Christmas Eve on our Swedish Farm

Editor’s Note: The image shows the Advent candles, a placemat with the tomte, and a saffron bun symbolizing the hoped for return of the sun. The author writes this delightful, charming story in present tense to invite you to join her. 

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My husband Folke and I enjoyed 15 Christmas Eves on our farm. In Sweden Christmas Eve is called Julafton. Here is a glimpse of that special day:

Today it is Julafton. We wake early, hours before sunrise, light the fire in the cook stove, make some coffee, and fill two buckets of water for the horses. No, not the regular icy-cold well water today, but people water from the house – warm water. This is always a big treat for the horses. And on this day, I stuff some cut up carrots and apples in my pockets, get my boots and coat, open the kitchen door and step out into the cold air. It’s dark.

Stand still. Breath. Listen. Little things rustle in the dried remains of the garden. You never know what might be out there. And then Punk the farm cat materializes. A red-striped tabby, tough. It’s his farm; we just work there. He hangs out with the horses in the barn, but always greets us good morning. I look over to the barn. I smile at the little Advent lights in the barn windows. Finally, I walk out on the crunchy gravel to the wooden barn door, grasp the wooden handle and open it up. Large buff-colored fuzzy horse heads with big dark eyes greet us with nickers from their box stalls. I nicker back, flip on the lights, and breathe in the sweet barn air.

They smell the warm water. They plunge their heads down in it and drink deeply. I produce the carrots and apples. Apples make their saliva flow and it sounds like an old washing machine when they chew and the sweet foam looks like suds dribbling from their soft lips. I toss the best meadow hay into the mangers. I’ll turn them out later; it’s too dark now. Cold is no problem; they are totally weatherproof Norwegian Fjord Horses with fuzzy coats.

Most of our morning is spent preparing the Julafton food. We make our own version of smörgåsbord, served at 1:00. Folke’s sister Birgitta lives in town, but tends the farm’s garden so we have vegetables! Folke is in charge of cooking potatoes and Brussel sprouts. I make a Christmas salad of chopped kale, apples, oranges and toasted walnuts. I also mash together rutabagas and potatoes with butter and nutmeg, baked with crumbs on top. Every year Birgitta meets with older women at a historical farm and they make the real rye bread, baked in a wood-fired oven, as well as home-made cheese. She brings those and store-bought items like ham and herring.

Most often our Jalafton celebration is just Birgitta, Folke and me with Punk the cat politely waiting at the head of the table.

The most heart-felt dish we eat on Christmas Eve is called Dopp i Grytan which means “dip in the pot.” It is a pot of broth that I make from moose bones. There is a little ceremony. Each person takes a slice of Birgitta’s rye bread, puts it on a slotted spoon and lowers it into the steaming broth for just the right amount of time so it has absorbed broth but is not soggy. This slice is placed on our plates in a position of honor. This is in memory of the many times that crop failures meant that just having some bread and broth to dip it in was a miracle. We are thankful we live on a farm and have real food. After that, we load our plates with everything else and eat in the dining room. Julafton is special.

After our big meal, Birgitta needs to drive back to town to her apartment because at 3:00 in the afternoon almost everyone in Sweden stops what they are doing and watches a TV rebroadcast of the 1958 special “Donald Duck and His Friends Wish You a Merry Christmas Eve”. Swedes are so captivated by this program that they put down their mobile phones causing a one hour dip in data usage. The show is charming with Donald and Goofy and the whole gang. Our farm does not have a working TV. Plus, we don’t have time for that now, because this year the conditions are right for a sleigh ride!

As the light is fading, Petrus the fjord horse can take our neighbor dressed as Tomte to the next farm with a bag of gifts for their grandkids. A tomte is one of the “little people” that have always lived on Swedish farms. Shy and dressed in grey they are almost never seen. But at Christmas they can turn their clothes inside out and suddenly are dressed in red like little Santa Clauses.

The road is snowy. Petrus loves to pull the sleigh. He is in a jolly mood with sleigh bells and very easy pulling. No cracking whips ever. I just say, “Petrus, let’s go!” And off we go.

It’s cold. Tomte’s Santa suit is hidden under a coat he can fling off, so he can jump off the sleigh totally decked out in red. After Tomte gives out the gifts, the kids rush out to pet and kiss Petrus on his soft nose. He loves that.

This whole holiday is about the coming of light, whether it is Jesus or sun rays. You have to be in the dark to appreciate the light. As we trot homeward on the dark road, we long to see the Advent lights in the barn windows. We round the curve, see them and feel so blessed. The barn is clean and warm, Mandus the younger horse greets us with a nicker, Punk the cat twines around our and our horses’ legs. We feed and water everyone and are nuzzled in return.

All is well at the farm on Julafton.

Copyright © 2024 by Ann Sigford