Here’s another thing I’ve noticed about the magical experience of Høstfest in Minot (a curse is a kind of magic, right?).

I remarked on this while I was there, and a couple different people agreed that they’d had the same experience.

Minot is upwind from everywhere.

When you drive to Minot (at least for Høstfest), you face a headwind.

When you drive home, you have a headwind again.

It’s always like this. Every year.

I’d say that God hates Scandinavians who live east of Minot, except that I half suspect that people who live west of Minot experience the precise same phenomenon.

I suspect that Minot is in fact a vast living creature, an Avoidant one that takes very long breaths. During the days leading up to Høstfest, it expires. And when the festival is over, it sighs (Scandinavians inhale when they sigh).

I had one of the most intriguing conversations in Norwegian I’d ever had, this year at Høstfest.

The guy in charge of our book table was approached by a Norwegian gentleman who was asking questions about swords, but had trouble expressing himself in English.

I was called in to pinch hit.

The gentleman’s name was Asbjørn Opsal. He’s a goldsmith in Norway, and he told me he was looking for information in English on a particular sword excavated years back in Norway, the Snartemo Sword. This isn’t a Viking sword but a Vendel-era sword, from the age of Beowulf and the original Hamlet. Mr. Opsal has been commissioned to make copies of this sword, which have been presented to the Norwegian royal family and other notables.

But the sword also has an interesting story out of much more recent times than the Vendel period.

The Nazis were fascinated by the Snartemo Sword, because the woven baldric discovered with it incorporated the swastika, a common symbol in many cultures (including Native American).

When the Nazis occupied Norway, party leaders made it clear to officials of the University Museum in Oslo (where the sword is housed) that it would be a wonderful gift to give to Heinrich Himmler, who was coming for a big rally.

University officials were not enthusiastic, and soon after the sword mysteriously disappeared, not to come to light again until the occupation ended.

The Quisling government prevailed on the (unwilling) David Anderson jewelry company to make a copy for Himmler. But when he arrived, Himmler refused it, saying he wanted the original (presumably for its presumed mystical powers) or nothing at all.

Today both the original and the copy are exhibited in the University Museum. “But that copy isn’t exact,” Mr. Opsal told me. “My copies are exact.”

I promised to see what I can find in English-language books, and I’ve found a couple things for him. I’m not exactly sure what he needs the information for. Maybe he’s hoping to sell replicas in America.

If so, they’ll be darned expensive. An exact copy means real gold.

Here’s the two of us: