One of the better works by the Beatles came toward the band’s end. Their Abbey Road album contained a 16-minute medley of eight songs, including a 17th-century poem set to music, “Golden Slumbers.” It started with these lyrics:

Once there was a way

To get back homeward

Once there was a way to get back home

Home. That’s something I often flash back to as Christmas approaches. These days, that feeling occurs earlier than it used to, as Halloween rather Thanksgiving launches the holiday season. Then again, it’s more fun watching Christmas commercials than viewing wall-to-wall political ads.

Some of you may reside in the same home in which you grew up. Others, such as me, have made multiple moves. It doesn’t matter. Closing your eyes and flashing back decades ago can bring you “home” during this time of year.

For me, home was growing up in a two-story farmhouse in northeastern South Dakota. “Good farming, clear thinking, right living,” the phrase Henry A. Wallace used when he edited Wallaces Farmer, summed up my upbringing.

Looking back, it wasn’t as idyllic as it might seem. Challenges that farmers now face — weeds, insects, volatile commodity markets and adverse weather — also plagued our farm.

Ah, lutefisk!

All these worries, though, melted at Christmas. Family dinners revolved around the aroma of lutefisk, which lured many a good Scandinavian (and others too) into church suppers. (Some might call the aroma from this lye-soaked whitefish as a stomach-churning stench. Still, slapping enough butter on this gelatinous delicacy makes it a culinary gem.)

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Lefse — lots of lefse! — was served to guests by my parents, who often spent cold late fall and winter nights flipping this soft Norwegian flatbread on a large flat griddle. Many ways exist to flavor it, but I always liked (and still like!) rolling it up with butter and sugar.

My mom also made a rice pudding into which she buried an almond. The story went that if an unmarried person found it in the pudding, they would be married the following Christmas. (This saying was about as accurate as some presidential polls.)

The town’s Lutheran church was a Christmas focal point, particularly its children’s program, in which I always ended up being a wise man. (I actually liked this, for they had the coolest outfits!) Years later, the church’s Parish League launched a Christmas program with a live stable, complete with cattle lowing and sheep bleating. The church itself was adorned in holiday trimmings, flanked by two giant Christmas trees off to each side of the altar.

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Ya gettin’ a bottle?

My father also made an annual trek into the local tavern fittingly known as “Swede’s Corner.” He’d buy a bottle of brandy as Christmas cheer for guests. During one trip, a local farmer at the bar observed his purchase.

“Ya gettin’ a bottle, Rich-ud?” he asked.

“Oh, just a little one,” my dad replied.

“Ohhhhh,” said the farmer (who had consumed more than a little bottle), “ya bettuh get a BIG one!”

Suffice to say, my mainly teetotaler dad never took him up on the offer.

In our house, natural Christmas trees gave way to an artificial one that my dad bought from his cousin who owned the town’s hardware store. Thrifty Norwegian that he was, my father made that Christmas tree last for the next 25 years.

I forgot about many presents tucked under that tree, but one that stands out was a cast-iron electric train complete with fake smoke that billowed out the locomotive’s smokestack. I don’t know who spent more time running it around its oval track, Dad or me. He had always wanted a train when he was a boy, and he finally got one — mine!

Memories old and new

As you plan for 2025, be sure to also treasure this time with your family as you reminisce about old memories and make new ones. We’ll be there on the other side of the new year to help you with the business of farming.

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