresh sweetcorn with Grandpa in the summer, and eating more than my share of Grandma’s Norwegian Krumkake at Christmas. Among the many precious heirlooms in the house was my grandma’s massive “Dukleth Roots” binder, which contained photographs, letters, and other documents of her extensive genealogical research that we often looked at together.