Kautokeino

I drove into Kautokeino, so happy to finally be there.

Kautokeino road sign in both Sámi and Norwegian

Kautokeino and Karasjok are the heartland of Sápmi -- full of Sámi culture and history. They even have a kind of rivalry. Karasjok got the Norwegian Sámi parliament, and Kautokeino got the Sámi University College. 

Kautokeino is noted for its gorgeous (over-the-top?) gákti. Both the men's and women's outfits have a flared skirting on the bottom edge, which utilizes rows and rows of ribbon.  Rows and rows, ya'll.  I have read the lower edge can consume 20 meters of fabric with the correlating amount of ribbon.  I didn't think about it before visiting, but this can result in quite heavy dresses. The ribbons and trim are echoed on the cuffs, and shoulders of the garment and hat for men. It's like, someone took a dare and thought -- just one more row of ribbon; surely, just one more row of ribbon could fit!

I do feel the need to tell you, I did not take these four pictures of Kautokeino dress.  Many, if not most, of the Sámi people own a gákti, but it is the rare person who uses it for an everyday outfit. It is reserved for special occasions: weddings, confirmation, sometimes Sunday church. Here are two gorgeous pictures of a confirmation Sunday.

Boys at confirmation

girls at confirmation

This last photo is of Nils Thomas Outsiders in front of the town. He was one of the producers of the movie, Kautokeino Rebellion about the famous uprising 150 years ago. Really, it was a kind of backwards rebellion, towards a more conservative life. Kautokeino was, and is, a conservative town, but, during that time, the merchant in town was trying to pay trappers and traders in alcohol. Discontent brewed, as more and more of the people wanted nothing to do with alcohol, influenced by the religious teachings of Laestadius. 

Nils Thomas Outsider

Unfortunately, because of the extreme northern location, the Lutheran priests were usually lousy, assigned there to be out-of-the-way. They often were not sympathetic to their parishioners, their language or way of life. About 30 men and women marched on the liquor seller and law enforcement. At the end, both the merchant and the sheriff were dead, and the town priest was beaten and flogged. On the Sámi side, 30 were arrested. One died on the way to prison. Two were executed by decapitation, and three died in prison. One of the men in prison went on to translate the Bible into the North Sámi language during his confinement.

The reprisals, really, were quite awful. One family was completely destroyed: two sons dead, a daughter in prison, the mother interrogated… Even in death, the punishment continued.  The bodies of the two men who were decapitated were buried outside the church graveyard walls, signifying no church blessing on their lives or deaths.  Their heads were sent to Oslo and became part of a medical facilities skull collection. Even in 1985, when a relative requested the skulls be returned, bureaucrats in Oslo stated, "Mons Somby was a convicted criminal and a murderer and that no attempt should be made to describe Mons as a martyr to any cause." Can you imagine?! It took 12 years, and significant political pressure, to get the skulls returned and buried with the bodies in Kåfjord. I visited the Kåfjord church the day before I drove to Kautokeino.

Kåfjord church near Alta, Norway

150 years later, people are still talking about the rebellion. It is a bitter memory. I heard of the horrible circumstances for the families left without providers. I also heard of the relatives of those from nearby Avži who marched to go help quell the rebellion. Even the movie is discussed and debated for its details that were altered to increase drama. I don't know why that is so often the case -- history, itself, seems pretty riveting to me.

Next up: Kautokeino, the personal touch

On to Kautokeino

It's been a busy week here in Lake Wobegon. The past day was filled with computer dawdling -- doing things I don't like or understand for the greater good of the business. I separated my work Facebook account, and made a new twitter feed.  Please check them out.  On FB I'm Laura Ricketts Designs, and on twitter I'm Laura Ricketts @LRickettsDesign. 

It's amazing that it takes a few lines to write that, but all day to pull off (and, I'm not even sure it's done correctly). 

Meanwhile, knitting and charting continues on.  Saturday, MARCH FIRST, we had freezing rain, and about 4 inches of snow on top of that. Snow and swim meets mean more knitting time.  I finished a lovely Finnish mitten, and started a Swedish one in the same day.  I hope to someday get the second one done.

If I pick up my Fall travel saga where I left off, I believe I stranded all of you readers in Alta, Norway.  I was only there two nights. I was in a lovely little campsite just South of town on the road to Kautokeino and Karasjok, but it was there, in the City of Northern Lights, that I saw my first northern lights.  So beautiful and magical, and surprisingly, very difficult to photograph. For this, I have only my memories.

Early in the morning, I awoke, ate breakfast, and then went through the books I had checked out from the Sámi National Parliament building in Karasjok.  I am a proud card carrying member, and thanks to librarian Kåre Balto, I was able to check out books on the duodji from Karasjok, and return them to the Kautokeino Sámi school.

About 10, I packed up the rental car, and began my drive South to Kautokeino. The road follows the Alta river through a beautiful narrow gorge. At the Karasjok/Kautokeino road, I turned right and went through some high, desert like country, stopped off to see the small village of Máze, and then onto Kautokeino.

I had arrived!

Always winter, and never Christmas

Our weekend in New Orleans felt like just the right length of time away, but it's never nice to return to Narnia under the reign of the White Witch -- where it is always winter, but never Christmas.

The frost level in the ground is 4 feet deep.  Friends have had their pipes burst, and ice dams on their roof. One friend's daughter's roof collapsed, and the ceiling came down on her newborn twins' nursery.  Thankfully, they were not in it at the time.

The first day I was back at the homeless shelter where I volunteer, I passed these poor trucks on the street.

I have no idea how long it would take them to dig out.  The snow is like an archeological dig: some soft and drifty, layers of ice, and all that yucky, crunchy dirt from the plow. Meanwhile, my son continues to have fun in the winter weather.

I, however, wander around singing Christina Rosetti's classic, "In the Deep Midwinter," and trying not to sound too mournful:

In the deep midwinter, frosty wind laid low

Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone

Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow

In the deep midwinter, (unfortunately, not) long ago.

Friends in Ireland are posting pictures of crocuses peeking up through warm, brown dirt. Crocuses!! I can't even remember what warm, brown dirt is like! Although, we had a rip-roaring thunderstorm a few days ago, complete with dramatic lightening, I still can't see anything outside, but crusty snow and empty branches.

On the work front, I am having a lovely time, researching, charting and knitting mittens. I regularly am emailing back and forth with curators and friends in Norway, Finland and Paris. I turned in a knitted project to Piecework last week, and have another getting ready for May publication. I have the article yet to complete, and three other book projects and two articles to tackle.

I am also negotiating with a couple Nordic events regarding knitting classes, and other venues as well.  

The kids have had a crazy schedule since Christmas break: nine snow days, I think, and countless 2-hour delays.  My work has really suffered from it. Starting tomorrow, the administration is implementing a "make-up" plan that will add the missed hours before spring testing: they will add 43 minutes to each school day.

I'm hoping I can add that productivity to my day, as well.

Dr. Who, or How I learned to Stop Worrying and love Da Bomb

Two weeks ago, my loving husband whisked me away from all of this, and down to New Orleans for the weekend.  It was a delayed birthday present -- to take me to my 49th State. With Louisiana down, I have just South Dakota to go.

We landed at the Louis Armstrong airport after leaving eight fresh inches of snow up north.

Our first day on the ground, we traveled around some of the sights outside of the city -- Oak Alley and Laura's Creole plantation, and a swamp boat tour in a bayou. It was wonderful to be in a French area again, and the food!  Oh! The food...

I had alligator, crawfish, shrimp, red beans, and étouffée. I had me some crab, some catfish, sweet potatoes, beignet, and coffee with chicory.  Mmm… I miss New Orleans.

The view of Oak Alley's 300 year old trees from the second story of the plantation.

Swamp tour in 35F weather with sleet

Perhaps, the most fun surprise was on Saturday, though. That is, it was a surprise for my hubbo. While researching what was happening when we were down there, I happen to see Comic Con was in town.  "That's fun!" Then, I saw Matt Smith would be there, and I immediately bought tickets.

Matt Smith has just retired from being the eleventh (twelfth? Who's counting?) Dr. Who from the series of the same name. Dr. Who just celebrated it's 50th anniversary, and the Christmas special was the highest rated TV show in UK history.  That was Matt Smith's last episode, and New Orleans was his first public appearance since then.

Everything I had read about him beforehand said how nice he was. I've really liked his interviews, as well.

Well, I went equipped with my Dr. Who-loving son's 11th-doctor's sonic screwdriver. We wandered around looking at the weirdos and the wares. There were some really clever costumes!

Exterminate! Exterminate!

Don't Blink!

Before too long, it was time to line up for our photo op with #11! Here's a pic of ol' bow-legs, himself.

He was kept behind scenes as much as possible, to try to engender sweet innocents like myself to give up hard-earned cash for such an opportunity as this:

Only shiny, because it is a picture of a picture...

Those four seconds were pure magic. He leaned back in his director's chair, ready to put his hand out in a "peace" sign, as he did with all the other photos. I pulled out the sonic screwdriver.

"Could you hold this?" I asked.

"Certainly!" he answered, snatching it out of my hand and flourishing it in one fell swoop, almost like he had done it before.

Click.

"See ya later," was what he said as he handed the screwdriver back to me, but I knew he meant, "Will you be my Future Companion?"

"Thank you," was the only reply necessary. And, by it I meant, "Look behind you, you dolt! That's my Rory. -- I choose Rory."

We parted on amicable terms.