Our saga begins in on the picturesque island Åkerøya in Southern Norway. Built by our ancestors' bare hands, perched elegantly on a vista overlooking the water, Brenneve was more than just a house. House of Brenneve was a beacon of heritage, a testament to our lineage, kindled in the 1800s; burning brightly through the ages. The name House of Brenneve, a lyrical whisper from the past, translates to 'House of Kindling,' derived from the Old Norse kynda to inflame, and inflame it did, not just fires in hearths, but fires in hearts.

The women of Brenneve were an extraordinary tapestry of stories, woven with threads of confidence and independence, each rare and radiant in their time. The legend of their strength began with Ana Akselsen the first of our family to be born at Brenneve in 1872 echoed through the generations, each woman a verse in this poetic lineage. That chapter of our story culminates with my grandmother Sonja’s birth in the garden annex, the last to be born in our charming white house on the hill.

As is often the case, destiny had plans grander then the tranquil island could contain. With the looming shadows of war, Sonja's mother, Solveig, led by an unyielding spirit, guided her family across the seas to Brooklyn. There, in a Bayridge brownstone prepared by Sonja's father, they embarked on a new chapter. This journey was more than a relocation; it marked a profound transformation of spirit and soul, blending past and present into a vibrant new life amid New York’s bustling concrete jungle.