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Lutefisk and Lefse, Holiday Anchors

Food ties generations together. As luck would have it, our ties involve lutefisk. (If I resisted joking about lutefisk, I'd be kicked out of the society of third generation Scandinavians who keep the fish, uh, I mean faith.)


Lutefisk season begins in earnest in November. Our church has an annual dinner that, as I now know, is one of a series of options across the Twin Cities. My daughter and I volunteered at this year's fest; she waited tables and I dished up meatballs. 

To my relief, the lutefisk lacked its typical, shall we say, aroma. I'd been kvetching about it beforehand; I had to eat my words.  People in line carefully chose their lutefisk, gave precise instructions regarding melted butter or cream sauce, and merrily added meatballs. In the dining room were fruit soup, lefse, rosettes, and krumkake. One man came back to the kitchen for allspice; another showed surprise that we didn't have rutabagas. My favorite was when a white-haired gentleman leaned in and confided that he had been at another lutefisk dinner the week before. He confirmed that Bethlehem's fish was the best; theirs had been mushy.

The dinner also was a parade of sweaters.  For a knitter, this is a Superbowl of stranded colorwork, embroidered cuffs, and button bands. 


Of course, all this ties right back to Grandma Sigrid, knitter and consumer of lutefisk. In 1913, she wrote "Today is Thanksgiving Day, 27th, and we have been company to brother Knut. We had a lot of good food. It would take too long to name everything, but there was lutefisk and lefse, and that was the best of all, I thought."


Amen.

Summer Holiday; Back in the Fall

Time to surrender to summer. Sand and sun. Reading and road trips. Gardening.


I'll return with the harvest moon to share more stories about our elders.


Until then, stay cool.  

When the World Spins, Get Out Your Wheel

As a little kid, I made a pilgrimage to Sigrid's spinning wheel every July during the family reunion. There it stood in the corner, bits of wool still attached. I'd seen a demonstration of spinning at our elementary school, so I had an idea of how it worked. I was itching to give it a spin, so to speak.

Sigrid was famous for being the spinner in the neighborhood. Although I can't say definitively, it seems like she was one of the few who had sheep and spun yarn. In a letter from May 1899, she asked "Will you send me a pair of wool cards? I have worn mine out."

She was also a  knitter. In 1920, she wrote, "My job is mostly knitting. I gave away ten pairs of mittens for Christmas but many of them were small."

If you work with yarn, you know its magic. After a day of dealing with the dramas of life, it gives you a space to think. You ease into the rhythm and the stitches untangle your thoughts.

Sigrid's wool carders sit in my office. They're very simple, just rough wood and rows of tiny metal teeth. Like the spinning wheel, they hold decades-old wool. When I see them, I imagine Sigrid going through the process, from shearing and cleaning the fleece to knitting the yarn. And I know that she and I are connected by more than one thread.

Long Waits, Slow Connections

Our home computer gets dissed because it's too slow. People want the internet, and they want it NOW. No one wants to wait. Seconds become minutes, minutes become problems.


Sigrid was practiced at waiting. No instant messaging for her. 


In 1892, she began her letter, "Now that at last your long-awaited letter has come, I want to send you my thanks for the letter. I often wondered why Father waited so long before he sent us a letter."


A few months later, "One post day after the other has gone by without a letter from you. It appears to me that I have been written down in your forgotten book at your place. But to freshen your minds, I am sending you a few lines. It could happen that it might interest you." She ends, "I am waiting to hear from you, yes, dear Father, send us a long letter for Christmas."


Sigrid also owns up to her sporadic correspondence. In 1894: "Never before have I had you wait so long for a letter from me and I am really ashamed. I beg for your forgiveness." 


In 1901: "I guess it was too long this time before I answered you when I got your dear letter for which I thank you. It is a joy to receive a letter when all is well on both sides."


In 1904: "It surely is too long between each letter now, but it is your fault because I wrote last. I have often thought of writing, but then it gets postponed again."


Then, like now, life galloped along, making it difficult to stay connected with family.  


If only Sigrid and Lars had been on Facebook!

Anna: The Valentine Birthday

In 1879, Sigrid and Tosten's first child, Anna, was born on Valentine's Day.  Anna was known for meticulous housekeeping, beautiful dishes, and the twinkle in her eyes. 


When I was a child, I loved letters. Great Aunt Anna was in her late 80s when we began writing to each other.  I'm not sure what she thought about my attempts, but I remember how exciting it was to walk up the hill to the mailbox and find one of her letters inside, addressed to me!


One summer afternoon when I was about 7, we had a coffee party for Aunt Anna, Aunt Selma, and Almeda. My favorite photo from that day shows what good sports they were:  we're all standing in front of the lilac bushes holding kittens. 


A year or so later, Anna and Almeda moved permanently from their house in Michigan, ND. Mom and I went to see them while they were sorting and packing, and I found  a treasure -- hats! Anna let me put two or three on her head to see which looked best, then said the magic words: I could pick one and take it home!


Anna and Almeda lived at the top of a long flight of stairs at 1021 Broadway in Fargo.  Inside their apartment, it was bright with sunlight and plants.  Every visitor drank coffee from a china cup, ate cookies on plates with a history.  


Twenty-one years old when the 20th century began, Anna faced the disruption and excitement of the decades with humor and grit. 


Happy Birthday Anna!

Hope, Blizzards, and Christmas

Christmas blizzards are preordained in North Dakota. Travel plans must include a one- to two-day window on either end to accommodate blocked roads, cancelled flights, whiteouts.

The first winter that we lived in Minnesota, we made the trek north. WINTER STORM WARNING filled the headlines for days. Big Christmas storm will interrupt travel plans. Change your travel plans now. Why are you still thinking of travelling?

My brother, San Diego-raised husband, and I set out. Smooth sailing up I94. Clear roads on I29. Called the parents from a rest area near Harwood (pre-cellphone days). Yep, roads are good. Skies are clear. Are the meatballs in the oven?

Made the turn at Grand Forks. Still clear. Talked about how much parents worry about the weather and how great it was to live in Los Angeles and wear shorts at Christmas.

Then, POW. Complete whiteout. And I mean total. Within seconds.

Ahead we could make out faint red tail lights. OK. Follow them. Inch along. North Dakota-raised brother and I launch into anecdote trail about past blizzards. CA husband insists he can see the road. We insist he can't, because he's from CA. We all agree it's good someone is ahead of us so we can follow them.

Until those lights disappear.

Hours later, we pull into Michigan, ND. Drifts across the streets, snow horizontal against the street lights. Heads down, we run from the car to our aunt and uncle's door. Their first words: "You better call your Mother!"

This Christmas, the storm arrived after we did. Roads across the entire state were closed. Just like they were in 1896, when Knut Nelson wrote, "A few days ago we had a terrible blizzard for four days. It blew and snowed so all that time. Some people tied a string to the corner of the house so they could find their way inside again. Yes, that was the worst snowstorm I've ever seen since I came to America, and I hope I never see it again."

Hope springs eternal.

Happy Holidays

I'm going to take a little break over the holidays. I wish you all a season filled with stories, time with the people you love, and caring for those in your daily life.

Micheal's Letter to Grandfather

Michigan City, N.D.

Dec. 3, 1893

Dear Grandfather,

Because you would like to see my handwriting, I will try to send you a few lines, but I am a poor man to write because I don’t have much time for that because I have to be with my father both summer and winter. Now we have much to do outside but it has not been cold this winter. Just a little snow and no storms up to this time. We use the wagon when we go to town.

Tomorrow papa and I are going to town to sell wheat, which we hauled in earlier, but it is so little price for wheat. This fall under 50¢ a bushel. This fall we bought a new binder. It should cost $130 but they got four oxen. We sold them according to weight so we got $106. We also sold two cows and got $26 each.

Because you can’t see me, I have to tell you I have become big but not as fat as when you saw me. I am well grown and strong and I am never sick, which is good. It is soon Christmas and Mama has promised me something nice if I learn my lesson, and that makes me glad. Live well, then, dear grandfather. I hope you live long and happily.

Dearest greeting from your Micheal T. L.

Low Prices, High Costs

Land might have been less expensive than in Norway, but the cost of living was high on the plains.

"I guess I’ll send a few more lines hoping that you have received a letter with pictures that I sent to you this summer. . . News is so scarce there is nothing to write about except all is well.

Micheal is now through plowing and he has plowed 40 acres almost alone with two oxen. Now it is to haul wheat to town but it is so sorrowfully cheap. Think, only 50¢ and less for each bushel. This fall we got 900 bushels wheat and 300 bushels barley and oats. We had a threshing machine one day for $60, so it is expensive work here in Dakota. There was a time this fall they paid $2 a day with the machines so the farmer has to pay a lot again.

We bought a self-binder this fall and paid $130. From us they got four oxen, for which they gave $106, and the rest he paid with cash. You might know, grandfather, that Micheal was a big man when he got to sit on the new binder and drive it.

Father and Anna shocked so we do not have to hire anyone for work because the children are so big and strong that they work like grown people. So we have it good with that too lately."

Life and Death, Inextricable

A few years ago, I stood at the window in a hospital room watching traffic. Outside was life, inside was illness and eventually, death.

Life and death are, were, and continue to be inextricable. Many of us try to ignore this fact -- until we can't.

Death is woven throughout Sigrid's letters, here it takes her neighbor's children. Even so, life stubbornly persists.

"We have a new neighbor, namely, Sander Lofthus. They came this spring and bought a quarter of land. They have now built a house and moved in. Margit was with us two weeks. They now have one daughter left. Their two sons died right after they came here this spring, that was sad for them, and the people are kind to them. They have gotten three calves and Knud Lokken (or Turke Knud) feeds them three months for nothing. That was worth a lot of money to them. And still he gave them a calf and helps them in many ways, so they say they like it here, so I suppose they do."

Images of Home, 1893

The table where Sigrid wrote letters still sits in her house, in front of a south-facing window. When I read these lines, I imagine her there with the photos fanned out in front of her, smiling.

October 24, 1893

Dear Father!

Because yesterday I had the big satisfaction to get a letter from you I will send some words back to you in return. I thank you heartily for the letter and all the pictures. It was so much fun for us to see everybody again, Anna and I had often wished we could have pictures and now we got that satisfaction too. I hardly know my brothers again they have gotten so big and handsome men since I saw them.

Yes, dear Father, I got to know you now the way you are. I often thought of you as an old gray-haired man but now I see you are as young and handsome as you can be. Old age hasn’t gotten hold of you yet. It is so good to see you this way.

The Kids Are Alright; 1892 and 1893

Like other women on the plains, Sigrid worked nonstop. Finding time to write letters wasn't easy. When she had a few minutes, she got right to the point.

October, 1892. " Theodore will now be one year the 4th of November. He is so big and fat, everybody who has seen him says they have never seen such a fat baby child. He doesn’t walk yet but crawls around everywhere.

Birgit and Clara have found pen and paper to write to grandfather but it probably won’t be finished before tomorrow. Anna is now almost as big as I am. She can use my clothes. She is good. This summer she had to help with the haying and people from town came out and asked her to work for $3 a week. But we needed her. They are all a big help and comfort."

Things were still hectic a year later.

"We have a healthy baby boy born on September 5. Now on Sunday 22nd of October he was baptized and he got the dear familiar name, Nels. I like that. In one month there will be a meeting again and maybe it will be confirmation. If so, Anna will probably be confirmed, Sunday the 25th. After that she says she will send Grandfather a letter.

During the intervening year, Lars Gjeldaker wrote about schooling for his grandson (and namesake). I like how Sigrid acknowledges her father's concerns, then gently reminds him that they have schools too.

"You say that Lars could come to you in school. If that were possible, the only thing is, I would want to be home so my children could be with you in school. I thank God that we have gotten us a home here where we have everything we need for daily bread. It is also a possibility that Lars could have a chance to learn here. The minister tells us we have children who are good in reading. They read at every meeting in the summer.

The Crop Report of 1892

Lars Gjeldaker never visited America. He never rode the train across the country, never watched the landscape flatten under tall grass, never saw a lone stand of cottonwoods on the horizon.

But he had a bird's-eye view of life at the Lillehaugen farm.

In February 1892, Sigrid reported, "The crops were good last year, the first wheat harvest in Dakota. Now we will see if it will be better here. Some have given up their land and moved away. Tosten and Micheal have much work in the barn, as we have many animals. They also bought a team of horses. There is much to buy when a man is beginning to farm, and here it is expensive. Machine and tools we need, but we are afraid to buy before we can pay."

In October, she sent another update with details on yields and prices.

"This summer we have had the best and nicest weather, so for the first time we got a good crop. Now we have threshed and plowed. They have left to haul the wheat to town before winter comes, because then it is best to hibernate like the bear.

We got over 800 bushels of wheat, 400 oats. The wheat is worth 50¢ a bushel. Low price! Now we have to sell wheat to pay for the horses we bought last fall for $200, and threshing cost $52. We had a man during threshing for two dollars a day. So that’s the way it goes with the money. It goes here and there.

But we are satisfied that God has helped here. This year I guess there has been very bad weather at many other places. Through the summer we sold eight cattle. We have 22 left and we have enough hay for them. We have mowed quite a bit, Micheal has done most of the mowing and raking. Grandfather should see how big and smart a man he has become this fall. Now he is going along with Father and drive to town and they will both have teams."

She adds, "Lars has to watch the cattle and that is not so good now with prairie fires all around the places."

A few years later, another prairie fire will alter their lives forever.

Written Down in the Forgotten Place

I don't know about you, but when I look at photos of unsmiling pioneers and homesteaders, they seem tough as nails. (Of course, one reason they didn't smile was because they couldn't risk a blurry photo.) Then you get a glimpse of the loneliness.

In February, 1892, Sigrid wrote, "Dear unforgettable Father! Mother and Brothers, Now that at last your long-awaited letter has come, I want to send you my thanks for the letter. I often wondered why Father waited so long before he sent us a letter. How lovingly welcome to receive your dear familiar hand again and read the dear lines from Father."

In October she reminded them that "One postday after the other has gone by without a letter from you. It appears to me that I have been written down in your forgotten book at your place. But to freshen your minds, I am sending you a few lines. It could happen that it might interest you."

I love that last line. Zing!

Prairie Skies in South Dakota

A couple of weeks ago we were in South Dakota. This photo was taken near Wall, in the national grasslands.

I grew up on the prairie. The skies of the West fill me with a peace that is impossible to find east of the Missouri.

When I think of my great-grandparents, I wonder what they thought of the Dakota skies. Of course, they had to keep an eye on the weather--no Doppler radar in those days. But I imagine they also were attuned to the colors and nuances of the clouds, the shifts in light marking the seasons.

I would love to spend an evening with them, watching the sun sink, seeing geese fly overhead, and hearing frogs begin the night shift.

Little School on the Prairie

Sigrid weaves the theme of education throughout her letters, frequently describing what the children learned, books they read, and the teachers' praise.

Lars Gjeldaker was likely (and justifiably) skeptical of the educational opportunities in Dakota territory. If the family had stayed in Norway, the grandchildren would have studied with him. Instead, an ocean separated them.

In 1892, Anna, the oldest grandchild, sent Grandfather some details:

"Micheal has now read in the Forklaring, and then we have read in the Bible History and are reading in the Testament. Then we have the Sunday School papers and newspapers. Micheal and Lars have the China Missionary paper. Last fall we borrowed one of Ole Skjervem's books and it was so much fun to read in that. Could grandfather please send one with Knud Jallo? Lars reads in the catechism, and Birgit [Cecelia] in the ABC. She spells and makes words. Clara is a little of each. She reads the ABC and sings a little of each song she hears from us."

Anna also assures Grandfather that he would like Clara. "She is a good girl. You should hear and see her. I think you would like her. She is a comfort to us all. Papa and she are very good friends. One time she said she liked whiskers, butter and bread."

Anna realizes her life would be different in Hallingdal. "I hear in your letter how cozy you have it. It would be good for us to get to go to school at your place and if we did that we would be satisfied--and we would really try to learn to read and be smart."

She closes with a postscript on behalf of her little sister: "I shall greet you from Birgit that she is good to take care of little brother and to read."

New Family Members: Clara, Theodore, and Nils

The family was growing too. Tosten presents the situation like a farmer: "There had been considerable increase in the stock, but not only that, the family too, increased. So then I knew that we had found a good place. September 26, 1889, a girl was born and was named Clara; November 4, 1891, a boy named Theodore; September 5, 1893, a boy named Nils."

Sigrid adds context in her letter to Norway. "With gladness I see that everything is well with you at home. And the same I can say from here because we have our health to date, which is the best of everything good. God gives us His grace. . . We must tell you that on November 4 we were blessed with a little well-shaped son, Theodore, who now is growing and bright for his age."

Getting Settled in Dakota

On June 1, 1888, Tosten, Sigrid, and their children moved into their new home in Walsh county.

Tosten writes, "I bought the improvement from a Bohemian . . . with the understanding that I file on that quarter, which I did. The improvement consisted of a log house 24 by 16, a well, a stable, and 25 acres that had been broken. I paid $150 for this. I did not have the money but was to pay it in the fall."

Neighbors banded together. "There was plenty of hay and pasture land around about us, but to get the hay together was not so easy. I had neither team nor machinery at first. So it was to exchange work with neighbors, and that took lots of strength for one man. When I came, I had a yoke of oxen three years old. So when I got them broke and got a wagon and rack, I could haul my own hay with the help I had. So things started to get better."

Sigrid also describes the first years. In 1892, she wrote, "The crops were good last year, the first wheat harvest in Dakota. Now we will see if it will be better here. Some have given up their land and moved away.

Tosten and Micheal have much work in the barn, as we have many animals. They also bought a team of horses. There is much to buy when a man is beginning to farm, and here it is expensive. Machine and tools we need, but we are afraid to buy before we can pay."

Moving to Dakota Territory

In 1862, Lincoln signed the Homestead Act, through which individuals could obtain 160 acres by filing an application, improving the land, and filing for deed. This brought many settlers to the plains, including European immigrants.

The Lillehaugen family moved west in 1888, taking the new railroad to Dakota Territory. The hard work in Minnesota had paid off: their property now included ten head of cattle.

Tosten and Sigrid had also added a daughter to their family: Cecilia Birgitte, born January 12, 1887.