In addition to the fun we had at school and in town, we also enjoyed family Christmas traditions on the farm. Waiting for Santa, exchanging gifts, attending Midnight Mass, and spending time with relatives were always highlights of the holiday season.
The Magic of Santa
Our parents explained how Santa could get into every house in one night, and we believed them. After all, Christmas was magical. We kids were giddy the entire morning and afternoon of December 24 because we knew Santa would soon be delivering gifts to us. Somehow he knew that our family celebrated Christmas on Christmas Eve.
Almost every year, Dad and my little brother, Daryl, saw reindeer and sleigh tracks in the snow. Dad loved to play with our innocent imaginations through a bit of deception, and Daryl desperately wanted to believe him—so much so that he convinced himself that he’d witnessed the reindeer with his own eyes. Of course Dad helped by putting sleigh tracks in the snow and setting out hay and carrots, which disappeared after the Santa “sighting.”
“Oh, my gosh!” Dad said as he bounded inside with Daryl tagging along. “Working out in the barn I heard sleigh bells, so I dropped the pitchfork, hollered for Daryl, and ran outside. Lo and behold, Santa and his reindeer were up on the barn roof!”
“Did you see them, Daryl?” I asked.
Daryl tipped back on his heels and took a deep breath, “Yep, I saw them.”
“I didn’t see Rudolph leading the sleigh. Did you see him, Daryl?” Dad asked.
“No, I don’t think so,” Daryl replied.
“Dad, Rudolph only travels when it’s foggy,” Jo explained. “Well, anyway, I caught a glimpse of eight reindeer and Santa with a sleigh load of toys,” Dad assured us.
“I heard a noise,” Mom said as she entered the kitchen. “Were you kids playing in the living room?”
We abandoned our game and darted to the living room, which quickly echoed with wild shouts of excitement. “Santa has been here!” we yelled.
“Hurry!” Dad hollered. “He’s just leaving—he’s on the roof!” We’d rush out and try to catch a glimpse of Santa Claus, but we never did see him.
We each received one gift from Santa, which we were allowed to open after the Christmas Eve dinner. Apparently, we all forgot what we had asked for—we tried to guess the contents of our present based on how the box rattled and how much it weighed. Dad became like a child again as he crawled under the tree to examine the gifts. “I wonder what this is,” he said as he rattled a box.
The Nisse
Christmas Eve seemed like the longest day of the year. Minutes passed like hours, since our festivities could not begin until Dad returned from finishing his barn chores.
“Well, I took care of Nils,” Dad said as he stomped snow off his boots and shut the door. “I fed the livestock an extra ration of hay and oats and left hot cream with lots of butter for the nisse (this is what Dad called the little Norwegian elf who supposedly lived in our barn).”
“Why?” asked one of the little kids.
“Man, two years ago, I forgot to feed the cattle an extra ration on Christmas Eve, and the mischievous nisse got angry at me and made a mess in the barn.”
“Is Nils a bad elf?”
“No,” said Dad. “But if you don’t take good care of the animals, he will cause trouble for you. He is insistent that all animals get an extra portion of food on Christmas Eve.”
“What kind of trouble does he cause?” asked a little one.
“The year I forgot to give the cattle their extra ration, Nils unscrewed all the light bulbs in the barn and opened all the stanchions. When I went to the barn on Christmas morning, the cattle were wandering all over. What a mess that was!”
Christmas Eve Celebration
Chores were done early on Christmas Eve so the festivities could begin. When Dad finally washed and changed into clean clothes, we began our celebration. It started with our traditional
Christmas Eve dinner. Dad, Grandma, and we kids took our places at the dining room table. Mom set the platter of lutefisk, dripping with melted butter, between Grandma and Dad. Oven-baked Swiss steak, gravy, mashed potatoes, scalloped corn, salad, chocolate chip dessert, and lefse rolled with butter and brown sugar completed our meal. We all felt happy and contented since we were with the family we loved.
After supper (even before dishes), we moved to the living room to open gifts. “I’m passing out the gifts,” Warren announced as he started to sort the presents into piles.
“Be careful with the paper so we can use it again next year,” Mom told him.
“I don’t know, maybe we should wait until morning,” Dad teasingly contemplated.
“No!” we all shouted.
“Okay, I guess you can pass out the gifts, Warren,” Dad said, chuckling.
Chaos ensued as everyone tore open their gifts, leaving wrapping paper strewn across the living room. We kids opened Santa’s gifts first. Audrey’s Chatty Cathy doll talked when you pulled on her string. Jo received a doll with blinking eyes. I cherished a musical jewelry box with a tiny ballerina figurine. Warren got a chemistry set, and the little boys got toy tractors.
It didn’t really matter to me what appeared below the Christmas tree. The excitement of watching others open the gifts I had made for them was a thrill for me.
“Wow, you made this!” Mom said as she opened an unrecognizable lump of clay with handprints on it.
“I can’t believe you bought me handkerchiefs,” Dad said. “That is exactly what I wanted.”
Grandma’s gifts were handmade: rag dolls, doll clothes, or doll blankets for us girls, and a new pair of homemade flannel pajamas for each child. Grandma gave Mom a set of embroidered days-of-the-week dishtowels. Dad and Mom said their biggest present was seeing the smiles on the faces of their children.
With all the gifts opened, Mom and Grandma headed to the kitchen to do dishes, while Dad assembled a toy highchair for one of my little sisters. This was the one night of the year Mom would not allow us girls to do dishes. She said it was a night for children to play and enjoy themselves.
Baby Jesus in a Manger
“Kids, be sure you have your gloves and scarves; and Maxine, grab a blanket,” Mom said. “It’s brutally cold outside.”
The cold weather did not deter Mom from her Midnight Mass pilgrimage each year. Around 11:00 on Christmas Eve, Mom and the older kids piled into the Chevy and headed to Fergus Falls while Dad stayed home with the little ones. Freezing temperatures, blowing and drifting snow, and the midnight hour were of no concern to Mom because, as she said more than once, “Jesus’ birthday is the reason we celebrate Christmas.” Midnight Mass connected her to the real meaning of Christmas, and it was the lone Christmas tradition from her childhood that she retained in her new community.
We crowded shoulder-to-shoulder in the pews to sing “Silent Night” and “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear.” Shadows from candlelight danced against the walls, and scarlet poinsettias lined the altar. The solemn serenity of the night made it impossible not to sense the real meaning of Christmas. Sitting there in the achingly beautiful candlelight service, the truth and purpose of this season began to settle into my bones.
When we left church, snow was falling. Mom drove home on icy roads with sleeping kids in the car. As I opened my eyes to see wind whipping snow across the road, I noticed Mom yawn. “Mom, how did you celebrate Christmas when you were a kid?” I asked.
“Our Christmas was blessed by traditions I hold close to my heart. We fasted on Christmas Eve, eating only fish and raisin bread, and we hung our stockings on a clothesline strung across the kitchen. The memory I cherish the most was my Mom and Dad waking us up before midnight to ride in the sleigh to Midnight Mass. Christmas morning, Dad and Mom lit the candles on our tree, and we opened our presents from Santa. It was special.”
Christmas Day Family Gathering
The farm was everyone’s Bethlehem, the place that Grandma, parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and siblings were drawn to at Christmas, the place they called home. Dad’s brothers and their families traveled quite a distance to spend Christmas Day on the farm. Sharing memories going decades back always prompted both laughter and tears. Christmas was a day of feasting, nostalgia, love, laughter, and making new memories.
We girls helped Mom prepare a feast of ham, mashed potatoes, gravy, scalloped corn, sweet potatoes, coleslaw, lime Jell-o, and blueberry dessert. We peeled two mammoth kettles of potatoes, chopped cabbage, cut celery, whipped cream, peeled carrots, cut pickles, spread butter and brown sugar on the lefse, and set the dining room and kitchen tables with our best china and silverware. We delighted in making a special Christmas punch by mixing red powder, sugar, and ginger ale.
When it was time to eat, Dad sliced the ham, Mom made gravy, and I mashed the potatoes with a wood-handled potato masher. We kids ate around the big kitchen table while adults ate in the dining room and embarked upon a sentimental journey of Christmases past. Merriment was contagious.
After the dishes were done, we kids spent the day outdoors sledding, ice skating, and playing King of the Hill with our cousins. At dusk, we headed for the house, hungry and happy. We came inside with snow caked to our snow pants, mittens, and jackets, our toes and fingers numb and nearly frozen, and our noses dripping.
The women set out a smorgasbord of leftovers from dinner, and we piled our plates for the second time that day. After the china and silver were washed and put away, the relatives began to leave, encouraged by Dad to take a package of steaks or a roast, along with a pound of butter. Finally, Dad and a couple of us kids headed to the barn. Even on Christmas, the cows needed to be milked.
Julebrukers
We anticipated Julebrukers one of the nights between Christmas and New Year’s Eve. It started with car horns honking, people boisterously hitting on kettles, and shouts of “Yulabrook.” Revelers knocked at the door and rushed inside when Dad opened it. Disguised with paper bags, nylon stockings, or masks on their heads, and dressed in hobo-type clothes, they danced around the kitchen, waved at us, and made silly gestures. Mom and Dad knew the revelers would not say anything or remove their masks until we guessed the person behind the mask. After much laughter and guessing, their identities were revealed. They guzzled a drink and then left for their next stop. Dad laughed and told us stories of his younger years when he had been one of the masquerading Julebrukers.
The Year Mom Spent Christmas in the Hospital
One Christmas memory stands out from all the others. Christmas Eve 1957 began the same as all other Christmas Eves. Everyone was busy, and Mom was working to make Christmas special for her family: wrapping gifts, baking Christmas treats, and cooking. We did not notice how sick Mom was because, after all, it was Christmas Eve and we were too excited about Santa coming. She made our usual Christmas dinner. As we finished opening our presents, I heard Dad say, “I’m taking Mom to the hospital. She’s sick. You girls take care of the dishes and the kids.”
“Aren’t we going to midnight mass?”
“No, your mother is sick,” Dad said. “Warren, if I’m not back by morning, you can start milking.”
We cleared the table, washed the dishes, and got all the younger ones to bed. Little did we know that Mom would spend the next seven days in the hospital due to a punctured eardrum. I had turned eleven earlier that year and was used to doing most of the household chores. As the oldest girl, I became the one in charge. It fell to Audrey, Jo, and me to prepare the meals, watch the little ones, keep the house clean, and wash and iron the clothes. Only five months old, our sister Eydie needed to be fed, diapered, and bathed, while three-year-old Daryl entertained himself with his toy tractors. Neighbors stopped by with food and goodies and never left without praising us for being so mature.
She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins.
–Matthew 1:21 (NIV)