They say, for farmers, the weather’s always bad.
Too much rain, too hot or way too cold.
But I, the miller, always got my share.
Farmers used to come to me with wagon-loads of wheat or rye.
I could feed my children, I could build my house.
The grinding stones were never still.
But then potatoes came and the people of the land craved less for bread.
Now my wheels have stopped. I close the door.
It’s time for us to leave starvation.
Tickets in my hand, we are leaving for America.
I’ve heard they need a miller’s hand.
This is imagined from some historic background. In the end of the 18th century potatoes was introduced in Sweden, and it changed the rural life a lot. Potatoes required much less work, and fed the population better, so I imagined that among the first to suffer from this revolution where the millers. During the 19th century and early 20th century about 25% of Sweden’s population emigrated. If you find the subject fascinating I recommend you to read the Emigration series by Vilhelm Moberg.
The story has also been made into a musical (Kristina från Duvemåla).
Friday Fictioneers is a group of bloggers writing a 100 word story to the same picture under the guidance of Rochelle. Join this weekly fun, where I have been a happy participant for quite some time now.
January 4, 2016