The forget-me-nots are blooming in New Sweden.

Little flowers, in the blue and gold of the Swedish flag, cluster around homes and churches, and peek out from under the lupines and tamarack of the maypole – life and loss all rolled up into one little blossom.

It’s Midsommar in northern Maine, the traditional party that heralds the end of the long winter and the beginning of summer. Native sons and daughters have always returned to New Sweden to celebrate the longest day of the year.

Summer comes to this northern corner of Maine with a vengeance. Dandelion seeds swarm in the air like the snow of just a few months ago, and wildflowers bloom in colors that people had almost forgotten existed. But this year, the brilliant green grass that finally needs mowing carpets two new graves.

On April 27, this town lost the joy of its spring with the arsenic poisonings at Gustaf Adolph Evangelical Lutheran Church that killed a beloved church elder and sickened 11 others. Just days later, news of a suicide cast suspicion on one of the town’s founding families. It’s been weeks since the police have had anything new to say about an investigation that has dwindled, if not died.

Grieving for months under the eyes of the international media, local people craved normalcy.

Midsommar is about tradition, they said. It’s about reconnecting with family and friends, about renewing the strained bonds that kept this community from breaking. And it’s about finally feeling like it’s OK to have fun.

People busy with eating and drinking, dancing and laughing, and more eating, just don’t have time to wallow, explained Brenda Jepson, an adopted “New Swede” who lives in Madawaska Lake and served as spokeswoman for this year’s organizing committee.

Still, the town considered canceling this 132nd Midsommar Festival. Some thought it might be disloyal to party so soon. Others just weren’t in the mood for dancing.

“We’re still kind of holding our breath, but we’re trying to keep it to the backs of our minds,” Jepson said. “You have two choices: You can wallow in it, or you can get past it.”

Proudly stoic Swedes are “get past it” kinds of people.

Just last week, a Swedish public television crew visited the town and remarked on the residents’ attitudes.

“They said we weren’t acting like Americans, … suing everyone and looking for vengeance. … They said we were acting like Swedes,” said Jerry Nelson, a Madawaska Lake resident who gave an interview to the visitors in their native tongue.

Ralph Ostlund, the last of the arsenic victims to be released from the hospital, returned home from his daughter’s house in Bangor just in time for the festival. Ostlund held court near the popular homemade ice cream booth, where he accepted 80th birthday greetings from family and friends with a broad grin, then took to the floor during Saturday night’s dance to show the younger generation how it’s done.

Reminders of the poisonings were here and there. The Rev. Jim Morgan preached about strength and faith through life’s storms in his Sunday sermon. Volunteers sold raffle tickets to raise money for the Gustaf Adolph Relief Fund, which was created to help victims with their tremendous medical bills.

And state and local dignitaries sent messages of support, as did Garrison Keillor, the National Public Radio personality who created the imaginary Minnesota town Lake Wobegon, which many a writer has compared to New Sweden in recent months.

Gregory Johnson, a high-ranking naval officer whom Jepson described as “a local boy made good,” sent a poignant message from sea.

“While the outcome of that Sunday morning is indelibly etched in the minds of each of you and nothing can bring back life as it was before … I have been struck by the lack of vindictiveness, animosity and recrimination,” wrote Johnson. “I think I know the reason, … a warm, nurturing sense of community that will guide each of you to the other side.”

Enough time had passed for a few people to whisper, “Don’t drink the coffee,” then laugh as they took a gulp of steaming brew to wash down their lingonberries and spritz.

Organizers had feared that participation in the festival might be down this year, and a few Aroostook County residents did stay away for fear that an unknown killer may still be in their midst. But many more came to the festival, some for the first time, in a show of support for their neighbors.

The annual smorgasbord at New Sweden School sold out, and more than 100 people dined on homemade Swedish meatballs and potato salad and baked beans in the cozy hall at Gustaf Adolph. And at the little New Sweden Historical Museum, hundreds signed the guest book, hailing from all over the world.

Jennie Dynesius, a Swede by way of the South, drives up from Virginia every June because she fell in love with the town after attending her first Midsommar as a stranger many years ago and immediately receiving invitations to stay in new friends’ homes. Despite their recent tragedy, the New Swedes were as gracious as ever, she said.

“Everybody is grand; they can’t do enough for you,” Dynesius said during a lull in Saturday’s festivities. “You can’t even explain the merriment when you go back home. … I’m nearly on a high.”