Prairie Country Sleigh Rides
Writing assignment by Marion Lien, April 19, 1994
Sleigh rides. So many sensations!
to a young child the feeling of exciting adventure
looking up in awe at the splendor of millions of differently sized stars gleaming entrancingly in the darkening night
breathing in air so startlingly cold that it tingles in the nostrils
being wrapped up all warm and cozy in a horsehide cover with the outer horsehair side tickling my cheeks or making me sneeze
the familiar, friendly, pungent barn odor which clings faintly to the horsehide blanket
exploring with my tongue the taste of occasional softly falling snowflakes as they melt on the lips
the dog smell of old Nero curled up beside me
the crunching sound of the sleigh runners breaking through ice crystals as we cut through the roadless fields
the rhythmic jing jing sounds of the bells on the trotting horses and the creaking of their harness
the breath of the horses looking like steam clouds in the frosty evening air
the warmth of the heated stones at my feet as I savor in impatient anticipation the feast to come at Aunt Annie's house with my exuberant numerous cousins.
My father's working sleigh rides are far different. In this year of 1917 no church has as yet been built where some of the
homesteaders of these Saskatchewan prairies can worship. As resa omkring präst (circuit riding pastor), Papa hitches
the pony which Morfar Vickberg (my grandfather) loaned him up to the single-seated cutter which my Uncle Alfred made, and
away he goes over the snow-covered prairies. His visit this time is to the farmers who are proving land in the vicinity of a
beginning village called Kinistino. They want to start a congregation.
Since there are no courthouses or judges who can perform legal acts within a distance of many kilometers, in some homes two
people have married themselves previously by clasping hands on a Bible in the presence of witnesses and have declared themselves
wedded before God. When Papa comes, he sanctifies their union and baptizes the children they may have had either before or after
the vows they have made. Before leaving, Vitstrumpar (White Stockings) the pony is well fed for her important task of bringing the
preacher safely to the next farmstead. Papa is fed sumptuously with a meal of korv (Swedish sausage) and potatis
(potatoes) rather than with the grain gruel which is often the daily fare of his hosts. In payment for his services Papa is usually
given a sack of rutabagas or grain or whatever the family can spare, well wrapped in jackrabbit pouches to keep the food from
freezing. Some farm wives provide him with knäckebröd (hardtack) or dried saskatoon berries which I like much
better than rutabagas.
If several farmers can gather with their families in one home, Papa holds gudstjänst (divine services) for them. This might be
for some of them a twice-a-year happening. A few of the older people of fifty or sixty years or so tut tut in disapproval as Papa
speeds up the usual tempo of the doleful Swedish hymns when he leads the singing, but most of them are well pleased with their
good-natured young preacher. "Han kan hålla en präktig, kort, svensk predikan," they tell each other. (He can
deliver a splendid, agreeably short Swedish sermon.) They remember the services they sat through in Sweden which often lasted for
two or three hours in a miserably cold church.
Sometimes Papa is gone for a long time. If a blizzard threatens, he stays with whatever family he is visiting. The family feels
honored when that happens. They are confident that with the preacher in the house to ward off evil no resident tomtegubba will play
tricks on them such as giving them tooth decay or ingrown toenails. The hens will lay eggs even in the winter, and the heifer will
produce a live calf for her first born.
With the snowstorm gone, Papa ties leather coverings made by Morfar onto the pony's hooves and legs so she won't be injured by
the crusted snow; then he hitches her to the cutter. Vitstrumpar prances in eagerness then, because she knows she is going home.
Hours later when out on a desolate expanse of snow-covered land they hear the undulating howls of the prärievarger in the frigid
air (little wolves somewhat resembling coyotes), Vitstrumpar flicks up her shaggy ears and trots faster.
When Mama sees them coming at last, she cries out in relief, "Tacka var Herre Gud, Edvin! Du har komt välbehållen hem igen!"
(Thanks be to our Lord God, Edwin. You have come safely home again.) After both pony and husband are warmed and fed, Mama
introduces Papa to our new baby brother, Wilfrid, who was born at home during Papa's long sleigh ride.
