Proceed to Party....

We woke up to a sunny day, perfect weather for pigs to be roasted on a spit. I'm not so sure the pigs would agree, and even though I've been to many, many pig roasts, it never fails to make me feel a bit sad and somewhat heathen-ish to spear an animal and cook it on a open flame.  Not sad and heathen-ish enough to not eat it, I mean, I'm no vegetarian.  There were also two turkeys, but one never feels quite as sad for them. 

Before:

The tables were laden with salads and side dishes and many desserts, both North American and traditional Slovenian. It was quite glorious, but I felt a bit too self conscience to take pictures. I didn't want them to think I had never seen tables of food before. The inner anxiety in me.  I went back more than once, however, feeling a bit like Oliver Twist.

I tried a new food item, a type of hand rolled sausage, I can't remember what it was called but it was a mixture of pork, beef and spices, almost like a meatball, but oval shaped. It was dipped in a hot sauce that was pronounced like it was called "iver" and I've since discovered (via google) that its called "Ajvar", a traditional Serb/Croatian/Slovenian sauce, made from roasted red peppers. Too hot for me, but everyone else loved it, even tiny little tots who could hardly walk were dipping and slurping and running around with red stained mouths and fingers.  This is a very traditional appetizer. I loved it, sans sauce.

Then the pig. First out were trays of cracklings. All the years of pig roasts in Wasa were the same...the cracklings are the part most looked forward to, and jostling and elbowing to get the best part is common. Myself, I don't like it, but there was no lack of takers. 

And then we ate. And ate. And ate some more.

And, as any one who has a European family will know, it didn't take long for the music to start.

Dancing was rampant, and I skittered away so as to not have to publicly dance. As a matter of fact, I went for a kayak tour of the bay, in a plastic sort of kayak that involved a bit of dance to keep it balanced. I didn't fall out or tip over  though, so I considered it a success even if half of the time was spent going in circles. 

The kids ran and swam and played until they dropped exhausted in their mamas arms, sticky from all the stolen sweets and stained red from all the ajver. The adults laughed and danced and sang, and told storied and jokes. The wine flowed freely.

And before we knew it, the sun was down and bed was calling. I think the younger folks partied until dawn and it made me remember all the Wasa pig roasts where we were the young ones who partied until dawn, and I know exactly how these days will be remembered in these young folks futures, and the stories they will tell. 

And that was the Slovenian Picnic.