Krum Kake in June?

Yesterday was the big day in Nora's class:  Heritage Day.  The day she'd been working toward for the last month or so.  The day she got to dress herself in her home-made bunad (made from one of her sister's old prom dresses, and Great Grandma's aprons) because my old one was too small for her.  

Norske Jane

It was the day she got to talk about "the old country," as my Dad calls it, and share her favorite holiday cookies with her classmates.

Since family and friends were invited to share in this world-wide celebration, Dave and I both attended.  And walking into that mock United Nations we could literally feel their excitement.  Excitement that the projects were complete, the work was done.  It was a day for celebration, a day for sharing.  A day to show off all the effort that had gone into making their reports and their display boards what they were-- little slices of culture and history.

No one did this with as much enthusiasm as Miles.   Miles is a fourth grader whose family hails from Mexico City, Mexico.  A city he has visited and looks forward to seeing again some day.  He told me ALL about his favorite foods, and how Mexico City "isn't as dangerous as other cities in Mexico because there are many police there," and he proudly showed me each and every one of his photos of pyramids and soccer stadiums.  His enthusiasm was palpable, and his descriptions of his favorite foods had my mouth watering.  He was engaging, happy, and, obviously, very proud of his heritage.  It was a pleasure to talk with him, to listen to his stories, though I don't think I could have gotten away until he was finished if I'd wanted to.  I don't know if his family attended this event, I hope so.  They should be very proud.

Nora was the last student I visited with as we were funneled through the room in a very strict order.  Thus, by the time I got to her,  I'd already eaten soda bread, warm boiled potatoes and cooked cabbage from Ireland, Vietnamese Ham, french bread that was heavily soaked in Croatian Olive Oil, and cookies from all over the globe.  

Nora's enthusiasm wasn't nearly as strong as Miles's.  In true Nora-fashion, she sat quietly on her chair and waited for people to talk to her, to ask her questions about bunads, about Norway. And if they did not, she merely munched on another krum kake cookie and waited for all the visitors to depart so her class could have their pizza party.  Because nothing shows American food culture better than cheese pizza.

Walking home after school, trying unsuccessfully to hold up her drooping skirt, she told me she was disappointed because no one wanted to eat her krum kake because everyone had tasted Meredith's first.  When I responded that her dad and I would be happy to take them off her hands, she just smiled and said she and Kailyn finished them off.  

I didn't need a Heritage Day to prove Nora's ancestry.  Like her mom, she's Norwegian through and through.  We never let baked goods go to waste.  Her grandpa, and my grandparents, taught us better than that.