Although I am not Norwegian (I did marry one!), I was raised in a Norwegian-Lutheran community, so I have heard those hard to pronounce words since I was a youngster.

What is Syttende Mai? It means "the Seventeenth of May," when in 1814 Norway claimed its independence from Sweden and Denmark and established its own Constitution. It is Norway's Independence Day, as the 4th of July is to Americans.

When the Norwegians came to America, they brought along the tradition and still observe it today. Many Syttende Mai celebrations are held in Minnesota, since that is the most Norwegian of all the 50 states.

It is celebrated with various events ... parades with hundreds of Norwegian flags. It is a day to demonstrate Norwegian arts and crafts, such as rosemaling, woodcarvings and embroideries. Musical programs consist of choirs, folk singers, fiddlers and accordianists.

Participants wear their traditional costumes, the women wearing bunads (long skirts). They were usually made of dark wool, trimmed with excessive embroidery in red and bright colors, worn with a white, lacy satin blouse under a matching vest. A søljer (large brooch) made of silver or pewter was always worn as part of the costume.

Food is always a major part of the observances, ranging from luncheons to large banquets, and always including the traditional Norwegian delicacies.

Syttende Mai observances have done much to preserve that heritage for the younger generations. Even though not Norwegian, anyone can attend the celebrations.

My Uncle Homer Helm lived right there on the bank of the river about five miles west of our place, just across the Bigfork River. He was married to my mother's sister [Nora Guthrie Helm]. You cross the river and go a quarter of a mile, turn south and go kind of parallel to the river a little ways and not even half a mile there was what they called the Muldoon Rapids. It was a rough rapids.

In the early days, they floated the logs down the Bigfork River, as well as other rivers, clear into the Rainey Lake, and then floated them down to International Falls and Fort Francis. There was a gravel pit on the bank of that river back just a little ways. It was a good gravel pit. They shoveled gravel by hand in those days into little old ton and a half Ford and Chevrolet dump trucks with homemade boxes on them.

These trucks were some of the first ones that came out. There would be four or five guys shoveling gravel into the gravel boxes. I was just young then, but I remember he said they had just loaded up a load and pulled away and they were waiting for another truck.

They were sitting there and one guy was picking rocks and just kind of throwing them at another rock. He picked up a rock and held it in his hand a little bit and looked at it a little and said, "Hey, this looks like a kneecap." He got to looking at it and of course everybody kind of perked up a little bit and got to scratching around there.

Here were two skeletons, of men, I suppose. He said they were men. They had been buried just a few feet below the surface. The bank was kind of deep. He didn't say, but they were under the surface a little, maybe two or three feet. That's all the deeper it was. They were buried in a sitting position, almost like you'd sit down with your hands around your knees. That's the way they were found. There were two of them there.

They called the proper people and they came and got the bones. They thought they were white men, that's what the word was afterwards, but they had probably died or were killed on the river during the log drive, because those big rapids in high water were pretty wicked. The logs would sometimes jam up and they'd have to break those jams loose. It was very dangerous work. So that's what they figured happened.

That's what that story was. Nobody knew who they were. Those fellows were probably just lumberjacks. They probably never had a relative in this country. They probably came from the old country. There was nothing else to do with them. There were no roads then to speak of, just the old tote roads, so that was the easiest thing to do, just chuck them in the ground. It was easy to bury them that way instead of laying them flat. It was easy digging in that gravel. I suppose they dug a big hole and chucked them in there and covered them up. That's all there was to it.

That was something to talk about for a while. My dad told that story a hundred times, finding this kneecap, looking at the bones. It could have been Indians. I don't think they arrived at that conclusion for any special reason. They just thought it was somebody that died when they were doing the log drive in the spring.

Ilha de Moçambique is an enchanting place with an atmosphere similar to what I experienced on Ibo, but on a much busier scale. The island is physically quite small but is much easier to reach, thanks to a two-mile long concrete bridge and its location close to the mainland coast. So in contrast to Ibo's quiet remoteness, Ilha de Moçambique was positively bustling. But the decaying colonial architecture and sense of history were quite similar.

I made my first stop the Palacio Govierno, the old Governer's Palace, which has been restored and converted into a museum. Later I wandered over to the port, where fisherman had strung out their colorful nets and were hard at work mending them. Women also congregated here, selling assorted produce at an outdoor market. As on Ibo, I passed most of my time wandering around town, admiring the architecture and people watching.

And there was plenty of activity to watch! The island is only a few blocks wide and a mile long, but home to around 16,000 people. As you might imagine, there is no space for large houses and fenced backyards. Here, as in all urban areas of developing countries I've visited, people sleep and cook in tiny family homes but largely live their lives in public places. Parks, plazas, streets, and beaches are where most people socialize, play, and even work.

After traveling and returning home to the United States, I always find the degree of privacy and isolation in our lives here to be quite striking. Houston is home to four million individuals, but very few of them are in public, social spaces at any given moment. We pass most of our time in our artificial private environments, moving from condo to car to cubicle to car to condo. I mean for this to be merely an observation, not a judgment...

Miss Hetty's Mailbox:

Photo © Betty Droel
Shalana & Krista Weiland prepare Mother's Day dinner at the Droels'.

+ LETTERS TO THE EDITORS?
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I was so impressed at that beautiful first picture with the gentle colors so suitable for mothers and the title color to match the same soft lilac, violet and pink. So typical of Bitzi in her design mood. Are those morning glories? Oh, so beautiful.

Sounds like Frans and Marloes both got a long awaited joy in the car and plane trips. I hadn't heard a word about the royal family being threatened. That was not good news. I am so glad for the photo of Marloes in her happiness in the plane.

It is exciting to have updates from some we haven't heard from for months, like the Husebys. Those children are growing up, and people will get tired of me saying that I knew their mother when she was their age. I guess that is why it was so special to see that update of Ashley and Erik. Looks like someone has quite a lawn to mow. Lots of trees for the leaves to fall, too.

The cake even had s'mores on it. That took some creative ability, and how fun for a Cub Scout to have a cake like that just for him.

I thought it was unusual that the violet blossoms were the same coloring as the first picture. Also, the bottles on the sink matches, too.

We were very interested in the Family Update by Kit McCalla, too, with the family pictures. Orthopedic Surgery in Phoenix. Hmmm, my sister had a surgery there, and I will have to ask her what doctor she had for it. Nice to get acquainted with another member of The Bulletin relation.

That violet plant really came alive and to have so many blossoms is to be coveted. Roy's Edith had African violet plants as a hobby but now, after 16 years, we don't even have one left alive. I heard it takes a personal touch and conversation with them to get them to thrive. I remember Lenore Miller Pfingsten had a porch with many, many plants in it, and she always talked to them as she watered them. She claimed they needed that, and her plants were exceptional.

So, Miss Kitty, I don't know if they can understand "meow" or not.

What a darling little dog: Tiko. Seems they had another dog, and I wonder if they still have it and how that works with the two of them.

Donna Mae, that was a lovely poem you had dedicated to all The Bulletin mothers and grandmothers. We have only one mother, and it is nice there is a day set aside to lovingly acknowledge them.

I just marvel that Dorothy can remember so many details, even to the little pillbox hat we all had at one time. Very nostalgic to look at that picture of the two teachers in 1947, and think of all that has taken place in their lives since that time. Good thing we can take it a day at a time. I was especially impressed with the gentleman that visited the schoolroom leaving a note for Dorothy to relax, she was doing just fine. He could likely tell how anxious she was. I am sure it was all very much in order like she still does everything.

It was touching thinking of the hungry people there were in those depression years that Bruce was telling us about, and how they would do anything to make a few pennies. We have it very good, but one wonders just what is ahead of us?

Thanks, Kjirsten, for sharing the photos and story about your unusual and adventure filled trip with us. I think the final sunset picture was so unusual, and unbroken by any landscape on the ground.

I am sure we would have been very nervous, too, with that short runway heading right into the water.

What a joke about the Jell-O that was the April Fools joke! I never would have ever thought of that. It would look just like liquid, ha.

Now, THAT was a Mother's Day picture to be very proud of -- that good looking, well dressed gentleman telling Mommy he "luv'd" her. So cute.

The Quotation for the day made me think over of all the precious things and suggestions and advice and teachings we had gotten from our grandmothers, aunts, and mothers. Endless! And much of what we are now, today, is a result of directing us by example.

Spring. We planted some lovely geraniums today. Rodger brought a beautiful white orchid plant loaded with blossoms for Mother's Day. I feel so thankful Roy's family is so kind and accepting and good to me.

Thanks again to our Bulletin staff for #360.

Betty Droel