I wrote an AI-assisted ABC biography for my wife Linda's 2nd great-grandparents Sjur Torgersen Leland and Brita Olsdatter in ABC Biography of the Sjur Torgersen Leland (1804-1889) and Brita Olsdatter (1818-1895) Family of Voss, Norway and Dane County, Wisconsin based on my genealogical research over 38 years.
I wondered what Brita Olsdatter Leland might have said in a life memoir told to her grandchildren in 1894.
(AI Google NotebookLM Infographic for Brita Olsdatter Leland's memoir)
1) I requested Anthropic Claude Sonnet 4.5 to create a memoir told by Brita Olsdatter Leland about her life in 1894. The prompt was: "Please write a life memoir for Brita Olsdatter Leland based on the attached biography, as she might tell to her grandchildren in 1894."
2) The AI Anthropic Claude Sonnet 4.5 memoir (edited for accuracy and completeness) is:
My Life Story
As Told by Brita Olsdatter Leland to Her Grandchildren
Deerfield, Wisconsin - 1894
My Childhood in Midtun
Come sit by me, children, and I'll tell you about the old days, about Norway and how we came to be here in Wisconsin. I'm seventy-six years old now, and my memory reaches back a long, long way, all the way to the mountains of Voss where I was born.
I was born on the fourth of October in 1818, in a place called Midtun in Voss. That's in the Hordaland region, where the mountains rise up steep and beautiful, and the lake sits like a mirror reflecting the sky. My father was Ole Olavsen and my mother was Ingeborg Botolfsdatter. They married the very year I was born, so I was their first child, their firstborn daughter.
I had five brothers and sisters who came after me. First came my sister Åsa, just two years younger than me. We were close, Åsa and I, helping our mother with the younger ones. Then came Rannveig, and later Ingeborg, and finally two brothers, Olav and Sjur. The house was always full of noise and laughter and work. There was always work to be done on a farm in Voss.
We lived in Midtun when I was small, and later we moved to Eimstad, not far away. Life in Voss was hard but beautiful. The winters were long and cold, with snow piled high, and the summers were short but glorious, when the grass grew thick and green on the hillsides. We kept sheep and cattle, grew what we could in the rocky soil, and helped each other as neighbors do.
My sisters Åsa and Rannveig both married and stayed in Voss. Åsa married Gusskalk Olssen, and Rannveig married Ingebrikt Olssen. They're still there, as far as I know, living the life we all knew as children. Sometimes I wonder what became of them all, if they think of me here across the ocean.
Meeting Sjur
Now, your grandfather Sjur—he was quite a bit older than me. Fourteen years older, to be exact. He was born in 1804, when the century was still young. His family came from Tungeteigen, and they moved around to different farms—Gjelle, Mølster. His father was Torgeir Olsen and his mother was Anna Sjursdatter. They had a large family too, six children. Sjur had two brothers, Ole and Ivar, and three sisters.
I don't remember exactly when I first met Sjur at the church in Voss, but by the time I was in my late twenties, we had an understanding. He was a good man, steady and reliable. In March of 1850, our first child was born—your father Torger. Three months later, on the twenty-first of June, we stood together in the church in Vinje and were married properly. That was the way things were done sometimes in those days. We were a family already, and the church made it official.
We started our married life on Mølster farm, near where Sjur's family had lived. Little Torger was just a baby, learning to sit up and make his funny noises. The next year, in December of 1851, our second son Ole was born. We had moved by then to Gjelle farm. And two years after that, in December of 1853, came our third son, Mathias.
Three boys! I was busy from morning till night, washing and cooking and mending, milking the cows and tending the garden, all while keeping an eye on those three lively boys. Sjur worked the land, as his father had and his grandfather before him. We thought we would live our whole lives there in Voss, raise our children there, grow old there.
The Decision to Leave Norway
But then the letters started coming from America. Sjur's brother Ivar had gone across the ocean a few years before us, and he wrote about the land available in Wisconsin, about how a man could own his own farm, good flat land without rocks, not like the steep hillsides of Voss. Other neighbors had gone too, and their letters spoke of opportunity.
It was a hard decision, children. The hardest decision of my life. I was thirty-seven years old, Sjur was fifty-one, and we had three little boys—Torger was six, Ole was four, and Mathias was just two years old. To leave everything we knew, everyone we loved, to cross an ocean we'd never seen, to go to a country where they didn't even speak our language—it seemed almost mad.
But Sjur was determined. He said there was no future for us in Voss, that the boys would have no land of their own. And I trusted him. I trusted that God would watch over us. So in the spring of 1856, we sold what we couldn't take with us, packed up our belongings, said our goodbyes, and made our way to Bergen.
I remember saying goodbye to my mother and father. They were getting older—Mother was sixty-four and Father was sixty-two. I wondered if I would ever see them again. As it turned out, I never did. They both lived many more years—Father until 1871 and Mother until 1872—but I never saw them again after that day in 1856. That was the price of America.
The Voyage Across the Ocean
We boarded a sailing ship called the Hebe in Bergen. It was a new ship, and we were told it was fast. I was terrified, I don't mind telling you. The ocean seemed to go on forever, gray and rolling and angry. I'd never been on a ship before, never been farther from home than the next valley.
We were packed in below deck with dozens of other families, all of us Norwegian, all heading for America. The smell down there—oh, children, I won't describe it. The ship rocked and pitched, and many people were sick. I tried to keep the boys entertained and fed, tried to keep them from running wild in the cramped space. Sjur stayed strong, never complained, though I know he must have worried.
But God was good to us. The Hebe lived up to its reputation. We made the crossing in just three weeks—three weeks! Other families we met later had been at sea for two months or more. The sailors said they'd rarely seen such a fast crossing. We arrived in Quebec, Canada, tired and rumpled but safe, all five of us together.
Finding Our Way to Wisconsin
From Quebec, we started the long journey to Wisconsin. We traveled on a steamboat for part of the way, watching the strange new land go by. Then we took a canal boat—slower, but the boys liked watching the mules pull us along. Then we got on a railroad train, which frightened me at first with its noise and speed, but the boys thought it was the most exciting thing they'd ever experienced.
We made our way through Chicago—what a city! So many people, such noise and bustle. Nothing like Voss. Then on to Milwaukee, and finally to Edgerton in Rock County, Wisconsin. From there we traveled to find Bryngel L. Leland, someone Sjur had known in Norway, who had settled in Deerfield in Dane County.
When we arrived at Bryngel's place, I could have cried with relief. To hear Norwegian spoken again, to be welcomed by someone who knew our ways, who understood where we'd come from—it was like finding a piece of home in this vast, strange land. We stayed with him through that summer while Sjur worked and earned money and looked for land of our own.
Our First Years in America
We stayed briefly in the Koshkonong area, and it was there, in September of 1856, that your Aunt Ingeborg was born. After three boys, I finally had a daughter! I named her Ingeborg after my mother. Now we were six.
In the fall of 1856, Sjur built us a house on Section 25 in Deerfield township, and we moved into it. It wasn't much compared to what we have now, but it was ours. We were so proud of it, so grateful to have our own place again.
But then came the hardest thing I've ever endured. Our little Mathias, not even three years old, took sick that fall. We tried everything, but nothing helped. He died in the fall of 1856, just months after we arrived in Wisconsin.
Children, I cannot tell you the grief. We had brought him all this way, across the ocean, away from everything familiar, and then to lose him here in this strange land. I blamed myself. I wondered if we should never have come, if he would still be alive if we'd stayed in Voss. For months, I could barely function. Sjur grieved too, but he had to keep working. We had the other children who needed us.
Little Ingeborg helped heal my heart. She was so tiny, so precious. And the boys needed me. Torger, at six, tried to be brave and strong. Ole, at four, didn't fully understand. But they needed their mother, and that helped me carry on.
Building Our Farm
In 1859, your Aunt Anna was born. Another daughter! We named her Anna Mathea—Anna after Sjur's mother, and Mathea to remember our little boy who died. Now we were six again with Torger, Ole, Ingeborg, and Anna.
We lived in that first house for ten years, and they were good years. Hard years, but good. We learned English—well, some English. The children learned it faster than we did. We made friends with other Norwegian families in the area. There were many of us around Deerfield and London, all helping each other, keeping our language and our ways alive while becoming Americans.
In 1865, Sjur was able to buy forty acres in Section 23. Forty acres of our own! We moved there in 1866, and that farm became our home for the rest of our lives together. Sjur worked that land, and the children helped as they grew. Torger became a fine farmer. Ole learned carpentry and was so clever with his hands. The girls helped me in the house and garden.
During the 1870s, we took the name Leland. We'd been called all sorts of things—the census takers could never get our names right. Torgerson, Liland, Mølster. But Sjur's brother Ivar had married a girl from Liland farm in Voss, and both our families decided to use Leland as our surname. It connected us to home, to Voss, to the farm where Ivar's wife came from. It gave us a name that would last, that our children and grandchildren would carry. That's your name now, children. Leland. Remember it means 'from Liland farm in Voss, Norway.'
Watching My Children Grow
Your father Torger—he made me so proud. He worked hard on the farm, and for many years he served as the town clerk in Deerfield Township. People trusted him, respected him. In 1876, when he was twenty-six, he married Anna Ellingsdatter Natvig, and oh, what a beautiful wedding that was! They've given me ten grandchildren. Ten! Some of you are sitting here right now listening to this old woman's stories.
Ole never married. He's forty-two now, a good son, still living nearby. He's a skilled carpenter and joiner. If you need something built or fixed, Ole can do it. He has a kind heart, that one. He was always gentle, even as a boy.
Your Aunt Ingeborg married Anders Gullieksen Dykkesten in 1880. He was from Voss too—imagine that! Finding someone from home here in Wisconsin. They have two children, and they're living right here in Deerfield. In 1881, Ingeborg went back to Voss—she actually went back and saw the old country! I cried when she told me about it, about seeing the mountains again, the lake. She said it was just as beautiful as I remembered.
And my dear Anna. She married Charles Woelffer in 1880, the same year as Ingeborg. But Anna was not meant to have a long life. She died two years ago, in 1892, at just thirty-three years old. No children. That was hard, children, burying my daughter. No mother should have to bury her child. First little Mathias, then Anna. But that is God's will, and we must accept it, even when it breaks our hearts.
My Life Now
Your grandfather Sjur died five years ago, in March of 1889. He was eighty-four years old. We had been married for thirty-nine years, and together for even longer. He was a good man, your grandfather. Patient and kind. He worked hard every day of his life. People respected him, knew they could count on him.
When he died, he left me and our four children. Torger took care of his father's affairs, settled everything properly. We buried Sjur in St. Paul's Liberty Lutheran Church Cemetery here in Deerfield. That's where I'll be buried too, when my time comes. We'll be together again there.
I've lived here on this farm for five years without him now. The house feels empty sometimes, but my children visit, and you grandchildren brighten my days. I'm seventy-six years old. I've lived in America for thirty-eight years—longer than I lived in Norway. This is my home now, though sometimes in my dreams I'm back in Voss, young again, climbing the hillsides with Åsa, or sitting by the fire with my mother.
What I Want You to Remember
So that's my story, children. From Midtun to Deerfield, from a girl in the mountains of Norway to an old woman in the farmlands of Wisconsin. It's been a long journey, full of joy and sorrow, gain and loss.
I want you to remember where you came from. You're Americans, yes, but you're also Norwegian. Your roots go back to Voss, to those steep mountains and clear lakes, to generations of farmers who worked the land. Your great-grandparents, my parents, Ole and Ingeborg, are buried there. Sjur's parents, Torgeir and Anna, are buried there. That's where your people come from.
But you're here now, in America, and this is where your future is. Your grandfather and I came here so that you could have land, opportunity, a chance to build something. We sacrificed everything familiar so that you could have more than we had.
Remember to work hard. Remember to help your neighbors. Remember to honor God and go to church. Remember to take care of family, because family is what matters most. Your grandfather taught me that. When everything else is gone, family remains.
I don't know how much longer I have in this world. None of us knows that. But I'm content. I've lived a full life. I crossed an ocean, raised four children to adulthood, buried two children and my husband, and lived to see my grandchildren grow. I've known love and loss, fear and courage, despair and hope.
When I'm gone, remember your old grandmother who came from Norway. Tell your children about Voss, about the voyage on the Hebe, about the farm in Deerfield. Keep these stories alive. That's how we stay connected, across time and distance. That's how we remember who we are.
Now, it's getting late, and these old bones are tired. Thank you for listening to an old woman's memories. Go on now, go play, and let me rest. But come back tomorrow, and maybe I'll tell you more stories about the old country, about your grandfather when he was young, about the adventures we had. There are always more stories to tell.
— Brita Olsdatter Leland, Deerfield, Wisconsin, 1894
------------------------------
(Brita died the following year, on September 3, 1895, at the age of 76, and was buried beside Sjur in St. Paul's Liberty Lutheran Church Cemetery in Deerfield.)
========================================
3) The Video Overview of Brita Olsdatter Leland's memoir, created by the Google NotebookLM AI tool, is:
5) I edited the Claude memoir text to correct minor inconsistencies and errors. Every large language model (LLM) AI tool writes descriptive text much better than I can write. The AI tools are very perceptive, insightful and create readable text in seconds, including local and national historical events and social history detail when requested.
6) This is historical fiction, based on my own genealogical research. It is what Brita Olsdatter Leland might have told her grandchildren in 1894.
Please comment on this post on the website by clicking the URL above and then the "Comments" link at the bottom of each post. Share it on Twitter, Facebook, or Pinterest using the icons below. Or contact me by email at randy.seaver@gmail.com. Please note that all comments are moderated, and may not appear immediately.
Subscribe to receive a free daily email from Genea-Musings using www.Blogtrottr.com.."
