UFF DA! Summer Solstice at Midnight Sun

By Karen Ganger

I UFF DA! n Uff da! Summer Solstice in Midnight Sun, we return to the Minnesotan Scandinavian enclave where modern day life mingles with old tradition. Taking inspiration from the Tollefson's new hardware store, Mayor Thorvald sets a new city project in the works that can only be described as grandiose. Aft

• Language: English
• Publisher: URLink Print & Media, LLC
• Release date: Jun 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781647534202

Karen Ganger

Karen Ganger lives with her husband near Seattle, Washington where her home is perched on a cliff over Puget Sound in sight of Mt. Rainier. Her career path included the medical field, retired casualty claims manager and historical archivist. She is an accomplished cook, gardener, traveler, cancer survivor, mother and grandmother. Her passion for over half a century has been to preserve cultural, historical and traditional recipes.

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UFF DA!

Summer Solstice at Midnight Sun

KAREN

G

ANGER

UFF DA! Summer Solstice at Midnight Sun

Copyright © 2020 by Karen Ganger. All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law.

The opinions expressed by the author are not necessarily those of URLink Print and Media.

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Published in the United States of America

ISBN 978-1-64753-419-6 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64753-420-2 (Digital)

24.06.20

Also by the Author

The Prickleberry Pie Contest

The Gingerbread Jamboree

Uff da! What’s Happening in Midnight Sun?

Fryin’ Pan Serenade

Contents

Preface 

Chapter 1 

Chapter 2 

Chapter 3 

Chapter 4 

Chapter 5 

Chapter 6 

Chapter 7 

Chapter 8 

Chapter 9 

Chapter 10 

Chapter 11 

Chapter 12 

Chapter 13 

Chapter 14 

Chapter 15 

Chapter 16 

Chapter 17 

Chapter 18 

Chapter 19 

Chapter 20 

Chapter 21 

Chapter 22 

Chapter 23 

Chapter 24 

Chapter 25 

Chapter 26

 

Recipe Index

Preface

The term uff da is a common colloquialism used in American Scandinavian communities. Its’ origin is from the Norwegian language. Although it is attributed to the United States’ Upper Midwest area, it is spoken primarily where the population is largely concentrated having Scandinavian ethnicity. Much as the Hawaiian word aloha has several meanings, so does uff da. It is used in everyday speech as an exclamation for something good, something bad or shocking, something fun or unexpected, something horrible. It can be used to express surprise, heavy exertion, exhaustion, relief, dismay, astonishment, pain, bafflement, confusion, or pretty much any life situation where a spontaneous comment is spoken.

1

Ever since that porky little Lindahl kid ran out into the street causing old Fritz Zuehlke to ram the city snow plow into Tollefson’s Midnight Sun Hardware Store the day before Thanksgiving, the City of Midnight Sun has been undergoing a major transformation. It has been nothing short of a miracle. To take a tragedy and turn it into something wonderful, gives credence to the old addage about lemons and lemonade. It’s also fed an amazing array of urban legends, some hard to quash.

The true fact about Heidi Lindahl was that she had just purchased a strawberry ice cream cone from Swenson’s Arctic Fire and was hurrying back to her family’s diner. The girl knew, deep down, she was in trouble for taking so long but she had such a desire to quench her cravings with that frozen delight she didn’t care. Plus, she told the police, later on, that people were making fun of her in the bakery-ice cream shop. She didn’t know why they could be so mean. Her feelings were hurt and she wanted to cry. She hadn’t paid any attention to the traffic on Oslo Boulevard or Copenhagen Drive, for that matter. So when she tripped off the curb, she landed in a spread-eagle position and her ice cream cone fell, splatting in front of her.

Some stories said she bounced three times, in front of the oncoming snow plow, then rolled right into the Swedish Platter, where she could eat some more. Some versions said, she took longer than necessary to get up because she stayed to lick up the melting ice cream scoop from the street, then picked up the crunchy sugar cone and shoved it in her mouth. Once the story got out, students at her school began to call her Fatty Patty or Fatty Platty, a play on the name of her family’s business. They said she went for a pink bacon ice cream or a pink porcine sundae. Kids could be cruel. After much unhappiness, her parents, Hannah and Eivin Lindahl, sent her to see a therapist. She was put on a strict diet, a regulated regimen of chores, banned from Swenson’s Arctic Fire, and she remained supervised at all times. She had no free time to herself anymore. Heidi was now the butt of jokes and it was hard to ignore them even seven months after the incident.

City employee, Fritz Zuehlke, was still employed. Everyone in Midnight Sun thought he would be pushed into retirement after that fiasco, but Fritz had good luck on his side. Gott im Himmel! He thought to himself and prayed. The afternoon of the accident, Mayor Thorvald instructed the Street Maintenance Department to plow the roads in town. During the day, the weather had run the gamut of sunshine, rain, snow, ice, and various combinations of them all. He wanted to make sure all the roads were passable and safe for the residents and guests traveling through. After all, this was the beginning of a four day weekend.

Fritz had been assigned to snow plow #4 which recently had been undergoing a number of fixes. He reported to his superior that the hydraulics were still ‘messed up’. Being the oldest employee on the crew, he was also assigned to their oldest piece of equipment. Who would know better than the guy that has been operating it for nearly fifty years? Rather than appreciating his years of experience and expertise on that machine, the boss only felt that Fritz was trying to get out of work. Didn’t every employee want to go home early to start a holiday weekend? The old trooper filled out the appropriate forms and turned them in, only to be rejected and forced onto the streets with an unreliable machine. He’d been reading the unspoken signs for quite a while now and realized he had to cover his own backside, so he photocopied the garage forms, keeping a copy for himself. He felt his days were numbered.

Fritz fired up old #4 and headed onto his route, clearing the residual storm remnants as he went. The snow plow seemed to be hesitant on a number of functions but he powered through them as best he could. When he turned onto Copenhagen Drive and drove down the slight hill, he looked up, far ahead, spying Lake Midnight Sun when suddenly the cloud layer rose just above the horizon and blinded his eyes with sunlight. The blinding brightness caused him to drive sightless and the momentum of going down a gradient in that beast of a machine forced him to continue as he approached the Oslo Boulevard intersection. It was then when Heidi Lindahl ran off the curb and directly into the path of the snow plow. Eye witnesses said the plow bounced and pounced down Copenhagen like a runaway truck trying to avoid her. Finally the plow popped the curb, ran slightly on the sidewalk and rammed into Tollefson’s Midnight Sun Hardware with a mighty crunch.

Afterwards, when the matter was being investigated, Fritz never told anyone that he had been blinded by the sun. He maintained mechanical and hydraulic problems had caused the mishap. Somehow, during the internal investigation, Fritz’s paperwork had disappeared as he tried to justify the cause. The boss was on the verge of firing him. As it turned out, the tables had turned on the boss. After Fritz talked to Mayor Thorvald and the Human Resources Manager in private as he provided them with the copies he had made, a separate investigation began and they eventually let the boss go.

Everybody knew that Fritz was getting too old to operate all the city machinery, but he did have knowledge and experience about everything in the department. Positions were re-vamped and to Fritz’s surprise, he became the lead. At a time where, age-wise, he should have been retired, he now sat at his desk running that unit with military precision and efficiency. They were operating as never before. Fritz had re-organized every little aspect of their department and was saving the city huge amounts of money. One factor that no one had seen coming was that morale was high and his co-workers were providing the utmost respect to Fritz. A little guy had finally won the battle. It was like David and Goliath in modern terms. He’d taken all his frustrations and know-how turning it into the biggest coup a man could want. All those years where his opinions were quashed and didn’t matter to the higher-ups were now showing them he really was a force to be reckoned with. Talking about Goliath, Fritz was given a huge task. It would either make or break him. If he could pull this project off, Fritz would be a hero, but more on that later.

Fritz’s wife, Olga, was still the talk of the town, and considered a hero too, of sorts. Though misguided, by her love and concern for Fritz, she protected him as he sat unconscious in the snow plow wedged into the hardware store. When she heard Fritz had been in an accident, she had run the four blocks down to the scene in nothing more than her cotton house dress, homemade apron and her wooden spoon. Huffing and puffing all the way down, her face was beet red and she perspired from all the exertion. She was a heavy woman, rounded about the middle, and her mousy brown hair, two-toned with gray, had probably not been cut or styled in fifty years. It was braided and spiraled around the crown of her head, pinned down, as large as a platter. Sometimes it looked like a giant cinnamon bun plunked on top of her head. You could see that once, in her youth, she had been a pretty girl. Now aged, she looked more like a Eastern European peasant from a National Geographic photograph taken during the cold war.

Her fame spread, not only locally, but farther out into Minnesota, especially in Minneapolis-Saint Paul, where the media had run stories about her. As she protected her husband, she swung her wooden spoon around, windmilling and round-housing, hitting every rescuer that tried to remove her from the snow plow. At last count, twenty-four first responders had been injured, not including her brother, Johann.

And no one had complained about receiving a goose egg, a broken nose, a gash on the forehead, broken fingers, and unlimited wounds she had inflicted on them. In fact, for all the victims, they felt it had become a badge of honor. The most amazing thing about getting bonked by Olga Zuehlke was that everyone that took a hit received some fortuitous stroke of good luck. They had received a gift from above. It was hard to explain it all away. The victims felt they were in a special club and all because of Olga. People wished they had received a hit from her magic wand, they wanted their secret wishes to come true.

The urban legend spread to say that her wooden spoon was chiseled from iron wood, it was that hard and still looked brand new. Some legends say that it was a powerful relic handed down from the Vikings. Unfortunately, Olga was not a descendant of those Nordic warriors, however, the fact that she wielded that wooden spoon with such strength gave her the reputation with mythic qualities. One of these days, after Olga leaves the land of the living, her wooden spoon will be installed and exhibited in the Midnight Sun Museum to show her heroism with a common wooden stick. Needless to say, the entire city claimed that she was their secret weapon. Heaven forbid that a war would break out, but, if it did, Olga could slew the enemy and leave not one standing. She was the stuff of ancient sagas. Olga Zuehlke was a hero and an inspiration.

There was only one exception to that opinion, and that was from Olga’s brother, Johann. He had been standing on Copenhagen Drive having a quick chat with a friend, Lars Eriksson, when they both saw the accident enfold. Johann remained at the sideline, being a spectator, when he finally was goaded by the rescuers to help get his sister off the snow plow. Moments later, as he tried pulling her off, she slipped and fell, taking him with her. He fell onto the wooden plank floor and she slammed into him. Everyone said she landed on him like a couple sacks of potatoes. He denies it. In his thick German accent, he described it this way; "Oof! Not sacks of potatoes, nein! She dropped on me. Ja! Big as a milch cow. His arms spread wide to show the girth of a dairy bovine. Like dis’. Vell, I tell yoo, it vass not too gute."

If he said a ‘milk cow’, he knew. Being a farmer, Johann had plenty of experience knowing how much a good Minnesotan cow could weigh. She had broken four of his ribs, punctured a lung, bruised a kidney, and cracked his noggin pretty good. A wooden plank under them had actually split from the sheer force of impact. A plank that had been hewn over a hundred years ago, carried heavy daily wear and was still in prime condition. No one could argue the ferocity of that heavy hit.

Unlike his sister, Johann was a 6’2" string bean. Lean and mean with sinewy muscles, maybe 140 pounds dripping wet. He had been a strong man in his younger years. He could wrestle cattle and other livestock, run farm machinery as the day is long, repair a chicken house, and dig trenches by hand but to come up against his sister all in an afternoon was something else entirely. He looked beefier than he actually was since he always wore bib overalls. They hung on him with plenty of airspace. His leathery brown face, now a multi-creased road map, gave way to a life living outside running a farm. He had the same colored hair as his sister but his hairline was receding badly. The center of his head looked more like a peninsula bordered by two bays. He always combed it back but the center was long and often fell across one of the bays covering the empty space.

He still loved his sister and never complained about what happened. Never put blame to the cause of the situation. In his mind, it was just life. Just accept what befalls you and move on.

The folks in Midnight Sun really truly believed that during the night of the incident, the Tollefsons had found a treasure hidden in their hardware store. It was the only explanation for the month vacation to Scandinavia while their hardware store was being renovated and the cost of the renovation over and beyond the insurance coverage was staggering. They had never been known to be an extravagant lot. After being inspired by a building in Stockholm, old man Tollefson demanded changes. They expanded the hardware store and moved Lindahl’s Swedish Platter farther down the block. Since they had owned the entire block, which had included some empty space, they had plenty of real estate to create a real show-stopper. The final outcome was nothing more than exquisite.

The locals thought Heidi Lindahl had caused the accident, the Tollefsons felt that they needed to show there were no hard feelings to the Lindahls. In fact, the Lindahls had been great tenants. They had rented the diner space and kept it clean and operational to the Tollefson standard. Now it was time to prove that they appreciated them. Without telling the Lindahls initially, the new diner was moved farther down the block, installed with all brand new state of the art kitchen equipment, tripled the floor space, and the interior was designed by a decorator. The result was better than Hannah and Eivin Lindahl could have dreamed of. The front of the diner was all part of the new facade. The building was impressive and captured more than the old world charm and architecture. It brought oohs and aahs out when it was finally exposed at the grand opening.

The cost of the lease would remain the same for a year, then the rent would increase. It didn’t seem to be a problem. Surely, the business would increase as well. At least now, they could accommodate more customers, especially on smorgasbord days. With the Lindahls now occupying the new diner space, the old one was torn out and they could focus on the expansion of the hardware store.

The night after the kitchen equipment was removed from the old diner, old man Emil and his son, Ivar, found a wooden box hidden in the wall. It seems those old pioneer Tollefsons had hidden more money in plain sight. The two men held onto each other and jumped for joy in the dimly lit room. The odds of finding treasure once was unbelievable but to find a second stash was unheard of. It set the two of them thinking. If there were two, could there be more? Maybe Tor Eivin Tollefson, Emil’s great-great grandfather didn’t trust banks. Maybe he kept his wealth close to him. They didn’t want to second guess the reasoning for it but Emil and Ivar scoured every square inch of the old framing, ceiling joists, flooring, anywhere the ancestors could have kept wealth for safekeeping. Emil and Ivar, armed with shovels went down to the basement to look for likely spots in the dirt floor. Theoretically and allegedly scientifically, they hunted for likely locations until the wee hours of the morning. The old man was losing steam so Ivar decided to steer Emil back upstairs and go home. The old man put up a fight although his energy had flagged. That’s when Ivar explained that there would be no construction in the basement. No one would be down here, except us. We can keep this a secret and pursue our search any time.

The old man finally gave in, nodding his head. He slowly made his way back up the stairs. Ivar locked the door behind them securing the basement from intruders. They felt like pirates. Soaring from possessing more booty. They were sure there was more buried in the basement. Ivar had some ideas for finding it but he kept it to himself for the moment. As they drove home, with the new treasure box in the back seat, they made a pact with each other to keep this quiet. Not even his wife, Taffy, would be told, at least for the present time.

One thing niggled in Ivar’s mind. How could a dirt poor peasant eking out a living on the side of a Norwegian mountainside, acquire so much money? It certainly was a puzzle. As for the townsfolk of Midnight Sun, they asked each other too. How did the Tollefsons suddenly have so much money? As in the old days, the size of a building was gauged by the owner’s wealth. That huge new hardware store had become the flagship of all buildings in the city. Uff da!

2

Mayor Thorvald had been inspired by the Tollefson’s vision to the point that he worked day and night on his own plan to improve the city of Midnight Sun. Now, seven months later, his colossal project was coming to fruition. He had fought the city council every step of the way until he could show on paper that city income would drastically be increased, costs reduced, and yet, every citizen in Midnight Sun would benefit from lower property and sales tax. That had been the kicker that sealed the deal.

Based on future city plans for growth, the Mayor took a large swath of land, from the top of the hill at State Route M-52, also known as the Nordic Highway, building a wide scenic parkway two miles north to the current developed city. The north and south pathways, as he called them, were wide to promote the parklike setting. Between the roadways, a wide green median ran from the Nordic Highway all the way down to a Y where the roadway split to a new commercial development. He was calling it Gladstad and it would span four blocks east and west and four streets north to south. On the southern end, an expanse of park graced with a huge fountain, complete with benches, picnic tables and other amenities would be installed.

The Mayor had planned the huge median to become a parklike setting. Every half mile there would be a large pull out and parking area with a walking span over the roadway so that travelers could stop and enjoy the surroundings. He had already commissioned several sculptures in bronze and stone to be placed there, all to respect Scandinavian heritage. At the top of the parkway, the first sculpture seen would be a full length, bigger than life, statue of King Harald Bluetooth, in his eyes, one of the greatest Viking kings who ever lived. The permanent art exhibit plan included an entire herd of bronze reindeer, a Viking ship so big it would take your breath away, a statue of Edvard Grieg, a famous Norwegian composer and pianist, Arctic explorer Roald Amundsen with a sled and pairs of huskies, explorer Fridtjof Nansen complete with skis and a pair of ice skates. Nansen would be portrayed also with his Nobel Peace Prize around his neck. He wanted every detail included. Not only would this parkway be aesthetically pleasing, it would be educational as well. His plan included at least a dozen more which would be spaced and installed about a tenth of mile apart. A couple of city councilmen joked that one of the exhibits would be a bronzed kitchen table holding a humongous platter of gold plated Swedish meatballs. It was fitting, they said. Or how about a bronzed Audi or Saab too? A Swedish manufactured automobile should be shown, that’s our culture too, it was argued. And who wouldn’t want to see a giant tomte? Why, they don’t get to be over three feet tall, someone said, but to have the world’s largest here? Now, that would be awesome! Mayor Thorvald smiled. He just didn’t see the irony.

The culmination of the King Harald Bluetooth Parkway at the Y would showcase the largest living Norwegian Blue Spruce tree anyone had ever seen. In his minds’ eye, he could picture it at Christmastime fully decorated with a million lights. It would be the most glorious sight and provide holiday ambience to his fair city. Visitors would come from all over just to see the tree and shop in the wonderful new stores of Gladstad. He could hear the ka-ching of revenue already.

Gladstad would showcase that storybook architecture everyone would recognize as being Scandinavian. He didn’t want the new modern look, that would be for the commercial district downtown. What he was striving for was the historical, comforting, and joyful design of the buildings where shoppers and strollers could immerse themselves into the culture. He wanted people to feel as if they really were in Scandinavia. He saw old timbers and carvings on the fronts of the buildings. Loads of colorful flowers in windowsills, pots and hanging baskets in the fair and warm weather. It was going to be like a dream…his dream.

To make things fair, the city opened bids for the contractors. They needed to submit designs and plans. In the end, four contractors were awarded, one for each street of Gladstad. This kept it simple for the developers, but especially for the city planners and inspectors. It also built up the competition between them for the best