National Geographic : 2010 Jun
• relationship between her country and Kalaallit Nunaat, as the locals call their homeland. Per Rosing, a slender 58-year-old Inuit man with a gentle manner and a graying black pony- tail, conducts the Greenland National Choir. "I'm just happy, totally happy," he says, putting a hand over his heart as we walk with a large crowd toward the harbor, down streets still wet from last night's freezing rain and snow. People are streaming out of Block P, Nuuk's biggest apartment building, which alone houses about one percent of Greenland's population. Its win- dowless, concrete end has become a frame for a de antly optimistic work of art: a four-story-tall, white-and-red Greenlandic ag. A local artist sewed the ag with the help of schoolchildren from hundreds of articles of clothing. By 7:30 people are packed shoulder to shoulder on the dock. Others perch on the roofs of old wooden homes around the harbor; a few watch from kayaks, paddling just enough to stay put in calm, metallic-looking water. e ceremony Haymaking time in Greenland evokes the sunny side of global warming, which just might allow Aviaja Lennert and her family to grow enough grass for their 700 sheep.