September 20, 2016


I finally figured it out. I think I’m a Czech.
Well, I suppose I had better start at the beginning. You see, I come from mixed blood. I’ve never really known my entire lineage. But I do know that I have some German, Scotch, and Bohemian. There is Meyer, Krueger, Birdsall, and Wixer. I always felt that there had to be more. Sometimes I couldn’t sleep at night because I just never knew what the missing ingredient was.
Then yesterday I discovered it.
I’ve written about New Hradec before. Remember? I’ve told you about the wonderful New Year’s Eve celebration they have. They play ooom pa pa music and dance. They waltz and polka and have a wonderful supper. They do know how to ring in the New Year.
The town boasts only 70 residents. At least that is what their welcome sign says. But on the evenings I’ve been there, it is closer to 300.
Yesterday Shirley and I went up to New Hradec for Czech Day. Really. Czech Day. They start celebrating early in the afternoon with ooom pa pa music and a cash bar. At five o’clock there is a line of hundreds of people for a wonderful supper.
I don’t want to, shall we say spill the beans, but the Czech supper is very similar to the New Year’s Eve supper. For your information, there are no beans to spill. But there is fried chicken (with onions), pigs in a blanket, rice with chicken giblets, and a bunch of other stuff. I don’t know how they do it. But they do.
That is what made me decide I am Czech. Anybody that loves beer, food, visiting, and dancing on Sunday afternoon has to be related to me! I mean that is special!
I’ve been kind of worried that I was Ukrainian. Because they are a lot that way too.
Which reminds me of a story.
I’ve made countless trips up Highway 85 over the past 40 years or so. And I could never figure out a hill north of Belfield.
I always thought it looked like the ancient Incas had started building a pyramid. And then became tired before they got the top 2/3’s done. And then someone planted some trees on it to improve its looks.
One day, and there may have been beer involved in this discussion, I asked a gentleman from near there if he knew how this strange hill came into existence.
“Yes,” he relied. “It’s where they used to mine Ukrainians.”
I told him that I wasn’t a complete idiot. I knew around here the Ukrainians came from Russia.
He pondered that for a while and then realized he meant uranium.
I need new friends.
Happy Czech Day!