Looking into my paternal family history

Hello dear blog. I want to relay some history to you, as it goes pretty far back and can easily be forgotten.

Most of what I'm going to write here is relayed from this little blue flower book my dad gave me. In it is photographs, black and white, full of my grandma's family.

My dad's bloodline is full of mystery, as my grandfather Herman Stalberg was a New York orphan. What we do know is that they were all Norwegian, both on my grandmother and grandfather's side. They perhaps had a different last name in the past and changed it to the German "Stalberg" which translates to "Steel Mountain."

Unlike my grandfather, we have pictures of my grandmother's Norwegian family. They have classic Norway names like Olaf, Ingeborg, Enoch, and Torger.

Lately I've been feeling romantic about family history, so these pictures are precious to me. I wish I knew more about them. My dad and I guess that they were farmers (which explained having many children) with little education. Why did they leave Norway? What were their political values? A sentimental part of me wonders . . . would they have loved me?

My dad doesn't keep in touch with his siblings, and yet he digs and digs into the earth for these old forgotten roads that old forgotten people took. He would sit with me, and tell me about my Norwegian ancestors. He got an old VHS of The Polar Bear King, based on an old Norwegian fairytale. I watched the shit out of that VHS, and still love its story and crappy effects to this day. (I think it's all accessible on Youtube now).

I guess my dads romantic ghost-loving heart stuck to me. I'm only 27, but I am keeping a bookcase full of family records. (My moms side of the family certainly deserves its own blog post).

There is one picture of a man named Andy in 1920. My father's grandpa. I think my dad's brother was named after him. He served in WWI and married a woman named Kate Ramburg (who I got my middle name from).

Before obtaining these pictures, I actually kind of avoided interest in my personal Norwegian heritage. In the United States, love of Norwegian history, culture, and whatnot can be a hobby of white supremacists (and the rest are all mythology and/or viking fanatics that often try to always prove they know more than you). I saw that pridefully sharing my ancestry would be a yellow flag to others. Now though, I think I've gotten over that.

My moms physical genes were quite dominant (we look like clones of each other). With that in mind, it's not easy to see my face reflected in these pictures. However, what could be reflected? Surely these people made choices that lead to this moment, even after 100 years. At least I like to think so.

This year, my dad sent me a short story he wrote about his own journey researching his ancestry. He decided to try to find out about my orphan grandfather, and where those roots lead. On a trip to New York, he visited his dad's orphanage. Grandpa Herman had a father addicted to drugs and a mother who couldn't care for him. He was never adopted, and grew up to join the Coast Guard.

My dad explored the graveyard where his grandfather was buried. His journey landed him to a single gravestone.

All is said was "Stalberg." No names. No dates. Just "Stalberg."

After more digging, he found out that apparently, six bodies are under that grave. In it are my father's grandfather, great grandfather, great grandmother, grandfather's sister, and his great great grandmother. The others are unknown. This was at Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn.

To be buried in a mass with few details, they were probably very poor. For them, I possess no pictures. My dad seemed both in awe but also haunted in his writings.

At least we have this book for my grandma Gladys' family. It does inspire to record what we can while we are still a part of this world.