HAPPY SYTTENDE MAI

Children's Parade in Norway, May 17, 2006

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I often natter away on this blog about my Celtic background, but I am half Nordic too, and today, Syttende Mai, I celebrate my Norwegian heritage - one fourth from my mother's side and one fourth from my father's side.

Syttende Mai (sitten duh MY), or May 17, is Norwegian Independence Day or Constitution Day. It is Norway's Fourth of July, if you will. Celebrated with children's parades in Norway, it observes the day Norway won its independence from Denmark in 1814.

Syttende Mai is also celebrated among Americans of Norwegian descent. If I were in Seattle today, I could attend a parade and hear speeches and proclamations. If I were in Wisconsin, I could attend several celebrations, including those in Stoughton and Westby, which would include folk dancing, woodcarving, fiddle music, traditional costume fashion shows, trolls for sale, demonstrations of hardanger (Norwegian cutwork embroidery) and rosemaling (Norwegian tole painting), and of course huge smorgasbords of Norwegian foods.

Even here in North Dakota, I could find Syttende Mai festivities in Minot, Grand Forks and Fargo. North Dakota was settled by Scandinavian immigrants in the Red River Valley, where Grand Forks and Fargo are located, and all across the upper half of the state. For some reason, the Scandinavians arrived via the Great Northern Railroad, which traversed that part of ND. The Germans From Russia came in on the Northern Pacific Railroad, which ran across the southern part of the state, including through Bismarck.

Therefore, we don't have a lot of fellow Norwegian celebrants around here. There is a Sons of Norway chapter in Bismarck, and I did attend one meeting, but the members were SO old (this was some years ago - I'd probably fit in better now). There is a stabbur, or Norwegian storehouse, in a local park, which sometimes is the scene of Syttende Mai celebrations. I used to wear a rosette in the colors of the Norwegian flag - red, white and navy blue - until someone asked me what prize I won at the State Fair.

Years ago, while a reporter at the Tribune, I did a story on a lovely Norwegian American lady who invited people to her home on Syttende Mai for fruit soup, pastries and, of course, coffee. She and her daughter, who hosted one party in the morning and one in the afternoon, would wear traditional Norwegian costumes called bunads, along with their solje, the beautiful Norwegian filigree silver jewelry.

The entire home was decorated with Bing & Grondal and Royal Copenhagen plates, beautiful sky blue hardanger tablecloths and runners, Norwegian pewter, rosemaling and framed immigration records. As a parting gift, she gave each guest a small piece of her handworked hardanger. The next year, she invited me as a guest. However, she warned me (in typical Norwegian "tell it like it is" fashion), "Now, dear, you won't be invited every year. There are just too many people on my guest list."

To celebrate Syttende Mai, my sister and I are going out to lunch, but we won't find any Norwegian delicacies to order. One could find a variety of German foods, from knoephle (potato and dumpling) soup to fleischkuechle (deep fried meat pie) and kuchen (fruit filled pastry). But there will be no lutefisk, lefse, Norwegian meatballs, risengrot (rice pudding), rommegrot (sour cream pudding), rullepulse (meat roll) or fruit soup to be found in any restaurant in town.

We won't be having any of the lovely Norwegian cookies and pastries like sandbakkels, fattigman, spritz, rosettes or krumkakke. The trouble with most of these treats is that you need special equipment to make them. Neither of us has a lefse griddle either. (Lefse, pronounced lefsa and made with mashed potatoes, is something like a Norwegian tortilla.) I prefer to spread my lefse round with butter and sugar and roll it up.

About the only thing we could find around here that's Norwegian would be Aunt Julia's lefse in the grocery store, and maybe some pickled herring and aquavit. Given that we don't like pickled herring, that's out. Speaking of not liking something, we both hate lutefisk too. If you don't know what lutefisk is, it is codfish that's been preserved with lye and cooked to a stinky, rubbery mess. There is a many-versed song about lefse, sung to the tune of "Oh Tannenbaum": Oh lutefisk, how I love you, you smell yust like an overshoe.

My Aunt Mary used to profess her love for lutefisk, and I would reply, "Why do you only have it on Christmas Eve then?" We Johnson kids made sure to stay away from Grandma's house on Christmas Eve. It would be safe to go there on Christmas Day, when the smell of turkey roasting in the oven covered up any lingering trace of old overshoe.

Glori and I will probably do our usual, a Chinese buffet. We'll say skoal over a couple of Cokes, and throw in an uffda now and then. Later we may visit the Norwegian shop, The Stabo, and buy one of the Suzanne Toftey tiles that we both collect.

Happy Syttende Mai!

Here are a couple of Norwegian recipes that even I can make:

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NORWEGIAN FRUIT SOUP (SWEET SOUP)

2 pounds mixed, dried fruit

1 cup raisins

1/2 cup pearl tapioca

1 cup sugar

1 cup grape juice

2 sticks cinnamon

Enough water to cover.

Soak the tapioca overnight in grape juice. In the morning, add the sugar, cinnamon, fruit and raisins and water. Simmer until the soup is done and the mixture thickens. Serve warm or cold.

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NORSKE (NORWEGIAN) MEATBALLS

1 pound ground round steak

1/2 pound ground pork

1/2 pound ground veal

1 onion, chopped

1 cup cracker crumbs

1/2 teaspoon nutmeg

Salt and pepper to taste

Mix together and form into balls the size of a walnut. Brown in a skillet, add water and simmer for 3/4 of an hour. Thicken with white sauce for gravy.

For more Norwegian recipes, go to http://www.westbywi.com/History.html#Recipes

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Above: Traditional Norwegian Costumes, or Bunads

Below: The Norwegian Stave Church in Minot, ND

(The big red object in the lower left corner is a Swedish Dala Horse)

NORWEGIAN HERITAGE PART II

This is an artist's rendering of his/her vision of Kristin Lavransdatter, probably as she would have looked on her wedding day. In a previous post, I "reviewed" the trilogy of Kristin Lavransdatter books, but in this post I am showing her picture because when I think of this fictional character, I think of the significance of her name in Norwegian genealogy. She is Kristin Lavransdatter, literally, the daughter of Lavrans. One of her sons, whom she named after her father, was called Lavrans Erlendson, because her husband's name was Erlend. (And woe to the parents who named their child after a living grandmother or grandfather!!)

Therefore, if I had lived in Norway, instead of being called Julie Fredericksen, the name I took when I married, I would be called Julie Forrestsdatter, after my birth father. Tracing back from present days, my husband would be called Daniel Earlson, and his father would have been named Earl Hanson. Well, not really. If I am correct in assuming that Danish names followed the same pattern, they would be Daniel Earlsen and Earl Hansen.

Obviously, it gets very confusing when the surnames change from generation to generation. My particular family history is even more confusing, with variations on the spelling of first names, surnames, and what I call "place" names, lacking the real word for this type of surname.

In the 1900 census, my maternal grandmother was listed as Julie Olsdatter Pladsen. Her father was listed as Ole Olsen Pladsen and her mother as Margrete Jorgensdatter Pladsen.

It gets more confusing. My grandmother was also known as Julia Wangen. In Norway, family names changed to match the farm on which they lived at the time! My ancestors lived first on the Pladsen (or Plassen) farm, then on the Wangen farm. In America, my grandmother was always called Julia, and though I was christened Julia, I was always called Julie! In my lifetime, I have been named Julia Marie Munro, Julie Marie Johnson (spelling and surname changed when I was adopted at the age of 12) and Julie M. Fredericksen.

My great- great-grandmother was known as Jorgine Hansdatter Wangen OR Vangen! And my great-grandmother Margrete was also known as Margaret. My great-great and great-grandfathers were both listed as Ole Olesen Pladsen, though one might have been called Ola.

It's enough to make a genealogist's hair turn gray! Good luck to Kevin when he searches the records in Norway this spring.

NORWEGIAN HERITAGE, PART I

Pictured at left is my cousin, Kevin. No, he isn't a graveyard ghoul, just a generous genealogist. He's kneeling beside the tombstone of my Great-Great Grandmother, Jorgine Hansdatter Wangen.

I had not known about Jorgine until Kevin unearthed her. Oops, sorry, that was a really bad choice of words. Until Kevin researched our heritage, I should say.

At first I thought it incredible that neither my Grandma Julia, my Mom or my two aunts had ever mentioned Jorgine's existence. Then I did the math. Jorgine went to America eight years before Grandma was born, so she never even met her.

According to her obituary, Mrs. Wangen "was a woman possessed of the highest Christian character." At all times, it stated, "her kindly spirit pervaded those who knew her and endeared her to all acquaintances and close friends." I only hope that one of her great-great granddaughters (namely, me) will have such complimentary phrases written about her for her obituary.

Jorgine went directly to Mankato, MN, when she arrived in the United States in 1887, and lived there the rest of her life. How sad that Grandma and her family were never able to connect with such a close relative living so close to North Dakota.

To me, Jorgine's emigration is shrouded in mystery. Why did my great-grandmother leave Norway? Her husband had died in 1862; perhaps she could not farm the land alone. Kevin notes that the area of Norway my ancestors came from (Lesjaverk in the Gudbrandsdal Valley) had a severe famine in 1868 and had one of the highest rates of emigration in Norway. It's apparently a beautiful area, but not good farmland.

But why did Jorgine's son, my great-grandfather, Ole Olsen Vangen, stay behind? At least one of her children, a daughter, emigrated with her. But Ole continued to live on the farm, and he married my great-grandmother the following year. Perhaps he was already courting Margrete when Jorgine decided to emigrate, and Margrete might not have wanted to leave Norway.

Hopefully, Kevin may soon discover the answers to these questions. He's traveling to Norway in May, and I'm eager to find out what he learns there. I had always planned to research the genealogy of my Norwegian and Scottish ancestors, but I'm very happy to "allow" Kevin to perform that task. He's even promised to start researching the Munro side of the family. Like I said, he's a "generous genealogist". (More about my Wangen/Vangen heritage in posts to come.)

Note added Feb. 26:

I learned from my cousin Kevin that Jorgine's daughter emigrated before her. "The daughter apparently married well and they had a very nice (big for the time) stone house in Mankato. I can see why Jorgine may have wanted to move from the log house farm in Norway." I can see why too, so that's a little bit of the mystery cleared up for me.