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In search of the elusive lefse stick

 

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It began with an invitation. Katie said, "Come on out Saturday afternoon and help us make lefse." "Wonderful," I answered. "I've only done it once before. Years ago, when I was a young woman, my friend Mary took me with her to visit her motherin- law, and we made lefse." For a moment I was lost in memory. It was a crisp autumn day in Lambert, a few miles due west of Sidney. Mrs. Lake held court over her immense country kitchen, orchestrating a Scandinavian feast. Mary and I were in the center of the fray. Hordes of children and other family members, all of distinctive Viking ancestry, strea...



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