The Tomte’s Christmas Gift
Long ago, on a small farm in Sweden, nestled among snow-covered forests, there lived a Tomte. He was a tiny, ancient being with a long white beard and a red cap that barely reached above the snowdrifts. The Tomte had watched over the farm for generations, ensuring the animals were safe, the crops grew strong, and the family inside the cozy farmhouse prospered.
The family, like all good farmfolk, respected the Tomte and never forgot to leave a bowl of porridge with a generous pat of butter for him on Christmas Eve. The Tomte cherished this simple offering; it showed the family’s gratitude for his unseen work.
But one cold December, the family faced hardship. A terrible storm had damaged their barn, and the harvest had been poor. There was barely enough food to feed the family, let alone leave anything for the Tomte. The children worried. “What if the Tomte gets angry and leaves?” whispered little Elin to her brother, Erik.
On Christmas Eve, the family sat down to their meager meal of bread and a bit of cheese. The mother sighed as she glanced at the empty cupboard. “We’ll have to hope the Tomte understands,” she said softly. But in their hearts, they feared his wrath, for stories told of Tomtes punishing those who forgot their Christmas offering.
As the family slept that night, the Tomte emerged from his hidden nook in the barn. He visited the animals, whispering to the cows and sheep, calming them with his presence. Then he crept to the farmhouse, his small feet crunching in the snow.
Peering through the frosted window, he saw the empty porridge bowl on the table. The butter dish was scraped clean. But instead of anger, the Tomte felt pity. He had watched the family’s struggles and knew they had nothing to give.
Determined to help, the Tomte worked through the night. He repaired the barn roof with twigs and snow, strengthened the fences to keep out wolves, and even sprinkled a bit of magic over the fields to ensure a bountiful harvest in the coming year. Before dawn, he crept back into the barn and curled up in his nest of straw, satisfied.
When the family awoke on Christmas morning, they found the barn repaired, the animals content, and a strange warmth in the air despite the winter chill. Erik ran outside and spotted tiny footprints in the snow leading to the barn.
“It was the Tomte!” he cried. “He’s helped us, even though we had nothing to give.”
The family rejoiced and vowed never to forget the Tomte’s kindness. The following Christmas, their farm flourished, and the porridge bowl was filled to the brim, with the biggest pat of butter they could spare.
And so, the Tomte continued to watch over the little farm, his heart warmed not by the gifts he received, but by the gratitude of the family he protected.
Long ago, on a small farm in Sweden, nestled among snow-covered forests, there lived a Tomte. He was a tiny, ancient being with a long white beard and a red cap that barely reached above the snowdrifts. The Tomte had watched over the farm for generations, ensuring the animals were safe, the crops grew strong, and the family inside the cozy farmhouse prospered.
The family, like all good farmfolk, respected the Tomte and never forgot to leave a bowl of porridge with a generous pat of butter for him on Christmas Eve. The Tomte cherished this simple offering; it showed the family’s gratitude for his unseen work.
But one cold December, the family faced hardship. A terrible storm had damaged their barn, and the harvest had been poor. There was barely enough food to feed the family, let alone leave anything for the Tomte. The children worried. “What if the Tomte gets angry and leaves?” whispered little Elin to her brother, Erik.
On Christmas Eve, the family sat down to their meager meal of bread and a bit of cheese. The mother sighed as she glanced at the empty cupboard. “We’ll have to hope the Tomte understands,” she said softly. But in their hearts, they feared his wrath, for stories told of Tomtes punishing those who forgot their Christmas offering.
As the family slept that night, the Tomte emerged from his hidden nook in the barn. He visited the animals, whispering to the cows and sheep, calming them with his presence. Then he crept to the farmhouse, his small feet crunching in the snow.
Peering through the frosted window, he saw the empty porridge bowl on the table. The butter dish was scraped clean. But instead of anger, the Tomte felt pity. He had watched the family’s struggles and knew they had nothing to give.
Determined to help, the Tomte worked through the night. He repaired the barn roof with twigs and snow, strengthened the fences to keep out wolves, and even sprinkled a bit of magic over the fields to ensure a bountiful harvest in the coming year. Before dawn, he crept back into the barn and curled up in his nest of straw, satisfied.
When the family awoke on Christmas morning, they found the barn repaired, the animals content, and a strange warmth in the air despite the winter chill. Erik ran outside and spotted tiny footprints in the snow leading to the barn.
“It was the Tomte!” he cried. “He’s helped us, even though we had nothing to give.”
The family rejoiced and vowed never to forget the Tomte’s kindness. The following Christmas, their farm flourished, and the porridge bowl was filled to the brim, with the biggest pat of butter they could spare.
And so, the Tomte continued to watch over the little farm, his heart warmed not by the gifts he received, but by the gratitude of the family he protected.
