It was my great-grandfather, Anders Anderson, one of the Swede-Finns, who came over on the Kalmar Nyckel from Gothenburg in 1637. The ship landed at what later became Wilmington, Delaware in March of 1638. They built Fort Christina there and called the settlement New Sweden. Anders was employed as a hunter to feed the new colony, for which he was provided with a cabin and monthly wages. He had contracted to feed the colony for a period of six years after their arrival in America, after which he was free to go and do as he pleased. During his six years he met and married Hilya with whom he had eight children. At the end of six years Anders and Hilya pulled up stakes and moved west just a matter of miles, to where the game was once again plentiful, the soil was not used up, and the interactions with neighbors a little less frequent. My grandfather was Ander's first son, Timo. His upbringing was an education in wilderness living and some tending of the land. When he was yet a boy the family moved again. As the game became depleted, the soil got used up, and civilization encroached on their idyllic life they felt the need to move on, not far but just away from the "press" of too many people. As all God's creatures are want to do, Timo, about the time he was 24, found himself a wife, Anna, and moved off to raise his own family. Within a few years my father, Heikki, Henry to the English speaking, was born. That was about the year 1683. He was raised in the same fashion as his father, for it was the life they knew. By this time the personalities of the individual family members were becoming, let's say,"unique". Life went on as it always had. Henry grew up, found a wife, another Anna, and moved off, still a teen in 1702. He was peculiar in that he had to move off when he did and in that he had what he called "moments". At these "moments" you would see him frozen in place and staring at something, someone, an object, or a scene. When asked what the trouble was he'd say,"I'm just seeing what I'm looking at." No one knew what he meant. Well, I was born in 1703. I don't know if I inherited it or if I learned by seeing, but as I grew up it was seen I had the same habit of being stopped by different sights, of having my "moments", and having to look, to see, to study what I saw. As I grew I found myself scrawling images on any flat surface I coould find, with charcoal, or whatever I could find to make a mark with. Life was hard at that time, in that place, not so much for lack of game, or crop production. We'd moved far enough out to have good hunting, rich soil, and peace. Maybe I should I say "hard for me". It was that things had to be done and when I had to see and then create, everything else became very difficult. Of course, no one understood this, including myself. It led to endless strife. Finally, in about my sixteenth year, I felt the need to leave. That was an awakening. I learned to do whatever I had to to survive, all the while nurturing my drawing, my "limning", and occasionally painting when I could lay hold of materials, my art. To go into the story of how I got from a sixteen year old runaway to an artist, or limner, well into my mature years would take more space than I have here, so let this suffice to be my story for now.