Jon Tevlin: For Lutheran gang, this lefse and lutefisk meal is golden

The Lutherans drove their Oldsmobiles and Fords through New Richmond and Star Prairie in the hours before dusk, through Wisconsin towns where it is forbidden to correctly spell the name of anything (Kozy Korner), past darkened town halls and empty pumpkin fields.

They bumped up the dirt road to the old Pederson place and parked by the rough-hewn cabin, past the old farmhouse that sits above Swede Lake like it means it. Blond-haired kids with their fists tucked into their sleeves against the chill scampered across the porch.

The Pedersons were there, of course, and the Nelsons. There was at least one Erickson, some Sjobergs, a Heide or two and even a Watnemo. Four or five of them were pastors, or former pastors, and you could tell because everybody was civil and there were no unseemly jokes.

Inside it was toasty from the wood stove and because nearly all of the 67 adults were wearing thick Scandinavian sweaters with so many geometric designs that when people moved around it almost made you dizzy. There was the smell of wood smoke, hot cider, warm lefse and a faint whiff of perfume that reminded you of the 1950s.

The lefse went quickly, but there was plenty of pickled herring. There is always plenty of pickled herring, it seems. A few people sipped Akavit -- not too much now. The snacks would hold them until the real event, the lutefisk and meatball supper at Immanuel Lutheran Church up the road.

It was an iconic Midwestern living postcard that turned 50 years old Saturday, and, suffice it to say, it was quite the deal.

It was five decades ago that Jim and Elaine Pederson and Harlan and Lori Christianson started the annual pilgrimage and the church supper. They have been holding these doings out at their family farm, settled by Jim Pederson's great-grandparents. Classmates from Augsburg College, circa 1950s, started showing up, and the gathering became a way to keep up with old friends, some of whom went into business, education or politics.

Former Rep. Martin Sabo was there, but he's not the only politician who has stopped by. Former Gov. Wendell Anderson is a regular. House speaker and gubernatorial candidate Margaret Anderson Kelliher shows up.

"It started as a gathering of Augsburg friends, but it morphed into much more," said Jim Pederson. In all that time, they got snowed out just once, and an ice storm crimped the lutefisk supper another year. "We've been lucky," he said.

Dwight Pederson, who can remember that as a kid the boys served dinner wearing little aprons with fish on them, is something of a church supper gourmand in a land where church suppers have a season. He had already been to a few lutefisk feeds this year.

"We have a little contest to see who can go to the most," said Herb Nelson. "Last year we went to 13. But we usually go together, so ..."

Denise Sjoberg took a spin in one of the golf carts to explore the 80 acres of rolling hills that make up the farm. Past the sauna house and the chicken coop that has been converted to a "people coop," and a couple of trailer homes where extended members of the Pederson family stay.

Sjoberg laughed. "Yeah, it's our Hyannis Port."

The Norwegian Lutheran Hyannis Port, only on Swede Lake they know you don't start the motorboat before noon on Sundays.

Dwight took a head count and went to buy the tickets. Inside Immanuel Lutheran's new meeting hall, Nelson offered that it didn't smell much like lutefisk, but rather rutabagas. He didn't say whether that was a good or bad thing.

Back at the cabin, Nelson, a newcomer to the event, began to play a Norwegian instrument we will not try to spell here. "Now, this isn't going to sound like a violin," he said, and he wasn't lying.

Everybody sang a Norwegian hymn, their voices low and somber, and then another.

After all, there were meatballs in their future. Slabs of white fish and butter, served under hot lights in the middle of the dark, still Wisconsin countryside.

Elaine Pederson made an announcement, though a good Norwegian Lutheran kid probably already understood what she was going to say, that this memory, this tradition, was theirs to uphold.

"We hope this carries on for another 50 years," said Elaine. "So, you younger generation, we're counting on you."