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A final glance at the birches in front of the dark spruce woods, then out onto the highway again. Continue on a ways in the same direction as before, watch for the sign on the left: Moshult.
And if Åkerby Junction was the gathering point for the emigrants' journey, then Moshult was the symbol of Moberg's own desire to see the world. He would certainly have ended up in America had his parents not been able to keep him home with promises of securing Vilhelm a place in secondary school. The Moshult train station was the obvious meeting place for youth in Moberg's generation. The crystal factory, now closed down, provided him with work at age eleven, and he labored at the peat moss factory during his teenage years. Moshult today is a sleepy little town in a depopulated area of Småland. However, when Vilhelm Moberg was growing up in Moshult, the village was completely different.
Drive on. Over the railroad tracks, further into the woods. Pull over for a short while on the side of the road. Listen to the deep silence all around. Listen to the wind in the forest canopy, the dark fir trees. Look at the small trails, numerous pathways overgrown with foliage where people and animals have traversed since the dawn of time. Stand still for a moment. People in Sweden have lived in this great and silent forest significantly longer than the time it has taken them to take a chartered vacation for granted.
Do not drive too quickly here either.
It is not far from this road up to Moshultamåla, the village where Vilhelm Moberg was raised, that one can see a plague cemetery from the early 18th century. Another reminder that the prosperity with which Sweden now enjoys is an exceptional period in its history.
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