Advent Day 22 – A Glimpse of Cristmas Eve, from “April Snow”

It was fine to have [their friends Johann and Georg stay with] them. But it was fine, to, to have the men out from underfoot when after breakfast they shouldered their guns for hunting, and the boys followed them out into the open. There was so much of women’s work to do.

There was much secretiveness. Elisabet sat hunched over her work in one corner, Maria in another. [Crippled little] Johann hid his crocheting as best he could while he worked; and Sigrid stayed up late, much later even than usual, to finish working on gifts to be ready for Christmas Eve. The appearnace of the home changed from that of a bakery, to that of a kindergarten. Colored papers, hoarded through the year from wrappings on tea and coffee, and papers sent by the Widow Kvalvog, were here and there on every flat working surface.

They cut bells and angels to adorn the Yule tree, and stars, and the three Wise Men. They strung berries to drape over its branches and made paper cornucopias, to be filled with sweets and hung on the tree.

During all the week before Christmas, they made trimmings and put last minute finishing touches on the Tomte gubbe’s work. Johann and Georg and the children made a pilgrimate to the woodlot, Karl riding on Hjarta’s back holding baby Herman in front of him, the others walking alongside, and all singing Christmas songs.

“Nu ar det Jul igen,” they sang. Yes, “Christmas has come again!”

They brought home fir branches and Swedish holly and juniper and decorated the house with garlands of green over the doors and windows, greens wrapped around the beams and stuffed into the earthenware jugs and vases which stood on the floor around the rooms. Nor must they forget the sheaf of wheat. As much a part of the Yuletide as Christmas Day itself, was the placing of the sheaf high on a pole near the dwelling house.

There the sparrows and the finches would partake of their Yuletide feast and give thanks to the kind folk within who knew that when the wheat was cut, the spirit hich grew the living grain, also was cut. And the kind folk knew, too, that only by saving the last sheaf cut from the field – this last sheaf in which the spirit of growth was imprisoned – and hanging it outside their dwelling place, could the spirit restore the strength of the sun and entice it back to bring a new season of growing grain. It fed the birds. But, too, the sheaf of wheat always had brought a good year, and yes, brought back the sun!

They all had a hand in helping to tie the sheaf to a tall pole and Peter and the sailors [Goerg and Johann] raised it in the houseyard, and the sparrows came and pecked at the wheat, then flew to rest a while on the boughs of the aspen tree, and on the muff of the fine lady in the sleigh, on the antlers of the deer, on the nose of the Tomto gubbe. They went to the woodlot and dragged home the Yule log through the snow, singing and shouting, and brought it to its throne in the fireplace.

Back they went to the woodlot, the children following Peter and Johannn and Georg, who carried axes sharpened for chopping down the fir tree. The axes sang. The children sang. The wind sang through the boughs of sister trees, and the birds sang their thanks for their Christmas sheaf.

They carried their Tree home and put it in the corner, stood it upright in a large tub of sand, and tied the tip of it to a beam in the ceiling to keep it standing straight as it had done in the woods and to prevent its toppling when the children should reach to remove their presents. Around the base, to hide the tub, Sigrid draped a large white sheet and pushed little folds into the linen to make it look like drifted snow.

The Yule log, damp and full of resinous pine knots, spit and flickered and as it burned, they knew it burned out all of the wrongs of the past year - all past wrongs.

Sigrid said the children should be the ones to trim the Tree, while she spread an elaborate smorgasbord, tall tapers lighting the long table. The smell of new-made coffee joined that of the ham, the cabbage, and the fresh outdoor smell of the fir tree, and that of the burning log. Now, while the presents were to be placed on the Tree, Peter must take the children for a short walk in the brisk outdoors, to whet their appetites.

As soon as they left the room Sigrid bustled from the spare room to the Tree, and Johann and Georg helped her hang the little gifts from the branches and lay the larger ones beneath on the linen snow. Johann carried in a canvas sea-bag full of surprises – some heavy things in little sacks – which he hung close to the trunk so they should not bear down the limbs and spoil the natural symmetry of the Tree, and larger things he laid beneath it.

…

When the children and their father returned she herded them into the spare bedroom, there to wait until, as was proper, the baby should be the first to see the lighted Tree.

Herman Nikodemus, carried for the first time that Sigrid could remember in the arms of his father, lurched forward trying with both outstretched chubby hands to grab the Tree, squealed with delight at the dancing candlelight and bracing his feet against his father, jumped up and down so that it was all Peter could do to hold him.

Sigrid took him in her arms. Her child; this was the eve of his birthday, too.

“Thank God for the Christ Child and His birthday. Thank God for dear Herman Nikodemus and his birthay. Thank God for all of my children, all my happiness,” Sigrid whispered.

She called the children in, and they stood awed at the beauty of the lighted Tree. And as they stood, Sigrid asked, “Peter, will you say a prayer of thanks for this wonderful Christmas?”

Sincerely Peter prayed, a Christmas prayer, with bowed head and clasped fingers.

“Beautiful, Peter. That was beautiful,” Sigrid spoke softly as she brushed close to him on her way to the table.

…

Now came the time to doppa i grytan, to dip in the kettle. They formed a line and paid the tradtional visit to the cooking kettle where with a chunk of course bread, vortbrod, dipped in the large kettle, they tasted the savoriness of the juices of Christmas ham boiled with cabbage. Several times the line passed the kettle, and each took his turn at dipping. They turned to the smorgasbord, beginning with bread, butter and herring, accompanied – for the grown folk – by a small glass of Aquavit at the temperature of snow. Glasses raised high, and glasses of milk raised not quite so high,

“Skal!”

“God Jul!“

They returned to the board for dainty hors d’oeuvres each a picture in its own right, for hard-boiled eggs and very small meatballs, sma kottbullar, and returned again for cheeses and jam.

The men smoked. While Elisabet cleared the board and set the table silver, Sigrid plunged the lutfisk [traditional fish] into boiling water. She piled a platter high with boiled potatoes and filled a bowl with Swedish brown beans cooked until deliciously tender, flavored with vinegar and molasses. She drained the lutfisk and removed it to a hot platter and served it with salt, black and white pepper and mustard, and melted butter and white sauce made of pure cream.

As they pierced the prongs of their forks into the lutfisk, it fell apart in delicate, translucent flakes.

Strong, hot coffee enhanced further this delicious meal. … They conjectured about the contents of the parcels on and under the Tree…

“Now we shall soon know who is the next to be married,” she said as she cleared away the remnants of the main part of the meal.

In the Christmas porridge, risgrynsgrot, rice cooked until tender in boiling water, was placed one whole almond meat. The one who found the almond would be the next to march to the altar.

Sigrid served the rice dessert in deep dishes, placed a big piece of butter in the center, and sprinkled cinnamon and sugar over the top. They each poured cold milk over the porridge, and as they ate they chewed cautiously so as not to overlook the presence of the fateful almond.

Almost in silence they ate the risgrynsgrot, until,

“I am the one!” Maria shouted, and she picked the almond from between her teeth and held it aloft for all to see.

“Well, that is a relief. We will not have a wedding for a year or two, anyway,” Sigrid laughed. And the boys teased Maria, asking who was to be the lucky groom.

They all helped to clear the board, then sat in a semicircle around the fire to hear Peter read the story of the “Babe in the Manger.”

He finished his reading from the Gospel of St. Luke…

They sat quietly, drinking in the beauty of the Christmas story, drinking in the beauty of the burning Yule log and the Tree with its many lights.

And now to “rob the Tree” -

In mannerly fashion one child at a time went to the Tree, found a gift which bore his name, and carried it back to where he sat on the floor. Before he opened it he’d read the little verse which was the conventional complement to every gift.

…

All were now surrounded with presents, and all that was left on the Tree were the sacks hung close to the trunk, and the cornucopias, and the bags full of nuts.

…

[Big Johann] passed the little sacks which had hung close to the Tree’s trunk.

“Apelsiner!“

Oranges – one for each – large, perfectly round, the delicately pitted skins oozing the faintest amount of oil and much, much fragrance.

“Yes, Sicilian oranges; from the French Riviera I brought them.”

Herman played with his as though it were a ball, and Johann showed the others, with his pocketknife, how to score the peel from top to bottom and remove each section neatly and with care, so “your mama can make candied orange peel,” he said.

…

Indescribable, fresh, juicy taste of oranges!

They learned who had the strongest lungs as they blew out the little candle flames [on the tree]. Happily they bade their Tree good-night and God Jul.

-from April Snow (a novel), by Lillian Budd