Budeier – The women who milked, churned, and ruled the mountains (with style)

Before there were influencers, there were budeier.

Armed with milking stools, strong opinions, and the ability to make brunost from scratch while humming old lullabies, these women ran the summer farms (seter) like bosses. No hashtags. No Wi-Fi. Just goats, cream, and glorious solitude.

As Madam Budeie — humble namesake and part-time butter romantic — allow me to tip my wooden spoon in admiration of the real stars of Norway’s pastoral past.

Who were the they, budeiene?

Each summer, young women (often teens!) left the villages and hiked up into the mountains to run the seter — the seasonal farm where livestock grazed freely and dairy magic happened.

These women:

• Milked cows and goats daily

• Made cheese, butter, sour cream, and brunost

• Slept in turf-roofed cabins

• Fought off bears, loneliness, and that one goat who refused to cooperate (typical..).

They were teenagers. With cheese responsibilities. In the wilderness. In dresses.

Honestly, I’ve canceled plans for less.

Cheese, Chores, and Freedom

Life on the seter was hard — but it was also freedom. Budeier had independence, decision-making power, and their own rhythms far from home. They worked from dawn ‘til dusk but answered to no man (except maybe a bell cow).

There were songs. Stories. Birch-bark notes. And sometimes a visiting boy with a fiddle. But let’s not get distracted.

The Tools of Their Trade

• Tine – wooden containers for butter or gifts

• Ostehøvel? Not yet invented. They eyeballed cheese slices. Legends.

• Rømmegrøt – comfort food and currency

• A knife – for cutting curds or scaring off trolls, depending on the situation

Symbols of Old Wisdom

In folklore, budeier were often wise, tough, and just a little bit mystical. Some said they could talk to animals. Others said they knew healing herbs or secret lullabies that calmed both cows and colicky children. They were keepers of seasonal knowledge, cream alchemy, and enough inner strength to make a hundred liters of milk behave.

My Ode to the Budeie

To the women who rose before the sun, who stirred the curds until the cheese was done,

who sang to cows and climbed through fog, I raise my ladle — and this blog.

With cream-stained sleeves and eternal respect,

Madam Budeie

From Fjord to Fork — and From Seters to Stories