The brightest, most memorable Christmas holidays for me took place in the early 1990’s while we were stationed in Germany with the US Army. Siegelbach, our destination village, is situated some 90 miles southwest of Frankfurt and within a brief thirty-minute drive down the Autobahn into Luxembourg and France. 

Upon our arrival following ten hours of travel, lugging 18 bags and 3 small children in tow, my initial overwhelming impression was that of great despair. As apathetic and shortsighted as this reaction was, little did I know that our lives were about to be vastly enriched experiencing life in a foreign country, and would later meld into a growing, delightful passion for quaint rural villages in Europe. My enthusiasm for traveling grew exponentially as each day unfolded fresh insight, curiosity, and fascination for the land, its people, and their customs.

I remember that very day as if it were yesterday. I felt as though I may as well be moving to the moon--to a strange place so far away from home, across a vast ocean to reside in a multi-foreign-speaking continent. After months of preparation and anticipation, this bit of exhausting travel finally brought our family to the village we would soon call home. Here stood our three-dimensional upcoming “chapter in life,” a 300-plus-year-old “renovated” swine farmhouse.  Unfortunately, first impressions can be powerfully devastating and deceptive.

My husband, full of pep and  vigor over this “find” in such an “ideal” location, was hard hit when I crossed over the threshold of our new “home." The dwelling’s dense, saturated air met us head on, and was absolutely assaulting, reeking of its centuries-old damp cellar. Disappointment escalated as we ascended, heads up and tilted back, climbing the steep narrow European stairway to the main floor and into the kitchen. Oh, the feeling of dismay for this kitchen! Me, the dietitian, projecting meal preparation in this minute, seemingly toy-house-sized space that led into several pint-sized rooms with walls so out of alignment, collided with and crushed my idealized American, egocentric standards. Where was the beauty in these crooked old walls? Was there even one plumbed, square entry or wall?  Observing past the vertical architecture, the internal ambiance was additionally betrayed by antiquated wall paper from the early 1960s; a drab, olive-green color plummeting any human spirit. How was I to adjust to my predicament of the seemingly unlovely, and then go on to embrace this small space?

There is something about the sun rising each day on its canvassed horizon, ever faithful, commencing the presence of morning. The scattering of warm, filament rays helps to expose and shine new thoughts of perspective. Former feelings of “stuck” can become the unstuck, so that in a matter of time my outlook was slowly changing through observation of subtle nuances. Each new day of living in Siegelbach brought more and more pleasure. Living in this “imperfect” home and becoming acquainted with our next-door landlords, Etta and Friedel, was softening the initial shock. Our budding friendship, progressing through both broken English and German, was the foundation for a wonderful friendship. Conversing and sharing with one another on their front veranda, enjoying Friedel’s mid-afternoon accordion music and Etta’s stout coffee and freshly baked kuchens, we intently focused on one another, laughing over mis-pronunciation and choice of words  through simple conversations over recipes, local customs, beers, festivals and nearby volksmarches.

European antiquity expressed through village structures such as churches, statues, monuments, archways, painted cathedral ceilings, millennial-aged sagging rooftops, gardens, and local mountaintop castles was powerfully alluring. Masterpieces such as Michelangelo’s Creation, the Louvre Museum Galleries, and places such as Monet’s small Giverny began to whisper and impart revelations of bygone centuries, enchanting beyond any dream. I found myself developing such an appreciation for walls of stone and mortar across Europe. Nothing in my North American heritage could match this enrichment -- the feel of a long-ago time captured and preserved through the many hands of mankind.

Over these few short years I would travel to many countries observing such diverse lifestyles, food and culture that were as instantaneous as by merely crossing from one country’s border right over into the next country! Life and cultural differences were that remarkable even though we had only traveled maybe 50 feet across two countries’ shared border.

Then came the Christmas season....what was it about German, Swiss and French villages that sparkled such an old world simplicity into Christmas? I think it was my first sight of soft, subtle snowflakes on a moonlit evening, delicately following their course down to the old brick street. Here, in the quiet of a late evening, was a small group of local townsmen playing their stringed instruments, huddled in the quiet, snowflakes settling, all the while their beautiful music resonated through this setting of the quaint and old, blessing their neighbors!  Yes, this was enchanting Germany.

All of Germany had outdoor Christmas markets selling handcrafted wares, Christmas grogs and edibles. It was a great experience to walk through many small Christmas markets that sat in such ambiance, a dreamy quality of fog, rain, and snowflakes settling around such romantic landscapes. Bundled up and warm, I would walk the short aisles and take in all the sights.

The best shopping, short of visiting every vendor’s hometown, took place at the Ramstein Air Base hangars, cleared of aircraft to bring in the shopping experience of a lifetime! So eagerly awaited by every military wife and family, the three-day extravaganza drew in vendors and their wares from all over Europe, England, Scotland, and parts of the Mideast. The array and the origin of dealers were astoundingly endless. A shopper could find furniture in the form of old shrunks, side tables, authentic Welsh buffets and farm tables. There were so many treasures to choose from--hand knit sweaters, linens, Polish pottery, Irish wool sweaters, Italian dishware, English Teas, biscuits and teapots, hand-knotted Turkish rugs, and pewter goblets. Holiday carousels, so fascinating for small children and adults alike, came in such variety and design, reminiscent of the more simple hand carved old-fashioned toys from ages past.

It was here that I stumbled upon the specialty cookie moulds for making Springerle, a hard anise-flavored cookie that is left to cure for several weeks preceding Christmas. Some of these moulds are exquisitely old, hand carved by German handicraftsmen. The moulds are so beautiful that you can hang them on your wall throughout the year, bringing them down for seasonal baking. I found them so interesting--rolling pins and individual moulds that have been carved over the past 500 years, since the fifteenth century when they were first designed. Captivated, I bought several, and began my hobby of using these presses to learn the  process of making these creative, traditional German cookies. The method and steps for these cookies turned out to be quite different from any Christmas cookie I had tried before.

The Springerle are first rolled out and pressed into moulds, then tapped out by banging the mould board on a hard surface, leaving them to “cure,” meaning leaving them left exposed to open air for 24-48 hours before baking. The air cure allows a crust to form that preserves the imprint of the mould. Why the name “Springerle?” As they begin to bake, the cookies “spring up” during baking, through the base, and thereby develop a “foot” that has been pressed in anise seeds. Although they may be eaten immediately, traditionally they are put in tins and allowed to “age” for several weeks, developing their unique texture and taste.  Springerle are hard cookies, and as such they are are meant to be used as a dunking cookie into hot tea or coffee, although the centers may have a soft, chewy texture.

How did three years go by so quickly? I went from a kicking-and-screaming beginning to a longing-to-never-leave ending. The lessons we learned and the journeys we experienced while living in Germany changed and enriched my life and shaped the person I am today.