Original subtitles

DIGITALLY RESTORED IN 2017

More than 300 million years ago,

this island emerged from the warm Silurian sea.

The bedrock features fossils of ancient coral, shellfish,

and other mysterious species.

Fårö was originally known as "Faröy," thought to mean

"the island to which one journeyed"

or "the traveler's island."

Several theories exist as to the origin of the name.

In olden times, the island was a link

connecting the active maritime routes on the Baltic.

Fårö may also have been a sanctuary for people less welcome elsewhere.

At present, the island of Fårö has 673 inhabitants.

Fifty years ago, nearly twice as many people lived here.

We have documented the lives of some of these people.

We will also touch on the conditions of yesteryear

that are gradually disappearing.

DEDICATED TO THE INHABITANTS OF FÅRÖ

Richard Östman developed a severe headache

when he read in the papers a few years back

that a large cement company had applied for a concession

to exploit sand off Salvorev and Sudersand.

This headache was distilled into a poem...

a remarkable occurrence,

given that Richard never read or wrote poetry before.

Since then he has written more than 500 poems.

"I stole a rose, a wild rose of Fårö

A rose growing on the fair beaches of Fårö

I traced the date in the sand

The sand that others intended to remove

I heard the words of my forefathers:

Do not defile the sand God gave to Fårö

If you do, the very nature of the island will be cast aside

And we will be transported to another place."

Anything you take from the sea,

the sea will reclaim.

If they'd taken sand from Salvorev,

the sea would have taken sand from places such as Ullahau.

The site that had been dug up

would have to be replenished.

Do you plan to move to Visby?

Yes. There's no work for preschool teachers here.

It didn't work out like that.

I had a baby and had to give up plans to go to school.

- Do you like Fårö? - Sure.

Sure, in the summertime.

- Not during the winter? - No, it's boring here.

- How do you like Fårö? - It's nice.

- I'm going to move. - Why?

There are no jobs here and nothing to do.

It was a different situation, living there as a child.

You felt like you were missing out on things.

Now I like going back because it's so nice and peaceful.

It's different.

I'm planning to move to the mainland fairly soon.

Will you stay here on Fårö or leave?

I'm not sure.

I work in an office

and I maintain an index

of all the customers we have here on Gotland.

- Do you plan to stay? - No.

Why not?

There's nothing to do,

and there aren't any jobs.

I wanted to leave.

At 15 I dreamed

of going to Stockholm.

- What are your plans? - I don't know.

I went to business school in Fårösund for a year.

Then I worked at the Konsum co-op for six or seven years,

then I switched fields.

I think I'll probably leave.

It's no fun. There's nothing to do.

What's the nightlife like?

That's just it. There's nothing to do.

I just packed my bags and left. I had no job or anything.

I had no problem getting a job once I was here.

I couldn't leave this place.

Growing up on an island, you want to be near the sea.

It would be strange not seeing the water.

It's all right here.

It hasn't harmed me in any way.

It's good to learn to get along with crowds.

But it's not an ideal setting for children to grow up in,

living in these high-rises. At least I don't think so.

Going to Fårö and looking out at the sea is liberating.

You feel free.

- Don't come here. - It's so darned slippery.

Look out!

He's behind you.

Just walk him.

I can enjoy the summer and the sunshine.

I wish I could join in, but I can't.

Then I met Anton.

How old were you?

Eighteen, I guess.

And we got married when we were 19.

I was born on the farm. It's been in the family a long time,

since the 17th century.

- Any siblings? - There were three of us.

My sister Ellen is the oldest.

She moved out when she got married.

I took over the farm, and Erik had his own career.

He started working at Bungenäs and then became a ship's pilot.

How big is this farm?

I have 21 acres of my own.

And how much livestock?

We have six cows and a few calves.

I lease land too...

about 40 acres down by the church.

I work the land at 13 different locations.

Do you think it's worth it?

Well, a man's got to do something...

either this or that.

I've learned about keeping cows.

Sure, I've had my share of bad luck.

You have to give and take.

Sometimes the cows get sick and have to be put down.

Shipping costs from here are so high.

Young people around here don't want to be farmers.

In the old days, you kept a cow and a horse

and tended your farm in your spare time

and had another job too.

But nowadays people want time off after work.

The fire...

how did it start?

Our neighbor, Einar Söderdahl,

came over around lunchtime

and told us there was smoke coming out of our roof.

We were about to have our usual coffee and tea.

All we could do was grab the kids and rush outdoors.

Anton took the fire extinguisher upstairs,

but the whole place was in flames, so nothing could be done.

What about the fire department?

They came later on.

The ferry didn't wait for the fire trucks. They were left behind.

So the Fårö Fire Department didn't get any assistance.

There was no assistance from Fårösund.

The police figured a spark had been generated.

It was a tile roof with wooden shingles underneath.

Birds nested there.

And they figured a flying spark had ignited a bird's nest.

But that seems odd to me. The fire started indoors.

Up in the attic.

The kids were upstairs until it was time for coffee.

They hadn't heard a thing.

Fifteen minutes later, the place was in flames.

Where did you and the children go?

We stayed with Britt-Marie for a few months.

Then we moved out to our old summer cottage in Fifång.

We stayed there until December 21.

There's no running water or electricity.

We could make do at first, but after a while...

It still affects you.

What did your father think?

It was even worse for him.

It was?

We had to go to the doctor and get him some medication.

He went to pieces, which isn't strange at all.

There were so many really old, irreplaceable items.

Didn't you salvage anything?

No, just a few kitchen chairs.

Six chairs.

It doesn't make sense. You get all muddled.

You don't know what you're doing.

It's true. You just don't.

I went upstairs and got half of the sewing machine.

I left the other half behind.

You'd think I'd grab the other half too.

How did the children react?

It was awful. They were upset.

They gave us pills for them too.

Our 13-year-old, Ulla-Karin, took it the hardest.

She'd cry at night

and wake up shouting that the place was on fire.

You have nine children. Do you worry a lot?

No.

I don't have the time.

As they get older,

they start helping out with the younger ones.

At three or four, they could help change diapers.

They learned how.

So I think it's worked out well.

Your in-laws lived with you.

Yes, they did.

Did your mother-in-law help you?

No. She'd say, "You chose to have them,

so you take care of them."

So I never asked her for help.

How big is this farm?

Thirty acres of cleared land.

There's 100 acres of woodland as well.

Then there are the heaths, around as many acres.

- And how much livestock? - Right now, four head of cattle,

and I keep lambs and pigs.

Valter Broman owns and runs the family farm.

By Fårö standards, it's a middle-sized farm.

He's 67years old.

Since his mother's death several years ago,

he's chosen to live and work completely on his own.

It's tied.

Not bad.

I don't think it changed anything.

It was a good throw, regardless.

Twenty.

That's a good one.

"The summer days of beauty

In blessedness are come

The flowers are rejoicing

To feel the gleaming sun

In grace arisen brightly

O'er fields of golden grain

So warm and all-restoring

That nature lives again

There is an earthly paradise

Where roses grow tall

And there, among the scarlet tulips

My friends and I are content

I amble along its beautiful paths

Where flowers bow down

I go up to the mighty oak

And sit at her feet

I whisper the name of my beloved

And the oak begins to speak

She tells me tales of days gone by

And the birds in the trees respond

I watch as night meets day

And I hear singing of many birds

Blend into a chorus

And from the top of the oak

I hear the cuckoo call"

Now that I'm older...

I have a pension and more time on my hands.

At times, it felt like I just had to write.

Otherwise my mind wouldn't let me rest.

And sometimes...

when I wake up at night and can't go back to sleep,

if I've been to a spot during the day that I find beautiful,

those images pop into my head.

And as I lie there,

the whole poem comes to me in the night.

The problem comes after that,

because I don't want to get up and write it down.

I don't want to disturb Agda.

If I don't write it down in the morning...

say, if Agda needs my help... then it's very hard.

But as long as...

I jot my outlines down on a piece of cardboard or a box.

So I could go into the barn

and close the doors to be on my own.

It was such a release to put it down in writing.

I could barely remember it by heart at that point,

but it felt good.

I'd always carry pencil and paper on me.

Norsholmen has beautiful rauka, or stone pillars.

When I saw them,

I immediately sat down and wrote a poem.

My father was born here, and his father too.

We go way back to the Vikings, I guess.

- Were you born here on this farm? - Yes.

In one of these rooms?

Yes, right upstairs.

How many siblings do you have?

None. I had a sister, but she died young.

My dream as a little boy

was to be a veterinarian when I grew up.

But as it turned out...

we couldn't afford it.

And my father felt that since he had a son,

that son should take over the plow.

I was planning to be a teacher.

I went to school in Visby,

but I had trouble with my eyes.

- What kind of trouble? - Astigmatism.

- They couldn't do anything? - I couldn't get any glasses.

So I couldn't pass the vision test for teaching college.

But I always read a lot,

up until the last ten years or so.

It was terribly hard work

to plow the rocky fields in Norsholmen.

I had to think about other things

just to keep going.

Was your mother prepared to make that financial sacrifice?

Yes, she sold off half the farm when I was to start school.

She couldn't have run the farm back in those days anyway.

All those stone fences and all.

She couldn't have taken care of all that alone.

So we sold it.

After my father's death,

people became aware that I had certain skills.

They'd send for me when there was a calving.

Were you very disappointed when you weren't able to qualify?

Of course. It was awful at first.

But then you just accept it.

Worse things can happen, like losing your sight completely.

I just couldn't meet their specific requirements.

At night people would come banging on the window.

I've been to Dämor, Lauter, Skär.

I've been all over to help out with calving.

I've helped people with their sheep too.

Our math teacher was here one summer.

She was from Visby, and she had a limp.

Her name was Kristiansson.

She had come to tutor the children at Stengården.

She came to see me.

This was after my mother had passed away.

I was stirring these huge pots.

We'd just had a meal when she came.

I asked her in.

Thirty people were outside having coffee after dinner,

so we found a place to sit at the table.

And the first thing she said was...

"No, Agda, it wasn't meant to be like this,

with that head of yours."

Relax.

You sure can kick.

Here we go.

Yes, you can.

It seems like tourists come first

and locals come second.

Take the descendants of the people here,

the ones who have returned,

and young people who want to build here.

Some have had to wait five years for a permit.

Then you hear about summer guests

who get a permit in three weeks.

It's like they're keeping the year-round residents down,

so we don't have a permanent population.

Now for some statistics:

Between June 15 and August 15, 1978,

the ferry transported

some 112, 000 cars and commercial vehicles.

During a period of equal length in December-January...

the number was just 16,000.

We can't knock tourism. We get a lot of good people.

But we also get certain categories of people.

We've seen fishing boats here destroyed.

And someone tore down a shed and grilled hot dogs with the wood.

That's going too far.

They're welcome if they leave things alone.

What's the hardest part?

The hay.

It's heavy going, and it takes a lot of time.

I spend many days outdoors.

Poor weather makes it even tougher.

It's hard to get the hay dry.

It's a lot of work.

But you never ask anyone to help out?

No, I can handle it.

Ingrid, it's been over ten years since I last spoke to you.

What year? I don't remember.

It was 1969, in April.

We sat and talked.

That's right. I ran the farm back then.

- You're a farmer. - Yes.

Since when?

Since Dad died in '37.

That's when you took over?

Yes, though I worked during his illness too.

My sister died...

from cancer in 1957.

That was hard. Per was just three years old.

And the others?

Malin was 14 and Jan was eight.

And they moved in with you?

No, they've always lived here. We lived together.

That wasn't really a problem.

They didn't have to move, which was a good thing.

Can you tell me what's happened on the farm

since we last spoke?

Per took over the farm.

He leases it now, but it will be his one day.

- He was just 16 then, right? - Yes.

- When did he take over? - 1972.

He works construction now too,

since you can't live off a small farm.

You need modern machinery today.

A horse and plow aren't enough.

I do carpentry work too.

You can't live off the farm. It's too small for that.

This farm is too small for that.

You need a bigger farm to make ends meet.

It's hard to sell your products.

It seems big farms have an easier time

placing their products.

It's like they keep us down, us smaller outfits.

I don't really understand...

the Liberal Party's farming policies.

One aspect I dislike a great deal

is that my nephew can't simply inherit the farm.

In my opinion, relatives should be entitled to the land.

When a farm's been in the family and then goes to someone else...

I think the family ought to have first say.

But of course you have to take care of the land.

You can't be a "Sunday farmer."

Young people should take precedence.

I met Per...

and I didn't know I'd be so involved with the animals.

But I enjoy it. It's interesting.

Most places will probably fold in the next ten years.

But the people who stay on...

will make a living.

If the tourists don't take over.

You've had some health problems.

- Yes, that's true. - Like what?

I was diagnosed with diabetes back in '72...

and I couldn't handle...

You must have had it before that.

Yes, I just didn't realize it.

- How did you find out? - I'd get very thirsty and tired.

I'd fall asleep on my feet.

That's how I found out.

That must have been a strain.

Yes, it was hard.

Not having any strength was terrible.

All I could manage was the cooking,

and I don't enjoy cooking.

I've always worked outdoors. I enjoy that.

Last winter there was lots of lovely snow.

No cars.

That was the best part.

And I like the fact there's a force

that keeps man in check.

The weather is proof of that.

When I want to give Per a hand, but don't have the strength,

that's pretty upsetting.

I don't know what to expect from one day to the next.

Some days I'm so tired.

Per does the milking before he goes to work.

Sometimes he packs his lunch. Sometimes I do it.

And I clean the tank.

We have a milk tank.

I tend to the pigs too.

I clear out the pig sty if I'm up to it.

It's not that I have to do it.

I enjoy puttering around.

Do you miss being able to work hard?

Oh, yes.

Sometimes I still think I'm up to it,

but I can't always manage.

That isn't very much fun.

I wish I could get well.

I try and do what I can, but it isn't much.

It's humiliating.

That's how I feel when I can't manage things.

Give it a good hard shove, Bernard.

You have to put your back in it. Come from the other direction.

That looks good now,

but it sure looked strange this morning.

I'd never seen anything like it.

You must have been off your rocker,

but it looks good now.

Humble beginnings and all that, you know...

I reckon it will stand up to rain now.

I don't have any teeth, but I'll manage.

Everything will be fine.

I reckon this is the last time for me.

The last time? No.

You've just got a headache.

It never goes away.

- Well, you're 83, right? - Yes.

Let's brush off the excess.

All the way to the edge.

There are reed marshes on Fårö

that one's not allowed to harvest.

But there are many that can be harvested.

The edges of these folded reeds are slightly barbed.

They catch, you see.

When you thatch roofs with these reeds...

the reeds go flat,

either with the flap side out,

or with the spine side up.

There will be other reeds around it...

and water will run off in the channels.

Once it has rained on a reed-thatched roof,

moisture will never penetrate

deeper than an inch.

That's why reeds make first-class roofing

for feed storage.

If you keep livestock in a barn with a tin roof,

you'll get condensation, and that can spoil hay,

which never happens with a reed roof.

And it doesn't burn.

It just smolders and causes lots of smoke.

People used to cut reeds by hand in the marshes.

You couldn't use horses,

and there were no tractors.

Nowadays we use lightweight tractors and harvesters.

We have nine loads down there. We need 20.

I reckon that will be five loads,

and we have the wetlands there that we cut this morning.

How many loads did we get in the first bit?

At least three.

Then there's that stretch over there.

That should amount to six or seven loads.

Six and three makes nine...

and nine and nine makes 18. That should be enough.

This reed has a Latin name, but I can't remember it.

It's so complicated that it always slips my mind.

Am I fond of Fårö?

Yes, I suppose I am.

It would be nice to have a change, though.

But I'd like to live on Gotland.

There isn't much to do.

I want to stay here.

I really like it here.

Depends on if I can get a job.

I'm going to look for work on the mainland or in Fårösund.

You can fish and stuff.

I like it here.

There are no jobs here.

I don't know.

- I like it here. - Anything you like in particular?

It's not a lot of asphalt.

Mostly grass and nature and trees.

Yes, it's a fine little island.

When I came here back in 1974,

this school had just been remodeled.

They had added a lunchroom

and a gym.

There was no gym here before that.

So the kids were excited.

Only there wasn't any equipment.

There were sets of wall bars and some beams, but that was it.

I called them up,

but there wasn't enough money.

At least not in the budget.

So I contacted the person at the council

in charge of supplies for physical education

and asked if we could get some things.

He said, "Make a list and send it to me."

I thought, "That sounds easy!"

So I made a list and waited.

They sent us some jump ropes and a few balls,

which was nice, but nothing else materialized.

So I called the fellow a few months later.

And he told me to make a list.

"I already did," I said. "I sent it to you."

"It must have gotten lost. Make up a new list."

"Sure, I'll do that."

By now I think I've sent five or six lists.

Every year we've received one or two items on our list.

So now, five years later,

we're on our way to a more or less fully equipped gym.

You get the feeling... the locals feel this way...

that if you call the council, everyone is always busy.

It's hard to get hold of the people in charge,

and you may not know exactly who you're dealing with.

An official from southern Gotland

might be making decisions affecting Fårö, or vice versa.

The district is too large. That's not a good thing.

The standards aren't as high

out in the country.

Your tax money doesn't provide what it does across the water.

And that's disappointing, of course.

You often feel passed over.

That happens quite often...

in my opinion.

The rye that grew here on the chalky land was so fine.

The flour was different from the flour produced

from rye grown on humus soil.

It gave bread a different color.

My mother always preferred the rye grown here at Norsholmen

for the special loaves she baked for Christmas.

Regarding these stone fences...

my ancestors told me...

My father and mygrandfather told me

that you should never have a stone fence

along the southern edge of a field,

because when snowdrifts remained on the ground,

tender young crops would get moldy.

The sun couldn't penetrate the stone fences.

So you used stone fences only to the north of a field.

To the east, west, and south, you used wooden fences.

The sun would warm the wooden fences,

so the snow would melt away better.

This stone fence has been here a hundred years, maybe more.

I helped build some of the fences on the other side.

For those we gathered stones from the beach.

You built them in stages, depending on the water level.

When the tide was out,

you could find more stones for building walls.

The stones you found up on land

were flat and brittle.

They'd been exposed to the elements much longer.

They weren't as strong as stones lying in the water.

Start up the tractor.

Damn, it's cold!

Is there any more?

Where do you want the cut, Otto?

I thought I'd made the cut on the joint.

You have to butcher it right.

It takes some cutting.

The hooves won't come off.

Here we go...

There goes the other one.

Come on.

I don't see very well.

I'm getting too old.

You used to be a master butcher.

That was a long time ago.

When I was 17 or 18, I slaughtered an ox.

I had never done beef before.

I just did my best, and it went well.

Did you sharpen it?

No, this was the one.

That's a sharp knife.

That's done.

That's great.

A little more. That's it.

Just the head left.

I'll hold the head up.

Good. I'll get it up higher.

Looks like winter's on its way.

Even though it's unexpected.

The water level's so low.

That means it will get colder.

It's freezing.

Here it comes...

This one's tricky.

I'm tall, so I'll get it.

The cats eat four times a day

now that it's cold.

Let's save a little for them.

We'll put this one in the freezer.

I wish it weren't so darn cold.

My poor fingers.

The lighthouse at Fårö.

Hello.

I'm doing just fine, thanks.

No, there's no snow falling right now.

It's cleared up.

Here's your data: 329.

83605.

Cross, cross, cross 52.

853, cross, cross.

553 cross.

41805.

And 00478.

We use this thingamajig instead of manning the lighthouse.

It serves Fårö, Gotska Sandön, and Östergarn.

This contraption sends reports to Norrköping

if anything goes wrong.

But a machine like this can never look out

and see if there's a ship in distress.

I was so tired and weak.

I had to go to the hospital and have my appendix removed.

Then came the diabetes.

My health has been bad for five years now.

They found out I had angina too.

They gave me medication...

and now I'm doing fine.

The angina was very painful.

Aches and pains...

Mornings are the toughest part.

You feel better once you getgoing.

Saint Lucia

Clear and bright vision

Spread this winter night

The luster of your beauty

Dreams filled with winged vibration

Tell of your revelation

Light your white candles

Saint Lucia

Lo! 'Tis the Queen of Light

Joyfully singing

Clad in her garment white

Wearing her crown of light

- Thank you. - Take a cookie too.

You had time to bake.

That's not bad.

Here's a small gift to remember us by.

Thank you very much.

Not many people around here today.

No, they're with the children.

Yes, that's right.

I haven't seen this little fellow before.

- Actually, you have. - Really?

- He was at the confirmation. - Is that so?

In the name of God, our merciful Father,

we commit the body of Adolf Mikael Johannes Ekström

to the peace of the grave.

From dust you came...

To dust you shall return...

Jesus Christ, our Savior, shall raise you up on the last day.

We were in the barn. The children were in school.

Victoria had made coffee and set out some cake.

When we were finished in the barn, we tended to the lambs.

We were busy with the newborn lambs,

so I guess it must have been around 8:30.

When we came in, Victoria said...

"Gramps hasn't gotten up for his tea."

I said maybe he wasn't feeling well, and I went to his room.

He lay in bed. I touched his hand, and he was all stiff.

Stiff as a board.

He didn't feel well if he wasn't outdoors.

Rain or shine, even if it was slippery out.

He couldn't walk very well after he hurt his head.

We often told him to stay indoors.

We were afraid he'd fall and hurt himself.

But he just had to be outdoors.

"We are all like leaves upon the ground

Storms would howl, but I never grew weary

I fought the wind that shook me

I understood the purpose of it all

Our struggles lead us to your gates

Let me fall without a sound far out of sight

Let me wake in a shimmering meadow

Let me make my way like a turning leaf

To the familiar strains of my country's own song

I sleep in peace in my Father's arms

And I will wake up in another place

No longer do storms ravage me

And my working days are done"

There was a fishing boom on Fårö during WWII and right after.

By the time I got started, there wasn't much left.

There were only two boats in operation.

This one has a gross weight of 44 tons.

She's a 56-footer.

The vessel had to be less than ten years old to qualify for a loan.

And there was a 50-foot minimum too.

There wasn't a lot to choose from, but we thought this was a good ship.

It cost 200,000 kronor.

Then there's equipment too. You need more than just the boat.

The equipment cost just as much.

For two years, they're straight loans.

Then you pay them off in ten years

at five percent.

That's the only benefit the state provides for salmon fishing.

But it's pretty decent of the state to do that.

- Where are your fishing grounds? - All over...

from the Gulf of Bothnia to Gdańsk Bay.

We can fish in Finnish, Polish, and Russian waters.

The Polish authorities want you to report your catch.

And the same for Russia. We just got notified a week ago.

But we can run up to the Gulf of Bothnia

and down to Gdańsk Bay

to get to where the fish are, or where we think they are.

What's your top speed?

Eight knots.

And you can be out for 24 hours?

Sure. Sometimes even longer.

We can use 600 nets per boat, or 2,000 salmon hooks.

That's your daily quota.

We stick to that...

but the old quota was 700-900 nets.

- Doesn't that make you angry? - Sure it does.

The same rules should apply to everyone.

They say the fish population in the Baltic Sea

is being depleted.

That's right. That may well be the case.

They let the West Coast trawlers fish these waters.

They fished here all spring.

They depleted the herring in the Atlantic,

and that's a bigger body of water than the Baltic Sea.

So I figure the process...

will go faster here.

If they can stop this drain

on the herring and sprat populations...

That's what the salmon feed on.

No food, no salmon.

If you get 600 fish in ten days, that's fine.

That's a fair haul.

The salmon must measure 23 inches.

We throw the smaller ones back.

We can't sell them. No one will take them.

Where do you sell your catch?

Mainly to Gotlands Fisk, and a little to the mainland.

Who sets the prices?

I don't know, but they vary.

They can vary by three to four kronor per class.

There are different classes of salmon:

2-3, 3-4,

4-5, 5-7, 7-9.

- What does that mean? - You get 20 kronor for the lowest class.

And up to 40 kronor for the highest, per kilo.

Those prices can vary, depending on the buyer.

We aren't allowed to fish between June 1 and August 25.

But the water's too warm then for fishing anyway.

As of August 25, we have to work every day we can.

We can be out six days before needing to come ashore.

Later, in October and November, we can stay out ten days.

Then we set out again.

We only stay in port if it's too windy.

You look forward to the 25th, so you can set out again.

Once you've got the bug, you can't quit.

My Fårö Document from 1969

ended with a bleak prognosis.

Fårö was a dying district.

The young people were leaving.

All forms of public services were on the wane.

The fishing industry no longer existed.

There were few jobs available.

The future was projected in this way:

For six weeks each summer, this sparsely populated island

would be reduced to a bizarre tourist paradise for mainlanders

and Social Democrat bigwigs on vacation.

That nightmarish vision hasn't come true.

Though residents here don't have it any better now,

things haven'tgotten any worse either.

In one respect there's been a radical change:

The young people no longer look down on Fårö.

They're prepared to stay on and try to make the best

of the less-than-stellar circumstances.

And Fårö has an asset

that other sparsely populated regions lack:

It's becoming more and more popular with tourists.

If the authorities could act in an open-minded fashion

and help the people of Fårö build cottages on their own property

fit for year-round rental,

that would generate a modest increase in prosperity

and many promising job opportunities.

Hopefully, the next Fårö Document will be completed in 1989.

It will be interesting to see if we're still around.