It must be the landscape - lush evergreen forests, year-around snow-capped mountains, sapphire-blue waters with the many fiord-like bays and inlets, and then the joys of fishing and lumbering that enticed so many Scandinavians to the Pacific Northwest. It certainly was the crowning instant that convinced my Grandfather to make the move from Minnesota. There of course was the cold, snowy winters but it was flat. In Grandpa's time, at first the iron fields were a financial boon. But the "Great Depression" took its toll on all those hard-working immigrants. The advent of World War II opened the doors once again to the "gold-paved streets of the Brave New World."
I may have mentioned before, the family scandal that preceded Grandpa's decision to "Go West, young man, go West." Grandpa's newest son-in-law, formerly his brother-in-law, urged him to hurry to the shipyard where (son-in-law) was Foreman. More work than Grandpa could imagine, awaited him. It did not take long for Grandpa to climb into the rafters of his garage to secret his bean-graftings and to instruct Grandma how to sell the Buhl house and pocket the cash for the remaining family's relocation.
There was no consideration of any psychological effects. What Grandpa said to do was what was law. No questions, no complaints, no discussion.
It was only coincidental that my family was part of a Scandinavian wave to the Pacific Northwest.