''We're on a mission from God.''

If there's one thing I can say after my close encounter with the Norse Gods, it's that they work in mysterious ways. And after last night, I'll never think of sheep the same way again. But as the Norwegians grin at what must appear to them as newfound common sense, I must once again implore my readers abroad to hear me out. For had I been told this story by an Norwegian, I surely would have doubted.

But this, my friends, is how it happened.

Last night was Midsummer's Night, and I was fortunate enough to be invited to John Markus and Karen's house for a barbeque and bonfire. Sheep grazing in their backyard, their three cats scurrying around and leaping up to nuzzle us, and Karen's bright-eyed daughter Elisabeth greeted us at their home on neighbouring Kvaloya, Whale Island.

Whale Island is an appropriate name, given the feast we were about to prepare. When my father asked me to write about Norwegian food last weekend, all that came to mind was the stack of ''Grandiosa'' and ''Big One'' pizza boxes in our kitchen. (They've now become wallpaper that only a student could love.)

Take a look at what Markus and Karen picked up for dinner! This picture is of Elisabeth, with her friend Katrine on the left, inspecting the evening's feast. Greenpeace activists, please press the 'Back' button on your Web Browsers now.

Alas, it's tough to make out what's in the bowls in this picture, but I'll give you all the tasty inside scoops. Starting at the left, we have the white steinbit. Steinbit actually translates directly as ''stone bite,'' but we know the animal in english as wolf fish. Next is kvalbiff, or whale meat in red wine marrinade. The really black meat is selbiff - yup, seal meat. In the back you can see some reke (''reh-kah''), or shrimp. Next are some sopp, or champignon mushrooms. The meal is rounded out with some rodlok, or red onion; eple, or apple; and paprika, which, sensibly enough, is red pepper. The bottle is hvitlok, or garlic. It reads vitlök, which is the Swedish spelling.

Elisabeth ran out with Katrine to fly a kite, and Markus and Karen were at work preparing dinner. I stepped out into the back yard and looked at the sheep in the distance. The scene conjured up visions of Tolkien's Middle Earth, and an aura of peace swept over me. I sat down to absorb the scene quietly.

My peace was interrupted by what I can only describe as a bleating voice coming from the hillside. Surely my ears were deceiving me. Were the sheep speaking Norwegian?

I listened closer. Could it be Norsk? I couldn't make it out. The Voice repeated itself:

''Hvis du brenn den, vil den komme.''

''Pardon?'' I forced out as every muscle in my body tensed.

''Oh, sorry! Forgot you were English.

''If you burn it, he will come.''

I was already on my feet and racing towards the house. ''Markus!! Come quick!''

He sprang from the kitchen with marinated whale meat in hand to see what was the matter. We both decided that the best way to calm me down would be to stroll up the hill and greet the sheep. Only in Norway, I tell you, does this happen.

Markus and I approached the three sheep as cautiously as we could and crouched down to their level. The mother looked up at Markus at bleated again.

Markus tossed a glance at me and I shrugged. Neither of us could understand a word. Perhaps she'd expired both her English and Norwegian vocabularies. These days, I'm no stranger to strained communications, but it's hard to have a gesture-based dialogue with a sheep. The animal was obviously frustrated and trying to explain something to us.

Markus had a clever idea, and called Geisha, one of his cats. Perhaps Geisha could translate for us! Actually, maybe this wasn't such a clever idea, as neither of us can understand Feline either.

But the sheep furrowed its brow and spoke with Geisha, who responded with a shrill meow. The sheep spoke again, Geisha responded, and the sheep lifted her head.

The sun, which we had come to worship on this Midsummer's Night, rested just above the mountain horizon, and I swear by the wool socks I'm wearing that as the sheep looked up, her eyes shone bright with its light. She spoke: ''You are wise, Markus and Robert, to come here to enjoy such a feast this Midsummer's Night.''

Good thing we gave Geisha a taste of whale meat, I suppose.

''Y-you're a talking sheep!'' I wish I'd come out with something wiser at that moment, but you try maintaining your composure in front of a talking sheep with fire in her eyes!

''Nay,'' bleated the sheep, ''I am Odin, greatest of all Norse Gods! It was I who put the sun and moon in the sky, and I who created man from an ash tree and woman from an elm. It was I who gave you life and soul.''

Quite the intro, really.

''Great Odin, this is truly an honour. But why have you chosen to manifest yourself as a sheep,'' I asked, ''instead of one of the Norwegian horses over yonder?''

''Silence!! I have come to you from Asgård with dire news. Robert, your defeat of the hideous troll was lucky at best, and tonight you face a greater challenge. For even as you prepare your feast, Loki's minions are plotting the troll's revenge.''

Markus, who is knowledgeable about these things, spoke up. ''Great Odin,'' he asked, ''Is it not Loki who finds his strength in mischief, evil and fire? How will we avoid his presence on this evening, as thousands of bonfires glow across Norway?''

''Loki will make mischief tonight. Markus, you and Karen must aid the Grasshopper, for surely he will not otherwise survive to speak of this vision. But I have already told him what he needs know to defeat Loki, and he already knows the reward that inevitably will follow.''

I was confused and knew neither of these things. Karen called out from the house, ''Markus!'' and we both turned to look. ''Let's get the grill started!''

We turned back to Loki, but the sheep were on the move. They ran down the hill, past the house and across the road towards the beach. Markus and I pursued until we realized that these Gods meant not to be caught.

The sheep glared at us from down the beach and then rushed away to avoid an encounter with a local dog. Markus and I looked at eachother in disbelief, and then returned to the house to explain to Karen what had happened.

We had hardly begun explaining when, two by two, Karen and Markus's friends began arriving. To avoid looking silly, we gave up trying to explain, regained our composure, and went down to the beach to light up the home-made grill. Surely this was all one well-executed practical joke.

I took my mind off the sheep and snapped a shot of everyone around the barbeque.

From left to right, these are Ingrid (who was recently at the University of Guelph reading Lucy Maud Montgomery's diaries for her thesis on the famous Canadian author of Anne of Green Gables), Amalie (in the Pram), Kristin, Vemund, Tom, Vibeke (over the barbeque), John Markus, Karen, and Ingar.

Sure, hot dogs and ''normal'' meat found its way onto the grill, but Markus, Karen and I had the coolest shish-kebabs around. Because the kebabs all start out with a slice of apple and then some whale, you can get a sense from this picture of what the whale meat looks like. The black meat half-way up most of the skewers is the seal.

The bonfire burned brightly beside the grill, and we all got to hamstering our delicious dinner. By Odin's standards, this was a meal worthy of the Norse Gods!

I wasn't a big fan of the seal, but the whale tasted fantastic. It was a dark, fibrous and flavourful meat, and I think the marinade helped as well. The seal was very chewy with more of a fishy taste. The wolffish was more akin to something like trout back home, but with more of an ''ocean'' taste to it.

A small creek, still rushing with the spring runoff from the mountain, flowed beside the campfire and ran out into the ocean. Karen threw some wood on the bonfire and we all huddled around for warmth. It may be the middle of summer, but as Karen pointed out, the average July temperature here is just over 12 degrees. As a former tour guide, she's full of other interesting information about Tromsø, like the average July water temperature (10 degrees) and the treeline (between 200 and 300 meters above sea level).

But she was just as surprised as I was when the nøkken lept from the stream.

It was hideous; a deformed creature with snot-green rubbery skin and voracious oval eyes. Limping towards us on four elongated limbs, this thing looked like a buck-toothed Gollum after a bungee jump. It couldn't have hunched much higher than our knees, but I had no problem visualizing this thing eviscerating me. Its teeth - obscenely lengthy - appropriately matched its limbs.

And it was the teeth that gave me the idea. ''Quick, Markus, throw me some whale!'' Markus reached over to the grill and flung me a skewer of food. I took my eye off the nøkken just long enough to catch the skewer in my left hand and rip the kvalbiff off it. The nøkken reared up, and I waved my bait as if the beast were a hungry dog.

The nøkken limped a step forward, letting a gob of drool fall from its jowels as it opened its mouth to grab the kvalbiff - and my right hand with it. I need that hand to play the bagpipes, though, and I also wasn't about to give up my iron ring.

The nøkken lept, and in one swift movement my right hand pulled back, my left came forward wielding the skewer like a spear, and the nøkken found itself impaled and rolling into the fire. Karen, who hadn't yet heard Odin's prophecy, had grabbed a hold of my camera and captured this unbelievable photo just as the beast struck the fire.

What's most remarkable about the photograph is that you can't see the nøkken. Don't be deceived, for - as Markus knew - the nøkken is an evil with some tricks up its sleeve.

Markus frantically explained that this evil creature Loki had conscripted typically lives in rivers and lakes. Amazingly, nøkken can learn to be master fiddle players, and many Norwegian fiddlers have learned their tunes from them. But nøkken can turn themselves into logs or stones, and hide in an altered form for hours or days.

I thought I had it figured out: the nøkken was hiding in the fire, seeking a chance to leap out and attack anew. I reached for an old chair sitting by the fire and proceeded to beat the demon-log in the fire with everything I had in me.

Karen tossed the camera to one of her friends, and, eager to assist, grabbed a massive plank and thrust it at the nøkken. One of the others tossed a half-filled bottle of kerosene into the fire, and the flames rose even higher. Our victory seemed imminent, and Karen beamed through the flames.

But Markus, who obviously knew more about these things than any of us, seemed a little concerned. Something was wrong. Threatening rainclouds had completely covered the sun, and the rain was imminent. Loki, it seemed, had more tricks up his sleeve. And I had just run out of ideas.

I looked up from my assault on the fire to see Markus pondering a nearby dry-docked boat. ''It's not burning fast enough! We need something hotter,'' he explained, and started for the boat. There was a tremendous ripping noise, the boat rocked back and forth, and Markus re-appeared with what looked like a seat cushion.

As Markus approached the fire, the sun appeared from behind the clouds, and Odin's voice boomed down: ''Finish him!''

Markus raised the chair aloft...

...and struck the beast with all his might. Karen and I ceased our assault as thick, black smoke clouds rose from the bonfire. Both Markus and Karen knew that nothing - not even a supernatural being - could survive in that fire.

The crowd cheered, the fire burned, and the three of us who had conquered the demon struck a pose for the camera in front of the raging fire.

Our festivities continued until almost 1:00 in the morning, when we officially celebrated the longest evening of the year. When their other guests bowed out around 11:30, Karen, John Markus and I had a chance to relax and reflect on the evening.

Elisabeth had gone to bed just past 9:00 and slept through the nøkken's attack. At only six years old, her english is exceptional, and she's got a lot to say! It's cute to see her get stuck looking for an english word and persist until she makes herself clear. She was excited to tell me all sorts of things: about the Norwegian horse in their backyard that belongs to the landlord's daughter, about what it's like to go to school in Tromsø, and about her upcoming trip to England later this summer to visit her Dad. She giggled and smiled when she found out I have been reading one of her favourites, Folk og Rovere i Kardemommeby.

One tradition Karen brought home from her stay in England is the requisite post-dinner cup of tea. Markus, Karen and I enjoyed some tea together and discussed everything from the educational system in Tromsø to the circumference of the earth. We discovered that Ontario teachers aren't the only ones concerned with educational funding cutbacks, and that a two-meter tall person needs walk only 320 meters to lose sight of a two-meter tall friend due to the curvature of the earth. I explained to Markus and Karen that solving that problem ruined an age-old Canadian joke: ''In Saskatchewan, it's so flat you can watch your dog run away for days.''

In Norway, it's so mountainous that you'd be lucky to watch your sheep run away for hours. At least you wouldn't have to worry about the sun setting. Midsummer's Night in Norway is associated with Saint Hans and the midnight sun, but now it will always remind me of Norse gods and their evil tricks. And the hospitality of John Markus and Karen.

But I'm still wondering what Odin meant by my reward. I burnt it. What will come?