Located 103 minutes away, Diamond Springs is an hour and 51-minute drive from

Naismith Hall. For weeks, I worried over where I would find the time for such an excursion,

however short it was. I convinced friends to tag along for safety, planned to prepare with a large

iced coffee and a tank full of gas the morning of. The ghost town was a stop frequented by those

on the Sante Fe Trail and acted as a trading post between settlers and Native Americans as early

as 1821. Additionally, a mail station was established there, as well as a blacksmith shop,

restaurant, and hotel; needless to say, this was a community of great importance to weary

travelers. It was a site of violence during the Civil War as well, but even in the following years

after the town was relocated, a post office was still built there that cultivated the town’s

population to a grand total of 27 people. The post office closed, and the popularity of the trading

post and common ground along with it. Diamond Springs was rendered a ghost town and sold as

cattle land, which it remains today. With only a cemetery and a few crumbling buildings to mark

its existence in our world now, the town is unknown, and has long since been forgotten. The

same applies to so many other similar communities all across the United States- and all across

the world. This is only one example, and one I was not able to see for myself, though I fondly

regard my initial research.

Unlike in the writings of David Grann in Lost City of Z and Douglas Preston in The Lost

City of the Monkey God, my struggles did not lie in vicious predators, inescapable parasites, dark

jungles, swelling rivers, or deadly diseases; I was merely the victim of a college student’s

unfortunate schedule, circumstance, and a compromised credit card. Between ill-explained

design assignments with hardly the time to achieve them and a multitude of drawings I did not

have the leftover minutes to painstakingly pour over, I was left with only a precious few hours of

weekend bliss. In those rare and wonderful moments, I took to the streets- Mass Street, that is- to
explore the bountiful shops and restaurants that enticed me far more than any falsely-creative art

assignment or paper. With my friends in tow, we tried a new restaurant every Saturday and took

a walk at Clinton Lake every Sunday. Every day, all I found myself anticipating was the arrival

of the next Friday, the next Saturday. I coped with my stress the only way I knew how: through

blatant ignorance to the issues causing my distress. I suffer from TMJ, and occasionally

experienced migraines multiple times a week when deadlines are approaching and when I am

drowning in a never-ending sea of work and expectations and schedules and stifling routines; I

napped wherever I could steal the minutes and dreaded waking. I invited family, showed them

the way I walked to each class every day, called my mom to get every dog update she would

afford me. Besides these fleeting slices of heaven, free time was nonexistent. To make matters

worse, I waited on the availability of friends whose schedules were just as, if not more, hectic

than my own. We planned a day, then canceled it, over and over; finally, though, we settled on

our date. Free from class and briefly spared of assignments, I along with my two roommates

were fully prepared to leave. My car, lovingly named Sergeant Pepper, sat in the parking lot with

less than a fourth tank of gas. I’m a broke college student, and only fill up the tank when I drive

home or to another town. Foolishly, I dismissed the idea of filling it up in advance- I realized my

mistake when I received a call from my mother, who told me her Amazon account and credit

card had been compromised and that they had immediately canceled mine. Suddenly, I was

cardless, cashless, alone with Sergeant Pepper and her less-than-a-fourth tank of gasoline.

With great sadness, I canceled our foray into the unknown, and likely fenced, territory of

Diamond Springs.

In moments of great stress and confusion, I find myself thinking of home. There, the

smells of comfort fill the halls, the rooms: Mom’s chocolate-chip cookies, Dad’s coffee pouring
from the Keurig, my younger brother’s nightly popcorn in the microwave, the grass and leaves

stuck to my dog’s fur. I think of peaceful nights with no deadline to fear or conversation to dread

and nothing to buy. For hours, I would sit and play videogames with my dad, or go grocery

shopping with my mom for the sole intention of bugging her. I took my dog for Samson Days

(days dedicated to him, him alone, and his happiness), where we would romp through Swanson

Park, peruse the aisles of Petsmart, split a burger and fries on the patio of BurgerFi. Even on the

days I worked, of which there were many, I never took my stress home on my shoulders; I

worked at a vet clinic, and the animals I cared for so much stayed at the vet clinic (regardless of

how much I wished they could come with me, at times.) Needless to say, I was content, hopeful,

and surrounded by love before I moved away. I sometimes wonder why I pay for college at all,

with the misery it’s given me rather than the joy and purpose.

The rocking chair holds the answer.

There, tucked into a corner of the living room, a wooden rocking chair sits. It was

lovingly handmade all those generations ago and has been passed down from generation to

generation. I will inherit it from my mother, just as my mother inherited it from her mother, and

her mother from her mother, and so on until its origin is reached: Sweden. Faithfully at the side

of my great-great-great grandfather, the chair rocked on the ship as the ship itself rocked and

swayed over the great expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. The gentle heirloom traveled to the heart of

America, to Mountain Grove, Missouri. It moved from there to Hutchinson, Kansas, and now

rests in Wichita. I have reflected on the chair before; two years ago, I examined the importance

of the chair to my family in an English essay and compared it to a similar heirloom in a book. It

is not the only remnant of the past, however; my name, Cathryn, was also inherited from my

great-great grandmother, the daughter of my grandfather from across the sea. Anthropology is
defined as “the study of human societies and cultures and their development.” Although I was

unable to explore the ruins of Diamond Springs, I realized the interest in my family’s past and

the surrounding culture. I took to the internet and searched “Sweden archaeology,” exploring a

Wikipedia article that listed sites from hillforts to runestones. My main goal was to find a site

with as much information recorded about it as possible, and truth be told, the interest in Swedish

archaeology seems relatively low. The descriptions were short compared to the sections upon

sections written for other archaeological sites, leaving me fewer sources to view and chase. Just

like Diamond Springs, these seem to be forgotten places even among the vast information the

worldwide web has to offer. I stretched my arms, popped my aching elbows, and hunkered down

to start the process over: this time with better success, I was determined.

Torsburgen is the remnants of an ancient hillfort in Kräklingbo, Sweden. It resides in the

Baltic Sea on the island of Gotland, its name translating to mean “Thor’s Castle.” The fort is of

great significance to Sweden’s history, though Gotland’s in particular. It appears in the Gutasaga,

a saga detailing Gotland’s discovery and history, and also stands as a nature preservation in

current day. The edges of the fort are surrounded by stone embankments, and the castle itself

boasts strong limestone blocks and a stone ramp. The area the fort occupies sits atop a plateau

hill that rises far above its surrounding landscape. Interestingly, the area surrounding the fort,

and Gotland in general, once was home to thick forest and foliage- though most of the trees were

destroyed in a large fire that raged in Kräklingbo. While this left the island devoid of normal

plant life, it gave birth to many species of fire-dependent plants, fungus, and insects, further

securing its title as a nature preserve due to the endangered nature of some of these species.

These are only the physical details; the history required deeper digging, I soon realized.
 How was I meant to become an expert on such an old, and largely overlooked place, it

seemed, in the course of the mere days I had to write this essay? It was a race against the clock,

and I mused on the pitiful similarities shared between my own struggles and that of Percy

Fawcett. While I had no sponsor, company, or government to answer to, I bore the weight of my

grade upon my shoulders. Rather than wicked vines and treacherous jungle terrain, I battled my

way through page upon page of sources, rooting the useful ones from the arbitrary. Google was

hardly a valuable asset, I soon realized as I scrolled through websites with no earnest research-

based merit; though I gathered a better understanding of Torsburgen through the articles I

skimmed, I was no closer to having a stable base of research to think about and discuss, let alone

tie into the narrative purpose of my essay. Reflecting on the sorting process now, I see the

importance of critical thinking more than ever, and I was able to far more successfully choose

reputable sources than I have been in past research papers. I was well-prepared in my high

school English classes to tackle such an essay… Or so I thought. My last research paper was

written during the second semester of junior year, when I researched the bubonic plague’s

seasonal spread through the villages of Madagascar. Throughout my AP English class the

following year, we were merely taught to focus on our timed writing ability, to read passages and

poems and form evidence-based answers in a quick, efficient manner. I learned to form opinions

that I could back up with quotes and supportive imagery, but in the process, I seemed to have lost

my old knack for research-requiring essays. I was forced to relearn, and it was not as simple as

riding a bike; one can, and one does, forget how to effectively and interestingly write an

investigative paper when not given the pressure of frequent practice. I jumped this hurdle with

the only crutches I could grasp: the internet, and my much more prevalent talent as a creative

writer. Though I could not pour over the details of Torsburgen as though I had seen it with my
own eyes, like in the styles of David Grann, Douglas Preston, or even Sarah Parcack, I could

explore the emotional and intellectual challenge that this assignment entailed; the surrounding

circumstances and means of the paper’s completion, though they may appear unnecessary, are

crucial in the spirit of mirroring one’s own research journey to the likes of Percy Fawcett and

other legendary explorers. I bear no whip, sable fedora, or state-inspired name, but I wield my

enthusiasm, honest curiosity, and ambition to learn just as fiercely. Eagerly, I tossed Google

away and turned to its educated sibling: Google Scholar. Immediately, the results were more

pertinent to my subject, with much more merit than the pages I had looked through previously.

Though the articles listed were not always the simply-written, easy-to-understand works that I

typically seek and enjoy for consumption’s sake, they were full of incredibly valuable

information. I clicked through the pages of results and opened the most useful ones in separate

tabs, creating my armada of data. KU’s library website proved a fruitless well of opportunity, in

the end; though chock-full of invaluable data and databases about archaeology as a whole, I was

unable to find anything that really and truly pertained to Swedish archaeology in particular.

Finally, I turned to the Torsburgen Wikipedia page, the most helpful resource of all, and went

through the list of citations at the bottom. Although immensely helpful in my efforts to write this

essay, there was one problem: the pages were all almost entirely in Swedish. Even when there

were “translate” buttons on the pages, I did not know what they were or what they meant because

they were typed in Swedish. I took an extra, well-worth step and downloaded a translator

extension that fully translated each of the websites I browsed. Even if the English was choppy at

times, I finally had the tools necessary to deep-dive into the research of this ancient site. Step

one: a virtual visit.

 I whisked myself away to distant countries with a view provided by the indubitable

Google Earth. Both in class and outside of class, I had grown quite familiar with this resource. A

year or two ago, a game had spread online that involved being dropped in a mystery spot

somewhere on Google Earth’s map with an unlisted location. The player would explore their

surroundings in the street view until they found some sign or landmark with a recognizable

location or language. In order to win, you would guess the location it had dropped you at, then

have it revealed in the search bar. Although I had not played the game in months, the expansive

and seemingly-endless possibilities of the resource came flooding back. Once more, I was

inspired by a sense of overwhelming curiosity. It seems a part of human nature to so eagerly

explore the unexplored and learn about the unknown, and even though I did not virtually explore

anything that had not been virtually, physically, or otherwise explored before, I was still thrilled

by the sense of adventure and accomplishment the research gave me. I typed “Torsburgen” into

the search bar and selected the first option, and I watched as my invisible guide took me across

the Atlantic Ocean to Sweden, to Gotland, towards its Eastern shore where the city of

Kräklingbo lay. Immediately, I was struck by the barrenness of the region despite having known

before that it truly was remarkably barren. The area was was odd in shape, a huge region with a

rounded top, coming to a point in the Southern-most part. Although a few sections of denser

forests decorated its face, it was largely flat and treeless. Additionally, the area almost seemed to

be sectioned off by paler roads that encompassed it, wrapping around the bottom before trailing

off in different directions at the top. I wondered at the origins of these roads, if they were old or

new, if ancient feet had wandered the tracks on their way in and out of the massive hillfort.

Interestingly, to the west there was a darker landmark, brown and blue and stark against the paler

greenery that backed it. Across the landmark in a similar pale green, there sat an ‘L,’ a heart, and
an ‘A.’ I did not grasp the meaning and could not find a location name for the funny writing, but

I smiled nonetheless. In the strangest way, it fondly reminded me of our exercise in orienteering

on campus. Instead of remembering my location by the sight of a certain statue, building, or even

tree, however, I explored the area of Gotland and remembered by way back to Torsburgen with

the help of the ‘T’, the heart, and the ‘A.’ Finally, I donned my mental boots and coat and

earmuffs and dove into the single street view offered in the Torsburgen region. I was

simultaneously in awe and disappointed; the area was beautiful, with the lonely path surrounded

by wildflowers, tall grass, and fallen trees that were possibly scorched. At the edges of the area,

misty forests lingered. It seemed like a scene from a fantasy book or movie, and I wished for all

the world to be able to explore it with my own two feet. With bittersweetness, I closed the tab

and settled to write the true research portion of my essay.

Torsburgen is described as “the largest fortified hill-fort in Scandinavia, with an area of

112.5 hectares” (Kresten and Ambrosiani). Likely created during the Late Roman Iron Age (200
- 400 AD), the walls surrounding the area of the hillfort were made of dry-stone, rubble from

boulders, limestone, and a raised beach. While other hillforts in Sweden are described as

vitrified, meaning the remains were turned to a glasslike substance by exposure to heat,

Torburgen is a calcined hillfort. In other words, the remains of this site were reduced by roasting,

leaving a different sort of rubble behind- it is “sandy, almost black and strongly magnetic. In the

latter case, the residue was a clayey to silty, yellowish brownish material” (Kresten and

Ambrosiani). It is theorized that the walls of this mighty fort were destroyed by fire from

enemies, which I found particularly interesting when considering the multitude of fires

Torsburgen has experienced. Could frequent enemy attacks have sparked the beginnings of the

recurring fires? With the swathe of dry wildflowers and grass that covers the plateau, it would

have been simple to light something that could easily spread across the range of the territory. If

this happened frequently enough in the past, the fire-dependent species of fungus and insects

could have also started to take root in the region. In this way, the present day is possibly directly

tied into the past; ancient enemy attacks could have shaped the Torsburgen plateau into the

nature reserve it is now by allowing such species of rare and fascinating creatures and plants to

find a home. Without archaeology, this connection may have never been fully realized, and it is

indeed an invaluable connection. The goal of archaeology being to understand human behavior’s

change over time, I found myself enraptured with the ties I could make between the ancient and

the present-day, despite not being on the island of Gotland in person. All around the world,

vitrified fort remains are scattered. In Scotland, archaeologists theorize that the vitrification of

the stone walls was purposeful in order to strengthen them, and there is evidence that lies in the

structure of the walls to support this. Torsburgen, on the other hand, is special in the way of the

destruction of the walls; its decimation was not done by their own hands and reveals important
pieces of their past with surrounding enemies and otherwise. Torsburgen was constructed to

protect the people of Gotland from threat, and bears incredible importance to the island’s history

and even mythology as it is the only fort to be mentioned in the medieval Guta Saga. The Guta

Saga, a saga detailing the history of Gotland with mythological beginnings, reveals that at one

point, nearly one whole third of Gotland’s population settled inside the confines of the hillfort’s

mighty walls due to orders from the government. Though this was done in an attempt to control

the overpopulation of surrounding areas, the people who moved to Torsburgen were eventually

forced to leave entirely and settled on nearby islands; the government’s ability to dictate

Torsburgen’s inhabitants illustrates that the fort was likely used by all of Gotland rather than just

a specific region, as opposed to other hillforts. Additionally, its name, “Thor’s Castle,” reveals

the emphasis the people of Gotland placed on their gods; Gotlanders believed they were

descendants of a man named Tjelvar, who bears a similarity to another character in Scandinavian

mythology by the name of Þjálfi, a servant of Thor. In this way, the Gotlanders essentially

deemed themselves servants of Thor. Additionally, the fort withstood enemy attack for far longer

than any other hillfort and even survived into the Viking Age, when the surrounding settlements

had fallen from use. Torsburgen itself became “lost” due to its lack of population after the

government-forced exodus, and as I theorize, perhaps due to the fires that ultimately calcined and

destroyed the walls. I can’t help but wonder of my personal, faint connection by blood to this

ancient settlement. There is no way to trace my family’s name so far back to the region of

Gotland, but it inspires a sense of deep curiosity within me. Through the research of this

fascinating and largely unknown site, I found myself enchanted by the mythology, the history,

and the importance; I became a servant of Torsburgen- a servant of Thor.

 I sat back in my chair, satisfied with my work, and breathed out a sigh of relief. Though

two days past the deadline, a fact I dreaded to overthink, I was finished with the essay I had

grown so fond of. Its completion was humbling- I had never been so challenged by an essay

before, and I was still left partly unsatisfied. With such low interest in the area, Torsburgen’s

sources of information were few and far between, and I still would like to someday fill in the

gaps of my brief though thorough knowledge.

 Works Cited

Kresten, Peter. "Swedish Vitrified Forts - A Reconnaissance Study." Journal of Swedish

Antiquarian Research, 1992, pp. 3-5. www.diva-portal.org.

Ehnström, B., B. Långström, and C. Hellqvist. “Insects in Burned Forests - Forest Protection and

Faunal Conservation (preliminary Results)”. Entomologica Fennica, Vol. 6, no. 2-3, Sept. 1995,

pp. 109-17, doi:10.33338/ef.83846.

Mitchell, Steven. "On the Composition and Function of Guta Saga." 1982, pp. 151-153.

https://s3.amazonaws.com/academia.edu.documents/28380830/Mitchell_1984_Guta_saga.pdf?

response-content-disposition=inline%3B%20filename

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Signature=cb15a0b4b2ae79e824c5afa9f11ad03e98e1a2655ed081c6c597d9cede51d9ef.
Andrén, Anders. Servants of Thor? The Gotlanders and Their Gods. Merrill Kaplan and Timothy

R. Tangherlini, 2012.

Wikipedia, November 23, 2019,

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Torsburgen#/media/File:Torsburgen_map.jpg

November 23, 2019, http://www.nortfort.ru/gotland/foto_dot28_e.html