Norway is not like England, where nearly every bit of ground is cultivated, for nothing will grow on bare rocks, and a good deal of Norway is barren land. In fact, except in the low country down in the south, the only land worth cultivating lies, as a rule, in the valleys near the fjords. There are situated all the farms, sometimes with small orchards of apples and cherries, but more often with potato plots, a little corn, and a great amount of grassland. As the mountains are always so close at hand, the fields are generally strewn with rocks and boulders, and are very uneven, so haymaking is not easy, and such a thing as a mowing-machine would be quite useless.

Every blade of grass that can be gathered has to be made into hay, otherwise the ponies and cows would starve in the winter, as they are often snowed up for weeks at a time. Haymaking is, therefore, a great business, and the amount of grass which the Norwegians contrive to scrape off their land is marvellous. At the best of times it only grows to a height of about six inches, but scythes and reaping-hooks find their way into every nook and corner, and grass that no English farmer would trouble to cut is all raked in with the greatest care. Parties go up the mountain-sides to ledges of the cliffs, and on to the tops of the mountains, to make sure that nothing is wasted, the grass being brought down to the farms to be dried.

Long wires may be seen stretching from the valleys away up, thousands of feet, to the tops of the mountains, and on these the bundles of grass are tied, to come swirling down to the farmstead. There is no time in the short Northern summer to make the hay as we make it, and there is usually so much rain that the grass would never dry at all if left lying on the ground; so long hurdles are put up in positions where they will catch the sun and the wind, and on them the grass is hung up to dry, there remaining until it has made itself into hay. Afterwards it is stored in covered barns ready for winter use.

The corn, also, is dried in a peculiar manner. As it is cut it is made up into small sheaves, a number of these being tied, ears downwards, to a pole planted upright in the ground. This makes drying rapid, and, if wet weather sets in, the rain runs off freely. A field of these wheat-stacks has a very odd appearance at a little distance, and near the woods one sees similar, though somewhat larger, stacks of branches and leaves, on which the goats are fed in the winter.

Directly the snow has melted off the mountains the flocks and herds are sent up to the highland pastures (sÆters), usually in charge of the younger women and girls of the farm, and there, throughout the summer, the dairy work is carried on. As in all mountainous countries, rich and sweet herbage follows the melting of the snow, and the cows and goats give an abundance of good milk, which is turned into butter and cheese, to be sold or consumed in the winter. Life at the sÆter-hut, or mountain farm, is healthy and delightful, though much hard work has to be got through each day.

Children seldom go to the sÆters until old enough to be able to do real work, but one often sees a girl of fourteen or so looking after a flock of goats. She will be out with them all day as they feed on the mountain-sides, and will do all the milking. When seen for the first time this is rather an amusing operation, and decidedly a practical one. The milkmaid seizes a goat, straddles her, with face towards the goat’s tail, and, stooping down, proceeds to milk. From a little distance all you see is the goat’s hind-legs emerging from beneath a blue petticoat, which looks most peculiar.

But the children who are too young to spend the summer at the sÆters find plenty to do at home, and they learn almost as soon as they can toddle that there is work for everyone. Quite small boys and girls manage to do a good day’s haymaking, and they can row a boat or drive a carriole before they have reached their teens. Such things they regard as amusements, for they have few other ways of amusing themselves, and their one ambition is to do what their fathers and mothers do.

In some cases the small farmers move their whole families up to the mountain pastures for the summer; and, in addition to the dairy work, they rent the fishing on some of the mountain lakes, which they net freely. The trout thus caught are split open and salted down in barrels, eventually being sent down to the markets in the towns, where they fetch a good price. And all these peasants possess rifles, and are keen sportsmen, so that when August comes they go in pursuit of the wild reindeer, and lay up a store of meat, which, salted and dried, comes in very handy in the hard times of winter.

As a rule the peasants eat very little meat, and what they do eat has probably been smoked and dried and hung up for several months. A good deal of salt fish is consumed; but the principal food is porridge (grÖd), made of barley, rye, or oatmeal, and eaten generally with sour buttermilk, with the addition of potatoes, when plentiful. White bread is not found far from the towns, and the black, or rye, bread is a heavy compound, a taste for which takes an Englishman some time to acquire. But even that is superior to the fladbrÖd, which in appearance and consistency resembles old boot-leather.

The well-to-do farmer lives more sumptuously. He occasionally has fresh meat and fresh fish, and the dried articles nearly every day. He also indulges in cheese, usually of the commoner kind, known as prim, or mysost, which is not unlike brown Windsor soap. There are two other native cheeses, but they are considered somewhat expensive luxuries. They are called gammelost and pultost, and are made from sour skimmed milk, being afterwards kept in a dark cellar for a year or so to ripen. The latter is the greater delicacy, and is stored, in a sloppy state, in wooden tubs. If you should ever chance to see one of the tubs being produced, do not wait to see it opened, or your nose will never forget it!

Verily, winter is the bugbear of the struggling Norwegian countryman’s existence. Like the provident ant, he spends the greater part of the summer in laying up for the winter, and he has not only himself and his family to think of, but also his cattle, for if the latter cannot be properly housed and fed he will be ruined. There are times, however, when he contrives to throw off the constant thought of the future, and when he can enjoy himself thoroughly. Sunday is a day of rest, with possibly a long row across the fjord to church, after which comes a good gossip with the neighbours, and the chance of a feast at a friend’s farm. There are also high-days and holidays, weddings and christenings, accompanied by plentiful food and drink, as well as by dancing and fiddling.

But when the snow covers up the country the days are none too exciting, though the cattle have to be fed and many odd jobs attended to. Most of the men are handy carpenters, and can make such things as dairy utensils, while the women in many parts weave sufficient cloth to keep the whole family clothed. By the younger men, however, the season is looked forward to as a time of real enjoyment. Then it is that they get out their snowshoes and enter with zest into the grand sport of ski-ing, or, taking their guns with them, go off on their ski to shoot ryper or hares for the market.

Such is the life of the ordinary small farmer and peasant; but down by the fjords and on the beaten track of the foreign tourists the larger farmer has grasped the situation, and has discovered the value of having more than one string to his bow. So in summer he combines hotel-keeping with farming. His farm produce is consumed in his hotel, and if he is fortunate enough to have a salmon river flowing through his land, he can be certain of a good rent for it. Thus the prosperous farmer becomes a person of some importance in the district, and one day, perhaps, a Member of the Storthing, or Parliament.