Just as other nations, Latvians have things that rust and moth doth not corrupt ― the non-material evidence of our brainwork.

Many memories of the past circulate in our veins ― Latvians have preserved the roots of so many ancient cultures it would be a shame not to mention them. From at least 9000 BC when we arrived in this part of the world from the South, we were reindeer hunters. A couple of centuries later, around 4000 BC, another kind of "our people" came from the Northeast; scientists have called them the ancestors of the Baltic Finns. This Liv branch is an organic part of our family tree. In 3000 BC representatives of the so-called Corded Ware Culture arrived in what is now known as Latvia; they belonged to the Indo-Europeans ― the Balts have descended from them. They were cattle-breeders and crop-growers. The Latvian language, along with Lithuanian and the extinct Old Prussian, belongs to the Balt language group, which is a member of the vast family of Indo-European languages.

 We have descended from the Finno-Ugrians (Livs) and Balts (subdivided into the West Balts ― the Selonians, Couronians, Semigallians ― and East Balts ― the Latgalians. All those who have been living in Latvia for centuries, who are tolerant towards us and preserve their ethnic identity with dignity are our own people: our Roma have been living here since medieval Europe banished them from its fortified cities; our Russians have been in this country since the schism of the Orthodox Church when the Old Believers were exiled to a then remote part of Russia, Latgale; our Lithuanians have been living here since our common struggles against the crusaders and the Estonians have left permanent genetic impact on Latvians ― those who live in the Northern part of the country tend to deal with things very... slowly. Each of the peoples living in Latvia has added some splendid trait to our national character.

Crop-growers that we are, we still observe holidays to celebrate the great provider of light, the Sun. And once a year, on Midsummer Night, we take pride in being a peasant nation. A Spaniard or an Italian basking in the sun would never sing such praises to its warmth and light as a Latvian chilled to the bone during the long winter. That's why anything we do is subordinated to the Sun. When we dance, we move just as the Sun does, from left to right. This is yet another evidence to our national character: we are a calculating and rational, yet once we do something, we do it in good faith.

Most of our folk songs are dedicated to the Sun ― more than 4500 quatrains. We consider ourselves a cultured nation embracing the world of modern communication, and yet we still have retained traits of the agriculturalists.

Another treasure inherited from our ancestors and not subject to rust and moths is the song tradition. We love our teasing and mocking songs with subtle erotic allusions, cunning hints and verbal cold showers.

In Latgale neighbours still help each other with the big chores ― the fertilizing, the potato harvesting; it’s called a talka. And wherever there are people working, there's also singing. For the womenfolk of a farmstead a talka serves as a session in psychotherapy, meditation and occupational therapy. As an ancient Latgalian talka song would have it: "They ate a lot, they drank a lot, and work they did so precious little!"

The work of our traditional craftsmen is adorned with symbolic ornaments. The exact meaning of those seems to have slipped our minds yet we still have a hunch what it’s all about. One thing we know for sure ― the ancient signs are effective!