Tjörn, Sweden

By Tracey Marshall

Like many great stories, the story of my town is one of love, tragedy and great change. How I got here is the part about love, a brief interlude is the part about tragedy. And the great change? Well, that’s just the way of the world.

In the early 1900s thousands of Swedish immigrants fled poverty and starvation for the promise of a better life in the United States. Among them was my great grandmother Magda. She traveled alone from the remote island town of Tjörn, arriving by boat at Ellis Island in New York City, and then by train all the way to Tacoma, Washington on the opposite side of the country. She was 16 years old.

Despite the years and the distance my family ties to the old country were never completely severed. During one particularly fruitful Midsommar holiday to the home of my ancestors, I fell in love with a boy and found myself making plans to reverse my grandmother's journey. I would move 6000 miles away from my home in Tacoma and settle on Tjörn.

The western Swedish archipelago (called Bästkusten, the “Best Coast") includes literally thousands of islands of widely varying size, one of which is Tjörn. It's about an hour’s drive north of Sweden’s second largest city, Göteborg, and was largely inaccessible until 1960, when a bridge was built between the island and mainland Sweden. Immediately Tjörn experienced rapid changes in social services, technology and industry.

This remote island went from a predominantly fishing and farming community to one of Sweden’s major port and shipping areas. Tourism also became an important part of the island's commerce; the 15,000-strong population more than doubles for the three months of holiday. Many of the summer tourists, who were once only the Swedish wealthy elite, began to stay all year, prompting road improvements, shopping opportunities, gas stations and (later) internet access. These things were non-existent in Magda’s time. The world-famous Swedish social network arrived after she left, bringing with it healthcare, schools and the proper Swedish language. Tjörbu, the local dialect, is quickly dying, spoken almost exclusively among the elderly, lifelong residents of Tjörn. The younger population, and newer residents who speak mainland Swedish are often unable to communicate at all with the Tjörbu speakers.

In accordance with national law called allemansrätt (“all people’s rights” to a free and abundant natural environment) the entire country has been rendered a sort of 'national park' and protected area. At the dawn of the
industrial revolution, this area was particularly susceptible to excessive harvesting and timbering. As a result, today’s local politics are passionately aimed at protecting the island environment. Tjörn goes one step further by advertising, and delivering, a peaceful, environmentally progressive island life that celebrates nature’s gifts. For those living here, nature is to be enjoyed, but never disturbed or destroyed. The simple, lagom (“just enough”) life is as important to the island as its main exports of fresh potatoes, strawberries and herring.

Despite its relatively large landmass, there are only three larger towns here, with populations of approximately 3300, 1500, and 900 respectively. The majority of the island’s remaining 9300 inhabitants live in tiny villages made up perhaps of five or six residences or in even more remote, isolated reaches. Distinctively Bohuslän, the homes and working farms of Tjörn have been appropriately described as 'lego' style; uniformly painted either white or yellow, with a nearby red barn.

When I imagine this place as it once was, when I realize that I walk along the trails and paths grandma Magda once did and when I truly understand how she left not by choice but because she was the strongest and healthiest and had the greatest chance of survival in an unknown world, I realize that I live among the ghosts of my heritage.

This place is a part of me now, more than I ever dreamed it could be. There’s something distinctively timeless about this island community, this place I now call home. The snow falls just as it did in Magda's day, the wind blows as it always did, the archipelago landscape remains magnificent, and a warm summer day will forever be likened to a particularly sweet heaven on earth.

I often wonder how much I am like Magda. I like to think that there is much in common between us. Though she might not recognize the superficial surroundings, if Magda knew I was here, living in the place she had to leave, I think she’d enjoy a deeply ironic satisfaction in knowing that I am starting again, right where she left off.