It was a good weekend. I’m sunburned, stiff, dehydrated and exhausted (I can tell my hemoglobin level still isn’t up to specs), but I had fun.

The drive down was an adventure. I had to get up at 4:30 a.m. to be in Story City, Iowa in time to set up, and it was a three-hour drive directly into a vicious south wind. But I made it on schedule. There were only three of us there, two guys and a woman, but our friend Sam from Missouri also came up with his Viking boat, which raised the tone of the encampment considerably:

The boat is called the Yrsa, and is a detailed reconstruction of one of the deck boats from the Gokstad ship, one of the famous grave ships in the Viking Ships Museum in Oslo. It was built (I’m not making this up) by a kind of hermit who lives in the Mojave Desert (the constant low humidity, he says, is ideal for boat construction).

All the rain we expected never arrived, which was a relief, because rain is a bad influence on swords and armor. And books. But those heavy winds stayed heavy, especially the first day. The canvas awning I built to shade me from the sun split along one of its seams, and I had to do a field repair with artificial sinew (the reenactor’s best friend).

It was fascinating for me to spend time in this particular town, because my grandmother was born there. In addition, the other male Viking and I stayed overnight at a farm about twenty miles away, near Radcliffe, Iowa, where my grandfather (the one who married that particular grandmother) was born. His family moved up to Kenyon, Minn., my home town, in 1915, and her family moved to Kenyon a little later, having sojourned a while in Kanawha, Iowa.

The second day, Saturday, was less gusty. We watched dark and troublous clouds rush over us like a mule stampede, but they never paused long enough to drop any water. It looked like this as the community prepared for the parade that morning:

Because of the place’s history (I’ll talk about that tomorrow) this was probably one of the most Norwegian-American crowds we’ve ever worked with. But there was an interesting ethnic mix nevertheless. I saw people of every race I can think of, even there in the heart of flyover country. I had a nice conversation with a young couple from Turkey, speaking to them of the Varangian Guard, the all-Viking bodyguard of the Emperor of Constantinople (which is now Istanbul, in case you’re behind on current events).

Sold a few books and a couple leather bookmarks, and the club reimburses gas, so I did OK. Tomorrow I’ll tell you about the profound insights I gained.

I had a nice tailwind on the drive home, until I passed through an area of heavy thunderstorms. The skies as I approached had that iron blue-gray color that I love more than any other weather in the world. With Sissel on the car stereo, it was a nearly perfect moment.

On Sunday we did Danish Day at the American Danish Fellowship in Minneapolis. I did three live steel combats, not doing better than a mutual kill draw. But even a bad fight is a good time. Anyway, I blame it on my anemia.