One winter when I was a teenager I visited my great granduncle Johannson's place, up in western Norway. I was a bookish lad, but my cousins were country folk. The sun would roll along the horizon for a few hours near noon each day, leaving it in twilight and dark through the long nights.

One morning before light my cousin Emma was packing. Boards, a wrapped canvas, food. "Come, Christopher, I'll show you our cabin," she said.

She loaded my bicycle and hers and we started down the hill. I talked of Ivanhoe. We reached the harbor at dawn.

"Ach, that's Karl, he's a fisherman, ignore him," Emma hissed as we walked to her boat.

"HELLO PRETTY LADY!" he yelled. "YOU SHOULD COME SEE A REAL BOAT SOMETIME!"

"Sounds like he's fishing for you," I said.

"Ugh I'd rather die," said Emma.

"THAT YOUR BOYFRIEND, EMMA?" he yelled.

"He wants accismus," I muttered.

"Pffftht," said Emma, "he's no getting a kiss from this miss."

"No no ... 'accismus' is pretending not to want what you really want. If he wasn't so direct he might get more girls."

"Ooo, is that what you're doing?" she asked. "Being shy and polite all the time?"

I flustered. "No! No I'm just always this way." We got in her rowboat and she started up the outboard motor. The water was smooth and the sun was warm. Spectacular scenery.

We reached an island cliff and carried her supplies up a narrow dirt path. A little dark cabin perched on the rocks.

Inside, it was sturdier than I expected. Emma hung the painting on the wall and took the tarp and some boards out the window and up onto the roof. She started pounding nails.

The portrait was of a man with ruffled black hair, facing left. He had a big sharp nose and a monstrous mustache below his little beady eyes that stared out accusingly.

"What's this painting?" I asked.

"Mother's portrait of great uncle Bernard Ollson, barrister. He declared the moon illegal."

"Crazy, was he?"

"Mother says no. Strong willed. Strong of faith. But not strong enough to persuade the moon not to rise. He would go out at night and swear at it." More pounding.

She came back in. Outside, the sun was rolling below the horizon again to the southwest. Ocean and islands were spread out below a flaming red sky.

"How do you like our cabin?" asked Emma.

"Wow," I said.

"Here we are, all alone, with this sunset all to ourselves! You know what this calls for?"

"..."

"Lunch!" Emma brought out the picnic basket. She handed me food and stuffed her face. The sun slowly set. "You are right," said Emma. "The weather is hard on our little cabin. The most important thing is to build more. Build more than the weather takes away."

Back to the boat. Emma piloted back into the fjord.

Halfway back the motor stopped. Emma was swearing.

"Now what?" I asked. The swells were bigger now, and night was falling.

"Now we row," said Emma. She handed me an oar. Had me sit next to her. Coached me how to paddle. After several attempts we were pulling in sync.

We rowed. The swells were reaching four feet high. The boat rocked crazily. Most of the time you couldn't see the horizon. And I was backwards, looking out to sea. "You're doing fine," said Emma.

It got darker and colder. I just concentrated on the oar: pull, lift, feather, dip, pull. Such a contrast from the morning's easy ride out on a smooth sunlit mirror. It began to rain.

After forever we reached the harbor. Emma tied up the boat. Bicycles ... home was miles uphill and I was beat.

"I'll go ahead and have mother come with the car," said Emma. "You follow. There's just one road. You have to keep moving or you'll freeze." And she shot off.

I tried the bicycle, but uphill was too much. I got off and walked the bicycle up the hill. Sometimes I couldn't see the mountains through the rain. Sometimes the moon peeked through.

Headlights appeared ahead. My relatives tied the bike to the roof of their car and hustled me into the back seat.

"The weather turned awful," I said.

"There is no bad weather," my aunt replied, "only bad clothing! We'll get you home and wrapped up."

Back at great granduncle's, they wrapped me in a blanket in front of a fire and gave me Kvæfjordkake, with slivered almonds, and hot cocoa with a dollop of whipped cream. I watched the flames. Uncle was asleep in his chair. I fell asleep listening to Emma and Will debating what additions they should make to the cabin next.