By Natalie Kruse
August 10, 2024
Natalie, one of our Icelandic Roots members, attended her first Deuce of August celebration in North Dakota this month. Read about other firsts she experienced.
I am reluctant to disclose that I had second thoughts about attending August the Deuce in Mountain, North Dakota as my summer days marched steadily toward the 125th Anniversary date of this special gathering of generations of people of Icelandic descent. I had made accommodation arrangements months in advance and a quiet and steady excitement blossomed deep within me as I imagined being among a large group of people who loved Iceland and everything Icelandic as much as I did.
I had never been among others of Icelandic heritage growing up in my small community in Iowa and I have never experienced the traditions, food, and other attributes associated with Icelandic culture. Even in my own family, being of Icelandic descent revealed a muted acknowledgement of a vague and mysterious ancestry.
My Great-Grandmother Edna Crozier Irwin was the Icelandic relative who was our family link to the land of fire and ice; and she was as distant in our memories as was this beautiful island in the Atlantic Ocean whom my American family had never seen. It was my Grandma Seymour, Edna’s eldest daughter, who would introduce me to our Icelandic family story; which was the shortest story I would ever hear in my youth. It was succinct because the only known character in this story was Edna, as a six year old child, coming to America on a ship with her family and losing this family through tragedy and ending up in a Chicago orphanage. Edna’s life was full but brief and she died as a young mother, when my grandma was in her teens. This short Icelandic tale that my Grandmother told me in my childhood was simply that her mother came from Iceland and therefore I was Icelandic too. I trusted that statement even before I grew and spent countless midnight hours researching archival documents, because I felt Icelandic in my heart and bones by the love I felt for the literature, history, and people of that country.
In addition, there was something so special about my maternal Grandma Seymour- her capable hands as she prepared meals in her kitchen, her lilting laugh, her lengthy stories, love of poetry, daily writing in her journal, as well as the loving relationship that we shared that prompted me to honor her memory when I became a grandmother myself. Even though I had never heard anyone use the term Amma, I decided that is what I wanted to be called to distinguish myself from my grandchildren’s other grandmother who wanted to be referred to as Grandma.
I have come to adore the term Amma as it is spoken from those tiny lips of the beloved grandchildren in my life. I liked it so much that I had a T-shirt made that said “Blessed Amma” and I wear it proudly around my community of Marshfield, Wisconsin. But no one outside of my family knows what “Amma” means, until the day I arrived in Mountain, North Dakota!
My hesitation to attend the Deuce of August stemmed from the reality that I would know no one at the festival apart from the familiar faces known to me from the Icelandic Roots webinars I attended online and I knew those individuals would be very busy promoting the amazing services that Icelandic Roots offers to the many attendees of the celebration. Even then, I wanted to meet these Icelandic Roots volunteers if possible because they had all become very dear to me throughout these past few years and the thought of seeing them in person was the impetus I needed to attend my first Deuce.
From the very first moment my husband and I arrived in the nearby town of Cavalier, where our motel was, we encountered friendly people asking if we were there to attend the events being held in Mountain. Our interactions occurred again at the small Thompson’s Cafe during breakfast when I couldn’t help but smile when looking around at the others in the cafe. So many faces there reminded me of my Grandma Seymour and her sister. There was an elderly gentleman sipping coffee and reading a book, a group of ladies at another table discussing who they saw the previous night at the fish fry and how they were related, the family at another table catching my eye who asked if we had gotten checked in at our motel ok and telling us we were going to have an awesome time in Mountain.
After following a line of cars to Mountain, we found parking where others had parked and walked the short distance to the main street where the parade was to take place. I was wearing my “Blessed Amma” T-shirt and found an empty space lining the street between lawn chairs and asked an older couple sitting there if that space was reserved for anyone else. They let us know we were welcome to sit there.
Before I even sat down in my chair, I heard someone as they walked down the street in front of me say, “Hey Blessed Amma! I love your shirt!” From all around me, I heard the children’s voices calling to their grandmothers by saying “Amma” and talking excitedly about if they were going to get candy during the parade.
When the elderly couple sitting next to us asked us where we were from and continued to chat, I went to stand in front of them both and that is when the elderly woman, named Anna, saw my shirt and said, “Oh, you are an Amma! I love your shirt. That makes me think of my Amma and I haven’t thought of her for so long! She lived a mile out of town here in Mountain and I would stay with her. I’m so glad you sat with us today and you made me think of my Amma again.”
I held Anna’s delicate hand in mine while we continued to talk before the parade started and I learned that Anna and I both had relatives who were of the Melsted family. When the parade was about to start, I went to sit in my lawn chair again. As soon as I got settled, Anna reached over her husband’s chair to get my attention and then said, “Hello, where are you from?” I was confused for just a second and then realized as her husband gave me a compassionate look with his dark eyes, that Anna was afflicted with short term memory loss. Anna would never remember our lovely conversation.
My husband, Jamie, and I had many encounters with Western Icelanders that day. I met and embraced Icelandic Roots volunteers and talked with strangers who became fast friends. I read the storyboards at Vikur Lutheran Church and fell in love with the community of Mountain and fought back tears during the speeches at the Heritage Program where at least a third of the attendees were from Iceland and the other two-thirds were Western Icelanders.
That evening when Jamie and I were again seated at Thompson’s Cafe in Cavalier for an evening meal, a woman from the booth behind me said, “How was your day in Mountain today Blessed Amma?” I turned around to her and told her what a wonderful day we had. She said she had seen me in Mountain and remembered my T-Shirt and wanted my contact information because she was from Minnesota and wanted to let me know about activities that would be happening in their state Icelandic Club.
I will forever cherish these memories I have of my first trip to Mountain, North Dakota. I met a relative from the Melsted side of my family quite serendipitously and even though she won’t remember me, I will remember how Anna’s eyes lit up when she told me about her Amma and I will cherish the feel of her hand in mine when we shared a meaningful conversation.
I am grateful to have met Sunna who works so tirelessly to promote the family connections between Icelanders and Western Icelanders through Icelandic Roots and the other Icelandic Roots volunteers who give of their time and talents who are friendly faces on our Zoom Webinars.
I’m beginning to realize that it doesn't matter that I am only 1/8 Icelandic and that I missed out growing up with Icelandic traditions or hearing the beautiful Icelandic language spoken in my home. Icelanders, whether from Iceland or North America, welcomed me and my husband into their fold like we were dear friends and family members.
This love for everything Icelandic has been a part of my DNA for as long as I can remember. The word Amma has not been spoken for generations in my family. I am proud to have reintroduced it into our family where it will continue to be a word that evokes fond memories, Icelandic tradition, and Love. I could not have imagined how much I would enjoy my visit to Mountain; meeting the kind people there and feeling such a profound sense of belonging. I am truly a “Blessed Amma” in so many ways.