Sara Sandstrom-Kobi, Peak to Peak. Christmas time holds special childhood memories for many people. For me it means baking cookies and other desserts that my mom would only allow to be made at Christmas. Listening to Dean Martin, Nat King Cole and Johnny Mathis on the record player. Attending many church services. My dad is a Lutheran pastor and I always looked forward to the late night Christmas Eve service. We would open gifts between services on Christmas Eve. Then bundle up and walk to church. I loved the candlelight, hushed tones and soft music. My dad made the service a reflective and meaningful time by telling the story of Christmas simply and with honesty. 

On Christmas Day there would be one more church service then we would get into our Chevy van and drive to my grandparent’s house in Watertown, South Dakota. I would be so anxious during the two hour drive. I could hardly wait to see my cousins. 

I have roots in South Dakota where most of my childhood was spent. My great grandparents came to Dakota Territory from Sweden to homestead. They came to have land of their own to farm. My grandparents sold their farm when I was a toddler and moved to the nearby “city” in retirement. Their home held the wonderful annual Sandstrom Family Christmas festivities. 

It was exciting to travel to Watertown. It seemed like a big city. They had a mall, sidewalks and their streets had names. We lived in a South Dakota town with a population of 200. It really was a little town on the prairie. My sister and I would jump out of the van and run into my grandparent’s house on Fifth Avenue NE when we arrived. I would be smothered in hugs and kisses by my family. I would smell potatoes boiling on the stove, and butter melting in a saucepan. I would see the huge table set with the traditional wooden Swedish Dala horses and a Swedish flag for decoration. After I politely answered all my grandma’s questions, I was free to play with my cousins. 

When we were called to dinner, we would all take our seats around the steaming hot plates of vegetables, potatoes, white gravy and warm bread. Grandma would wait for everyone to be settled and then bring out the biggest platter of all. There would be ohhhhs and ahhhhs as she set the most treasured Swedish holiday food in the middle of the table. Lutefisk.  

Lutefisk is cod that is soaked in lye. It is then rinsed with cold water to remove the lye. It can then be boiled or baked to a slimy consistency. My grandma always served it with melted butter and her signature white gravy. 

I grew up being told to be proud of my Swedish heritage. Eating lutefisk on Christmas Day was a way for my grandparents to continue the traditions they grew up with. 

After a long blessing we would finally be allowed to eat. Grandma would always make Swedish meatballs which I gladly ate, but as I smelled that lutefisk getting closer to me I would slump in my chair hoping I could somehow avoid it. My family, never shy about eating, would pile their plates high. Grandma’s bread with butter, delicious. Potatoes with butter, yummy. Small portion of vegetables, required. It was assumed that everyone at the table would eat lutefisk. The adults took big portions. Some of my cousins and my sister would take some without complaint and be praised. I would scrunch up my face and try not to breath as the slimy fish came to me. My sister would tell me that I could not be a Sandstrom if I didn’t eat lutefisk. 

A sympathetic adult would tell me to put little in my potatoes. Not wanting to ruin all of my potatoes I moved some over to an empty part of my plate. I then would take the smallest portion I could of the stinky fish shove it into the potatoes and add melted butter. I would take a forkful of the potato/lutefisk combo and gulp it down. No chewing. 

My dad would give me a hearty, “Good job,” and my grandparents would smile. Uff da! I was glad when that was over for another year.

After everyone had more than enough to eat we moved to the living room. We would sing Christmas carols, eat spritz cookies and Grandpa’s famous fudge and open gifts. Grandma always made gifts for the grandchildren. Some years it was matching pajamas. Another year it was scarves or clothes for my dolls and there were always spritz cookies and fudge to take home. 

The next day we would continue our annual traditions and go sledding on St. Ann’s hill. We would spend hours in the South Dakota wind sliding down and then trudging up the hill again. We would go down on sleds, toboggans, saucers and even cardboard boxes. In the evening we would all pile in our vehicles and drive to Candy Cane Lane in Watertown and look at the Christmas lights. Cars would drive slowly up and down the two or three blocks to admire the houses all lit up for the Holidays. 

Those days at Grandma and Grandpa Sandstrom’s house on the South Dakota prairie felt perfect. There was so much love and joy surrounding us. Would I eat lutefisk again to have one more Sandstrom Family Christmas in South Dakota? Ya, sure, ya betcha! 

(Originally published in the December 26, 2019, print edition of The Mountain-Ear.)