The Time Capsule | Roy Marshall
Although the straw Christmas goat is associated with Sweden, the first one I saw was in Bergen, Norway. Perhaps 10 feet tall, the mischievous-looking critter had a flaxen beard and straw woven into long, curved horns. I was admiring it when a police officer, probably because I was wearing a U.S. military uniform, paused to explain. “Yul geit,” he said, pointing to the thing, “Yul geit.” The experience left an impression.
Years later, I was given a position on the advisory committee of the Stanton Swedish Heritage & History Center. An early contribution was suggesting a straw goat, noting that one would be traditional yet unusual. Reindeer are everywhere, but who has a goat? I was sure local folk artists could be enlisted to help and a big one—wearing folk-dancing attire on Midsummer’s Day, a mask at Halloween, Pilgrim’s hat for Thanksgiving and outlined by blinking lights at Christmas—would be an attraction. The idea went over like a belly dancer at the lutefisk supper, and I said no more.
The image of a “yul geit,” though, stays with a person. At Sunday dinner a couple of weeks ago, I told our son that if I had the straw I’d make one. Before the day was over , seven bales were stacked in the drive. Using 2x4s and wire for the frame, I went to work.
My wife was not supportive, but other than mention the mess in the garage she didn’t say much. Then she went online herself and found some things about the goat that gave her concern.
The city of Gavle, Sweden, builds an enormous one each year. The “Gavle Goat” is an attraction that brings thousands of viewers. Unfortunately, a few of them are arsonists. The goat, a massive 43 feet tall, is traditionally put on display in late November, then burned on New Year’s Eve. This is intentional, a symbolic conclusion of the old year and welcoming of the new. The goat, however, rarely lasts that long. In 33 of the last 49 years vandals have slipped by or bribed guards and done in the “yul geit.” The flammable caprine has become such a target that British bookmakers offer odds on its survival.
Usually the culprit escapes, but in 2001, police caught a 51-year-old American tourist, lighter in hand, enjoying the blaze. He hadn’t fled the scene because Swedish friends, after a few rounds of glogg, encouraged him to do the deed, saying the act was legal, great fun, and would be well-received. He spent 18 days in jail and was assessed a fine of 100,000 kronor, which he left the country without paying.
For a few hours in 1998, the guard couldn’t see 10 feet because of a major blizzard. Authorities still wonder how someone managed to start a fire in those conditions.
The goat was burned six hours after being completed in 1971, which was better than the year it lasted only two hours.
In 2005, the goat went down on Dec. 3, victimized by archers. One was said to be disguised as a gingerbread man, another as Santa Claus. Gingerbread drew his bow and torched the billy with a flaming arrow.
In 2010 two men with a helicopter attempted kidnapping. The guard claims he was offered the equivalent of $7,300 to let them carry out the heist. He was an honorable man, and that year the goat survived.
While fire is the favored method of getting Gavle’s goat, in 1976 a student roared across the city square in a beefed-up Volvo. He sheared off the rear legs and the goat came down.
The web sites go on and on, and my wife believes them.
She says we don’t need a three-alarm fire in the front lawn. I tell her it’d be far enough from the house not to be a problem — and if it went at night would be quite a sight — but she can be pretty firm. I’ll probably use the pile of straw to make a duck blind, maybe one that looks like a goat. I still like the idea.
Roy Marshall is a local historian and columnist for the Red Oak Express. He can be contacted at news@redoakexpress.com.