The layer of snow we have on the ground along with the Christmas lights glowing brightly at night bring back fond memories of past Christmases. The closer we get to Christmas the more my thoughts drift back to the days when a lot of the adults spoke with at least a hint of their Scandinavian ancestry and trays full of traditional pastries were everywhere. In today’s world you are hard pressed to find anyone that speaks with a distinct brogue much less is able to utter any Norwegian.

This is a little sad but unfortunately it is the way it is. The early settlers, after emigrating from Europe headed west to claim land and make a new life for themselves in their “new” country. Looking back at history it must have been a hard life and the times were hard when my parents were young. My dad told of being sent to live with his uncle, Martin Singlestad, when his younger brother, Lloyd, was born because they had too many mouths to feed. Although those weren’t easy times and the work was hard, dad talked fondly of his time spent at uncle Martin’s. The best thing about it was that he got to spend a lot of time with his cousin, Jack, who was about the same age and you could tell was his best friend. He said Jack was a real character and dared to do just about anything on a lark. When the war came they both enlisted but my dad couldn’t pass the physical and Jack went off to war and eventually gave the ultimate sacrifice for his country.

I had heard the stories many times about staying with uncle Martin and how him and Jack would have to sleep upstairs. He said that on a clear night they could see the stars through the cracks in the roof and walls and in the winter when it snowed they’d be covered with layers of quilts and would sometimes awake in the morning with a layer of snow atop the quilts. He said they’d pull their clothes under the covers to warm them up before dressing.

In today’s society it is hard to even visualize was how things were back then but the one thing that was always held close was the celebration of Christmas with family. Some of my earliest recollections of Christmas still give me a warm feeling. I can remember spending time at my grandma and grandpa Herfindahl’s and I can still hear the old clock that sat atop the china hutch as it tic-tocked during the night. There was no TV to watch so conversation filled the time nicely. When the adults wanted to talk about something that us kids weren’t supposed to hear they spoke Norwegian. As I grew older you could usually tell by the tone when they were talking about someone. One year Santa came calling on Christmas Eve and as I looked around I noticed uncle Ben was nowhere to be found — come to think of it Santa did sound kind of familiar.

As I grew older and was allowed to partake of “the fish” for the first time I was actually proud of becoming a fish eater — right up until it was time for that first bite. I knew that this was my “right to passage” so to speak, so I’d best not mess it up. After my uncle Ben helped me load the lutefisk and potatoes onto the lefse my uncles Lloyd, Ben and Oliver along with my dad sat at the table watching in anticipation as the melted butter dripped from their chins. I slowly raised the rolled up feast to my mouth and took a bite. I had discovered early on, a way to overcome the smell of eating anything that had a bad odor. I could close my nose and breath through my mouth with minimum repercussions. Fortunately for me there was enough salt, pepper and butter on the rolled up delicacy that the taste was tolerable, and although the fish itself was pretty much disguised inside the lefse and potatoes I had indeed passed the test.

I have to say that before I took my first bite I was a little nervous about eating something that could seemingly sit wiggling in a bowl by itself and smelled like that. Once I had become a “fish eater” there really was no turning back. Each year after that I was expected to sit at the adult table and dig in to my share of the fish. I worked up to it gradually, eating a little more each year and soon I was wiping the melted butter off of my chin just like my elders.

Lutefisk is not for everyone and if you have a weak stomach I wouldn’t recommend it. When my sister first tried it she thought it would be a good idea to put ketchup on it — well it does go with just about anything. I really don’t think that she will ever have to worry about anyone stealing that old family recipe.

I’ve seen “the fish” eaten many ways and that was one. My uncle, Orv, on the other hand could eat almost anything and on one occasion when my cousin, Tom, was home for Christmas we were having a family feast and Tom kept urging uncle Orv to “load it up” referring to the lefse. He commenced to load lutefisk, meatballs, corn, potatoes and cranberry relish onto the lefse before topping it off with melted butter and rolling it up.

Now my Dad would always say that if you were eating it properly you’d roll it up and pick it up and the butter would run down your arm. Well uncle Orv had his “overloaded” so picking it up wasn’t an option but a fork would work. The fork is a handy tool for eating the fish if there is an overload or if the lefse has been made too thin.

I am starting to get a little hungry now as I think about it, I can see it now — a nice big lefse covered with potatoes and plenty of that good fish topped with melted butter and salt and peppered to taste. Yum! It makes my mouth water just thinking about it.

Here’s wishing you and yours a very Merry Christmas and please do what you can to support the charities that are helping area families in need have a good Christmas.

Until next time, use caution on the ice and always take a little time to enjoy our great Minnesota outdoors.

Remember to keep our troops in your thoughts and prayers this holiday season and throughout the year.