Been there and back again, by which I mean my trip to Norway, Michigan for the Leif Erikson festival. I scrounged a ride with my friends Ragnar and Helen once more, not being entirely sanguine about taking Mrs. Hermanson on long trips just now. I got up at 5:00 a.m. on Friday to be ready to be picked up. The weather was beautiful, the state of Wisconsin still retaining some of its autumn glory.

It was obvious from the start that the organizers had learned from their first year experience, and were doing an even better job of organizing their festival. We participated in a “Viking Funeral Feast” in a school gymnasium Friday evening, where we were more or less the guests of honor (in costume, of course).

The funeral was purportedly for some guy name Eldywick (don’t ask me where the name came from; it was new to me). Before the program the planner showed Denny a sheet of Viking riddles she’d like somebody to read, and Denny immediately passed it to me, knowing where the ham was to be found amidst the eggs.

My piece was supposedly a speech by “Tor,” Eldywick’s friend. I was to reminisce on how much he’d enjoyed riddles, and then pose four (most of them real Viking riddles, a la Tolkien) to the assembled diners.

With the instinct of the born show-off, I immediately knew exactly how to do this part. I adopted a serious Scandinavian accent (as opposed to the burlesque accent I use when I tell Ole and Lena jokes), and spoke in sonorous, overdramatic tones with broad gestures. The audience ate it up, and I got a good dose of that crowd feedback that is an actor’s meat and drink.

Afterward we all went to a local park on a lake, where a “torchlight procession” (actually glow sticks; it’s been a dry summer) marched around the water with a mummy-like “body” on a wooden bier. Then that was set on a raft which was set afire and pulled by rope out into the lake to burn in a picturesque manner. A good time was had by all, except, I suspect, for the guy who had to take off his shoes and socks and step into the near-freezing water to set the fire.

So Friday night was a big success.

Saturday was different. It dawned cold and rainy. We dutifully drove to our designated camp in a grassy area on Main Street, where we huddled under an awning and tried to be cheerful. There was very little we could really do under the circumstances. You can’t do combat in the rain, and it’s not even a good idea to expose your weapons to it. This was a nasty, cold rain, just a mist at times, but pervasive like steam. I had warmer Viking clothes in my chest, but that was in Ragnar’s van and I hadn’t the heart to ask them to help me dig it out.

Finally one of the organizers came and suggested we might do better to set up in the foyer of the public school auditorium, where a number of events had been moved. We did that, and that was a lot better and more comfortable. Still, it was too bad we couldn’t do any combat. And the crowds, which had been large last year, just never showed up on such a dismal day. We did ride (some of us—not me—walked) in the parade. We rode in a sort of antique street car, pulled by a pair of mules. I’d never met mules before. Very interesting.

When it was over we loaded up our vehicles and all went out for pizza. The next morning (after a very nice rest in the beautiful five-bedroom home where the organizers had arranged for most of us to stay), we enjoyed a hearty all-you-can eat breakfast at the American Legion hall, and headed home.

I feel sorry for the organizers, who worked hard and deserved a better result. I hope the success of the first night will convince them to try again next year, and to invite us again.

This morning I woke up at 5:00 a.m., having forgotten to re-set my alarm clock.