Since I’m sure you were praying fervently for my safety this weekend, considering my age and deteriorating mental state, you’ll rejoice to know that I and my loaner car both returned intact from an intensive experience.

First, at noon Friday, a lunch meeting with the board of the Georg Sverdrup Society at a restaurant in Fergus Falls, Minnesota. That went fine, except that I have lots of work to do now on delayed projects (delayed, surprisingly, by other causes than my personal laziness).

Then on eastward to the Brainerd area, where I met my hosts for the weekend. They were an extremely gracious retired couple who fed me sumptuously and listened to my tales and anecdotes. I, for my part, actually asked some questions of them, which is not my usual way. I must have been transitioning into Public Lars mode, which is more outgoing than my true personality.

In the morning my host guided me to the Crow Wing County Fairgrounds, where some of my group were already waiting. We set up, and other Vikings from other groups showed up and set up as well. In the end the Crow Wing Viking Festival looked like the photo above.

Things were slow starting off. I suspect the weather had a lot to do with it. It had been stormy overnight (everyone was grateful for the rain after a dry summer), and some clouds and sprinkling moved through before everything lightened up. It became a beautiful day – about 70 degrees – the only problem being strong wind gusts that bludgeoned us now and then (at one point one actually knocked the post out from one corner of my sun shade awning).

And the crowds came, as we hoped, as eager as the Vikings to finally get out and do something with people under God’s sun. The fighting contingent had enough participants to form reasonable shield walls in the battle shows, and – judging by my business – people were eager and willing to spend their rapidly devaluing dollars. I took home a nice amount that had previously been in other people’s pockets.

Then, because I had a young guy carrying my impedimenta in his big vehicle, we convoyed home, stopping for burgers in St. Cloud. I was the old man in the party, and did my best to appear clueless and opinionated. Pulled in at home a little after 10:00 p.m., and unloaded. Dragged my stuff inside, and collapsed to a better night’s sleep than I’d had in a while.

Oh yes, somebody asked for a picture of my Viking chest. I forgot to take one at the festival, but here it is in its customary spot, subbing for a desk chair in my home office.