The stave churches were raised by people who built ships, and once you know that you see it everywhere. The roof beams curve like a hull turned upside down. The joints are fitted, not nailed. The whole building flexes in the wind like a boat at anchor.

Built to move

The oldest of them have stood for more than eight hundred years. That is not because the wood is hard but because the structure gives a little. Rigid buildings crack. These ones sway, settle and carry on.

Inside it is dark and smells of tar. Carved beasts twist around the doorposts, biting each other’s tails. The light comes in through tiny high windows and lands on the floor in coins.

Tar every spring

Someone still tars the outside walls every few years, by hand, with a brush on a long pole. It is slow, sticky work. It is also the reason the church is still here, and the reason the people who do it are still a community.