The Norwegian Bachelor Farmer

Before you become too critical of my photograph, remember, for me it is meant as an illustration to accompany the words in the post, not as a representation of any manner of "good photography." Although, I have won two contests in journalistic photography and I can take an occasional neat one when luck is on my side. This photo is to illustrate the current wolf lair of the "Norwegian/German/American Bachelor Whatever" = me. Put simply, this is still another view of where I dwell at the moment. So, read on if you want the rest of the story. The music is Sarah Brightman and her "A Winter Symphony" album. A copy of this arrangement was given to me as a going away present in December 2009 before I left for Europe. I listened to these songs over and over again back then. This music has both enjoyment and symbolic meaning for me, and probably will have for every Christmas as long as I walk the Earth.

Remembering childhood & Christmas

You probably have to be from Minnesota -- or, maybe, from the Dakotas, Iowa and Wisconsin, too -- to have heard and to understand the concept of the "Norwegian Bachelor Farmer."

Well, I am not going to try to explain it to you in detail, mostly because the details vary depending upon who is providing them. In a sense, the words are self-explanatory. What amazes me is how many of these fellows there were, and, still are, if you simply look for them. I have a cousin who is among them right now. I know of families who are not of Norwegian ancestry, but, never-the-less, who boast or tease or joke about having a Norwegian Bachelor Farmer among their numbers. The image emerges from an actual historical character evolving into folklore.

One note in background data: Germans, followed by Norwegians and then by other Scandinavians, were the primary immigrants to Minnesota during the 19th and early 20th centuries. This is when and where stories of the Norwegian Bachelor Farmer originated.

I have written four posts in recent days, but "torn" them up simply because it is Christmastime and I am trying to be nice for a few days. This is difficult for me, a devotee of "Bitter Bierce," as I occasionally point out. It is my nature to be doubtful and skeptical. We shall see how this post registers.

Since my mother died a number of months ago, my thoughts frequently have gone to my childhood. Since it is Christmastime now, my thoughts frequently are merging with childhood Christmases -- the ghosts of Christmas past. They are all good, pleasant, comfortable ghosts.

I have mentioned in previous posts that my parents were divorced and, for all intents and purposes, I grew up without a father playing an active role in my life. Until my mother re-married when I was age sixteen, we lived with her parents. Consequently, Christmas was the four of us when I was a child -- grandpa, grandma, ma and me. But, on Christmas Eve, there was a fifth member present -- my grandmother's brother, Harry -- our Norwegian Bachelor Farmer.

And, I have mentioned Harry in past posts, too. He is the one who taught me how to shoot shotguns and rifles and handguns when I was ten years old. He is the one who taught me how to drive, beginning with sitting in his lap and steering, long before my feet could reach the pedals. As my legs grew, I "graduated" to sitting on a wooden box and, finally, on the car seat itself.

Harry was more than a farmer, although he operated one for a number of years. He had gone off to war as a young man and seen a bit of the world before he came home to take over a family farm. At a point along the way when economics dictated, the farmland was leased out to "corporate operations" (the curse of American agriculture, from my point of view) and he took over the task of running the police force in a small Minnesota town. I suppose he turned into the Norwegian Bachelor Cop when that happened.

Harry was a "career bachelor." He never married, never had a family of his own. What he did have were siblings who sort of looked after him in many ways. He came to our house every Christmas Eve for supper and participation in the gift-giving. On Christmas Day, he went to another sister's home for dinner.

In a way, he had life good in that sense. Most Sunday and holiday dinners were consumed at the home of one of his sisters; he had his own house in the country in which to hang his hat and he lived life free as a bird -- working, hunting, fishing. He was an always-welcome guest in the homes of four sisters who lived nearby. There was no one to put the reins on him. He had no real responsibilities to anyone or to anything other than to himself and to his work -- but, he also gave as much as he received, and was there to help whenever and wherever he was needed.

Anyway, I had very good Christmases when I was a boy. They form the basis of wonderful memories -- including some of our family's Norwegian Bachelor Farmer. I hope this Christmas is forming a wonderful memory for those who pass by this way and who read these words. Merry Christmas ....