Steering by Stars

The single steeple of the old Lutheran church at the bottom of the hill loomed behind Bente Larsen and her mother as they walked hand-in-hand across the frozen sheet of snow.

The church had been standing in that very spot for over one thousand years. It had been constructed entirely of cordwood pine from the surrounding forest. Builders carved each piece of wood with hand tools and carefully put them into place. Not a single nail had even been used to hold the entire church together. It was one of the few lasting testaments to the carpentry skill of the ancient Norsemen.

Bente exhaled breaths of hot air as she stomped up the footpath. The ground crackled beneath their feet as each footstep broke through the icy shell, each foot disappearing and reappearing again.

There were few things Bente loved more than winter. One of those, however, was walking home from church with her mother on Saturday nights.

Bente and her mother were not alone. Other shapes and shadows crossed through the icy snow leading from the church. Some were headed for their cars, while others walked home, just like Bente and her mother.

They hiked the same pine-covered grove through which they traveled earlier that night. The needle-laden trees shaded the narrow wilderness path leading up and over the hill. A few streams of moonlight managed to light the ground and guide their way.

The solemn moonlight made Bente think.

“Mamma?”

“Ja?”

“Hvorfor kaller de det Lørdag?”

…Why did Norwegians call it Lørdag? Unlike many of her friends from the Internet who lived across Europe and the Americas, the Norwegians did not call this day Saturday, but Lørdag instead.

Her mother explained it easily. Lør-dag was bath-day.

“But I don’t always bathe on Lørdag and my friend from Spain calls it ‘Sabado’”

“Just like modern-day Norwegians, the Vikings considered Lørdag as the day to clean up at the end of a long week. It’s the same thing for Spanish. Sabado is the Sabbath-day, a day of rest.

Only the North Sea separates the Norwegians from the English or the Germans. The ancient Norwegians sailed between these lands. They shared many things with the Germans and English. Among them was their language.

The English call tomorrow Sunday. The Germans call it Sonntag. The Norwegians call it Søndag. Do you see?”

Bente nodded.

“Søndag means Sun-day. Mandag means Moon-day. Tirsdag means Tues-day.”

“Tirsdag? What does that stand for?”

“You know that. Tirsday, Onsdag, and Thorsdag…those days are named for the Gods. Teiwaz is the Norse God of war. Wodanaz, also known as ‘Odin’, is the ruler of Asgard, the heavens to the ancient Norwegians. Of course, you know all about Thor.”

“Yes, yes,” interrupted Bente, “What about Fredag? What about Frøya’s-day?”

Fredag meant Friday. It also meant the end of the school-week and Bente’s day of rest. It was also her favorite because she loved Frøya, the ancient Norwegian goddess of love and beauty.

“It’s not that simple, Bente.”

“What do you mean?”

“History scholars don’t agree on the origins of Friday or Frøya. According to some scholars, the word Fredag could’ve come from one of many places. It could be Frigg. It could be Frøya. Some even call her Freyja.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I think the difference may be very subtle. You know the Brothers Grimm, right?”

“The German storytellers?”

Mrs. Larsen nodded. “They spent much of their time studying folk tales and myths, like those of the ancient Norwegians. Jacob Grimm said ‘Fria was related to the goddess-word Frigg, which meant free and beautiful while Freyja was something different, meaning sweet and lovely.’”

“It sounds just the same. Why can’t scholars just agree?”

“Historians don’t just make a best guess. They need proof. They use sources. Ancient Norwegians, even before the Vikings, used oral tradition to pass stories from one generation to the next. These stories were told by the light of a roaring bonfire, at the end of a long journey.”

“What kind of journeys?”

“All kinds of journeys. Maybe they went fishing. Maybe they went on Viking raids. Maybe they just went for a weekend cruise. They shared stories to educate and entertain their friends and family. There is no knowing what really happened because historians cannot find a written record. They only have the oral tradition.”

“How did the ancient Vikings even know what day it was?”

“There is one thing…”

“Yes?”

“The historians did come across the Rune Staff.”

“I’ve seen Rune Staves at the museum. They’re like walking sticks”

“The Rune Staff was much more than that. It was a large stick that was carved with an ancient alphabet script called Runic. This script noted when the sun and moon would rise and set.

The sun and moon were almost always in the skies over the Vikings, watching over them. The knew the moon revolved around the earth once every twenty-eight days. They called this a ‘måned’. They also observed the Earth orbit around the sun. They knew it took about 365 days. The Norse called it an ‘ar.’”

“But my teacher says ancient astronomers thought the sun revolved around the earth.”

“Ancient middle European astronomers may have thought that, but the Vikings knew about the magic number 19. It’s proven by looking at their Rune Staff.”

“Why nineteen?”

“It’s the number of years when the 28-day cycle of the moon and the 365-day cycle of the sun match up. The ancient Norwegians also observed the different orbits of the stars. Because of all this, they knew the sun was the center of the their galaxy, not the Earth.”

“How?”

“One reason was because the Earth wobbles.”

“What?!?!”

“The Earth has an axis on which it spins, right?”

Bente nodded.

“The ancient Norse noticed that the stars did not always rise or fall on the same places of the horizon. They documented that wobble on their Rune Staves and in their folk tales, too. The wobble is mentioned in the “Prose Edda”, a collection of myths and fables. As the Earth wobbled, the sun seemed to rise in different places in the sky. Each of these positions had a different effect on the Earth, creating volcanoes and earthquakes and other things like that.”

“They knew all that?”

“They certainly did. It is one of the two reasons the Norwegians have a long and proud sailing heritage.”

“What’s the other?”

As Bente reached the top of the tiny hill, her mother pointed down towards Bergen’s bay. Rows of houses faced the bay and the cluster of ships huddled near the docks.

“The ships.”

“Of course,” nodded Bente.

Bente released her hand from her mother’s grip as she headed toward the house. It sat near the top of the tiny hill facing the bay. The shipping heritage was something she had known all her life, just like every good Norwegian from Bergen.

Like many Saturday nights, Mr. Larsen was waiting at home, watching Bergen futbol club. As Bente came home, he poured a glass of milk for everyone and also served her a piece of krumkake. The milk was mildly sweet and icy cold. The krumkake looked like a narrow waffle cone, lightly dusted with cinnamon and powdered sugar.

“Can I have a bite?” asked Mr. Larsen.

Bente broke off a piece and handed it to her father. After they enjoyed their late night dessert, Bente changed into her pajamas and headed for bed.

“God natt,” said Mrs. Larsen.

“God natt, mamma.”

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Long Night and Good Yule

Even on the darkest day, when the sun only showed its face for a brief time – just about six hours – there was plenty of warmth to go around at the Larsen house. Tiny white candles sat in each window, keeping the trolls and gremlins far from the Larsen house. They also signaled the beginning of the holiday season.

It was December thirteenth – Saint Lucia Day – which meant Bente Larsen had spent the evening at church with her mother. Her little brother Erik, who was dressed in purple and silver from head-to-toe, waved his wand around, directing the chorus of Norway Spruce and Fir trees that guarded the trail up and over the hill.

Erik was dressed as one of the three magi, but his pointed hat and star-staff looked more like something from a wizard movie than a Nativity scene.

The winds howled, whipping Bente’s heavy wool jacket open, revealing her plain white gown with the single red ribbon tied about her waist. She still had the crown of evergreen sprigs around her head. It did very little to protect her.

As was the custom every Saint Lucy’s day, the youngest girl from each family performed in the church choir. Each singer carried a luminary candle through the old Stave church, illuminating the chapel in a warm white glow.

Bente’s friend Ingrid was chosen for the role of Santa Lucia. Ingrid wore a crown of white plastic candles. The battery-powered candle-crown lit Ingrid’s face and blonde hair in a golden glow. Girls, from grades three to twelve, sang “Santa Lucia” for Saint Lucy while churchgoers listened. Ingrid got to lead the choir into and out of the chapel.

When the girls sang, their alto and soprano voices echoed through the chamber, bouncing off the lofty ceiling and filling the church.

Bente secured the clasps of her jacket, trying to keep the winter breeze out. Meanwhile, Erik ran in circles around his mother and sister.

“Hurry!” he shouted, “Or we will freeze to death!”

“Nonsense!” said Mrs. Larsen, “We’re almost home.”

Erik ran ahead and disappeared into the thicket of conifer trees. Wind howled through the treetops.

“Maybe we could go a little faster,” said mother.

Just then, the branches of the spruce trees rattled. A sheaf of snow plopped down upon Mrs. Larsen and Bente. A clump of cold, wet snow fell directly upon Bente’s head, slipping beneath the folds of her heavy wool jacket.

“I’m all for that!” shouted Bente.

They scurried all the way down the hill, not stopping until they arrived safely at home. Bente immediately peeled off her jacket and shook the remaining snow out of her clothes.

“Chilly?” said father. It was Saturday, which meant father was watching Bergen Football on the television.

“Bone chilling,” replied Bente.

“The frost giants must be rumbling in the heavens,” said father as he moved from his chair to the fireplace. He grabbed a bit of kindling from the log pile and stuffed it into the fire. As he tended the logs with the fire poker, the logs crackled, shooting embers through the fireplace and up the chimney.

Mother had cooked a large cast iron kettle of nissegrød earlier in the day. She boiled rice for the porridge, adding butter, milk, and salt until it was thick and creamy. Then, she added ground almonds and cinnamon, giving it a warm almond glow to go with its nutty taste. Finally, she stirred in a single almond – the prize almond.

The Larsens had eaten rice porridge for breakfast and lunch. Still, nobody found the prize almond.

“Mamma, can I have some nissegrød?”

Mrs. Larsen nodded.

“Would you like some, too, Bente?”

Bente nodded.

“Me, too,” said father.

Mrs. Larsen fixed four bowls in all, including a bowl for herself. The family dug in, quickly gobbling their warm and hearty porridge. Unfortunately, nobody found the prize almond. Erik looked to the fireplace. A small dish sat at the end of the mantle. A small marzipan pig sat on the plate, still happy to be free. Mrs. Larsen fetched the plate from the mantle, storing him in the refrigerator until someone could claim him as his or her very own.

While the Marzipan Pig sat in the cool air of the fridge, Bente and Erik enjoyed their last few days of school before the Yuletide, eager for Christmas vacation. When they went to school, it was still dark outside. When they returned home, it was dark, too.

The shortest days were the coldest, but far from the most miserable for Norwegian children. By the time midwinter arrived, children were already out of school and it was only three days until ‘Gledelig Jul’ – Decmeber 24^th, Merry Yule and Merry Christmas Eve, too.

The Larsen children spent the first part of their vacation outdoors, ice skating and bobsledding, too. Meanwhile, Mrs. Larsen had pulled the decorations from the attic and had begun decorating the house.

She was also hard at work preparing the pinnekjøtt, or stick-meat, for Gledelig Jul, the Christmas Yule feast. She shopped for cured lamb meat, right on the rib. The butcher had rubbed it with salt and let it dry. Mrs. Larsen purchased two racks and took them home to prepare.

She cleaved the ribs into single pieces. Then, she tossed them into a stockpot layered with birch sticks on the bottom. She added water to the birch sticks and ribs. That rehydrated the ribs and drew out any extra salt. The birch sticks gave the ribs a sweet and smoky flavor. She put the whole concoction into the fridge to wait for Gledelig Jul.

By the time the 24^th had arrived, however, the children already tired of outdoor sports. They were ready for indoor sports, namely the arrival of the Julenisse.

At precisely five in the evening, the church bells tolled. Mr. Larsen, who had been wrapping things up at the wharf, put away his clipboard and put on his red stocking cap. Mrs. Larsen had made yet another pot of nissegrød, although this one was rather small.

“We haven’t even found the prize almond!” whined Erik.

Mrs. Larsen grabbed a small wooden bowl from the cupboard and filled it with rice porridge.

“Not to worry, this is for the gnomes!”

“Why do you always put the nissegrød into that bowl?”

“You do not remember my grandpapa, but he made me this very bowl for nissegrød. He cut it from a piece of fir wood and carved it out especially for me...and the Julenisse, too."

“Of course!” said Bente, “The Julenisse will visit tonight to give us many gifts. I hope to get a new bow for my violin and some good books.”

“Only if you have been good,” said mamma.

“I have.”

“I know you have,” she added, “let’s hope the Julenisse know, too!”

Mrs. Larsen placed the bowl on the hearth next to the fireplace with a glass of goat’s milk. It was a present for the Julenisse, the deliverers of presents to all the Norwegian boys and girls. Mrs. Larsen served it just the way the Julenisse liked, adding a cold pat of butter to the top.

Mr. Larsen arrived home soon after, but he was not empty handed.

“What’s this?” asked mother.

“I could not wait until tomorrow,” said Mr. Larsen.

He handed out the gifts and everyone quickly opened them. Bente got a stacking doll imported from Russia. Erik got a toy plane. Mamma Larsen received a tiny black box. She was pretty sure she knew what was inside.

“Open it,” said father.

She cautiously opened the box to reveal two diamond earrings.

“Oh, Jurgen, you shouldn’t have.”

“I probably shouldn’t have, but I did.”

Mamma hugged papa. Afterwards, she immediately went upstairs. When she came down, she was in a different dress.

“I couldn’t just wear my old outfit with these beautiful earrings,” she insisted. Mr. Larsen chuckled.

“It’s time for dinner,” said Mrs. Larsen. As she headed towards the kitchen, Mr. Larsen stopped her.

“You can’t serve the mutton, you’ll get all mussed.”

Mr. Larsen opened the oven door, revealing a large roasting pan full of roasted ribs, golden potatoes, and stewed carrots. He sat in in the center of the table, between the Julekakke and the tower of sweetbread called Krenzekakke. There was also an abundance of cookies – seven sorts in fact. The “Seven Sorts”, as mother Larsen called them, were seven different type of home-baked cookies and biscuits. They represented the mountains known as the seven sisters.

The Larsens ate a hearty meal, filling themselves on lamb meat, and stewed vegetables, and sweetbreads, too. After dinner, they relaxed by the television.

“Let me add a Yule to the fire,” said Mr. Larsen. He grabbed a big log and placed it gently atop the fire. Flames licked at the fresh piece of pine. As the pine burned, it popped and cracked. It kept the family warm as they enjoyed the Norwegian boy’s choir performing at Nidaros Chapel in Oslo.

Mr. Larsen leapt from his chair as soon as the boy’s choir finished.

“Come with me,” he said to Bente and Erik.

They retrieved the Fir tree from the back of the truck and dragged it into the house. Mr. Larsen gave it a shake before fixing it into the tree stand. He placed a little green apron around the bottom as the children fetched the decoration box.

They adorned the tree with electric Christmas candles. They were white, just like the candles the Santa Lucia carried. They added apples and berries before draping the tree in tinsel. Afterwards, they fixed tiny Norwegian flags, in their red, white, and blue, to the ends of twigs.

When they were finished, they stepped back and admired their work.

“I think you’ve done an absolutely fantastic job trimming the tree,” said father. Mrs. Larsen agreed. Afterwards, they rested again, watching Christmas movies until it was very late.

“It’s time you two climb into pajamas,” said father.

“Will you tell us a story?”

“As you wish,” said father.

“About the Julenisse?”

“Of course.”

The children went upstairs and changed into their nightclothes before returning downstairs. As was always the custom, the children slept on the couch in the living room, right next to the Christmas tree. Bente had spent the last eight Christmases trying to catch the Julenisse under the Christmas tree. Maybe this would be her lucky year.

“Every December 24^th, children throughout Norway think of only one thing. Do you know what that is?”

“The Julenisse!” said Erik.

“Of course,” said Mr. Larsen, “the tiny Christmas gnomes venture across the fjords, searching for nissegrød. They bring their travel companions, the Yule horse, Yule pig, and Yule mouse. They search every barn in the valley. If they find nissegrød, they immediately sneak into the house and leave gifts beneath the Christmas tree…”

“But we don’t have a barn,” said Erik.

“Nisse have a very delicate sense of smell. They will smell our porridge.”

“I hope so,” said Erik.

“However, if they don’t find the nissegrød…”

“If they don’t find it,” interrupted Bente, “they play tricks on the barn animals.”

“And if there are no barnyard animals,” added Mr. Larsen, “they find the family pets.”

Mr. Larsen grabbed Rags, the family dog, by the tail.

“And then they’ll tie him to a hitching post!”

Rags yelped and Mr. Larsen quickly let go.

“That’s awful,” said Erik.

“Luckily, we have plenty of rice porridge left over in the refrigerator.”

“With an almond prize and the Marzipan pig, if they’re still hungry.”

“Let’s hope they’re not. I want to win the pig,” said father.

“Me, too,” said Erik.

“It is also a lucky thing that you and your sister have been very good this year. I think the Julenisse will leave us all plenty of gifts under the tree. Now, it is time for bed, so let’s go to sleep.”

“Awwww,” said Bente.

“The sooner you sleep, the sooner they will arrive.”

Mr. Larsen tucked Bente under a heavy quilt and drapped wool blankets over Erik. He doused the fire, but turned up the furnace and left all of the candles lit. Bente smiled at her father as he and mamma headed upstairs.

The smoldering fire crackled and fizzed as it slowly died. Bente turned her head toward the fireplace, watching the wooden bowl through squinted eyes. If the Julenisse were to be caught, this is how she’d do it.

As time passed and the Christmas gnomes were nowhere to be seen, Bente thought they might have missed their house after all. She uncovered herself and tiptoed to the window. It was cold and dark outside. She unfastened the window latch and opened the sash.

“Maybe the Julenisse’s noses aren’t that keen,” she said.

She moved the wooden bowl to the windowsill. She placed her hands on her hips as she investigated her work. Then, she took the bowl to the microwave and reheated it.

“Maybe they need some help.”

She returned to the living room with the steaming bowl of porridge and placed it on the windowsill.

“Perfect,” she thought.

She returned to bed, covering her head with her quilt to keep out the cold winter air that blew through the open window. Soon, she was fast asleep.

It seemed like only a moment later, but Bente heard a sound early in the morning. It was the windowsill. Bente poked her head out from beneath the quilt.

“Pappa?”

Mr. Larsen stood next to the closed window.

“Yes?”

“What are you doing?”

“I heard a clatter and I came right downstairs. I saw the Julenisse had left the window open, so I closed it.”

“I closed it,” said Bente.

“Oh. That explains how they got in so quietly.”

Bente rubbed the sleep from her eyes. The nissegrød bowl was empty, but a large pile of presents sat under the tree.

“Get up, Erik! Get up!” she said, “It’s Christmas!”

As soon as mother came downstairs, the children began opening their presents. Bente got a new violin bow and books, just as she wished. Erik received new football gear and some toy ships. They played with their new gifts as mother re-heated the leftover rice porridge. She served up four bowls.

When Mr. Larsen dug his spoon into his porridge, a tiny brown almond poked its head out of the spoon. Mr. Larsen proudly showed it around.

“Aww,” moaned Erik.

“It’s okay,” said father, “Let’s cut it into four pieces and share.”

“I get the head!” said Erik.

“I want the belly!” said Bente.

“And we can share the rest,” Mr. Larsen said to his wife. He took a small knife out of his pocket and cut the pig into four equal pieces and the Larsens shared their prize pig, enjoying its nutty sugary goodness with four cold glasses of sweet goat’s milk.

Afterwards, Mr. and Mrs. Larsen watched more Christmas specials and rested on the couch while the children played. After they had enough of the indoor sports, the children returned outside to share their new gifts from the Julenisse with their friends.

.