The Core Dump

Midsummer’s Eve is arguably the biggest holiday in Sweden, and definitely my favorite—there’s no flag waving and no gift buying. It’s all about enjoying the longest day of the year, the lushness of Sweden at its finest, and eating good food.

So I was incredibly happy to be able to spend Midsummer in Sweden and partake along with my daughter.

The holiday requires nubbe—chilled akvavit—so there was quite a line at the state-controlled liquor store the day before.

Inside Systembolaget (the Swedish state-controlled liquor store). Click for larger version.

A large part of the tradition is the raising of and dancing around the midsummer pole. As you can see, the phallic nature of the pole was disguised by Christian missionaries with the addition of a cross bar which was then subverted with the cunning use of wreaths. You can use your own dirty mind to figure out what the wreaths resemble. Clever of the heathens, I say.

Midsummer pole. Click for larger version.

After the pole was raised, traditional dancing ensued. Andrea was a bit confused but happy.

Traditional dancing. Click for larger version.

Another important tradition is to eat outside. Dagnabbit, it’s the middle of summer, so Food Shall be Consumed Out of Doors. As is also customary, rain was threatening, so it was a bit touch and go on that part.

Eat outside you want, eh? Click for larger version.

But never say die, so we set the table on the patio.

The table getting set up. Click for larger version.

The most important items are already on the table: the herring and the nubbe. Everything else is gravy.

Fortunately, the weather gods relented, and we were able to dine al fresco.

All in all, an excellent Midsummer’s Eve.

Once again, it’s the time of year when we make sacrifice to ensure the return of the sun, to genuflect to the powers in which we believe, and pray for the release of the sun from her prison of darkness.

Ah, it’s hard to get really Viking in the Valley of the Sun. Not for us Valley dwellers the long dark nights, the freezing cold, and the washed-out grayness which is all that remains of daylight.

And yet, here we are at the solstice, decorating our dwellings with lights–little sisters of the sun, to help her find her way back–and looking inward to make peace with another year come and gone, to hope for the return of the light to bring with it the fertility and prosperity which is its bounty.

No matter how much time we spend staring at the flickering of TV sets and monitors, how far we physically remove ourselves from the ardors of the fields and plains, how much we surround ourselves with electric light, the collective unconscious in the back of our heads will always look at the fading of the light and the barrenness of the fields and wonder if the bright warmth of the sun will return. And fear that it will not.

Happy Solstice, my friend.