From the Editor: Oregon’s Nordic Roots

In 1875, Nils Fredrik Palmquist, a Swede previously living in Kansas, moved to Oregon and settled on a farm near present-day Gresham. His brother soon followed, and eventually, a growing population of Swedes grew the farm into Powell Valley, the state’s first Swedish settlement. In the early twentieth century, Astoria, Oregon, was home to the largest settlement of Finns west of the Mississippi; by 1905, 18 percent of Astoria’s total population was Finnish. 

Nordic culture has long been a part of the state’s identity. In 1927, a group of Scandinavian lumber workers established Skyliners ski club in Central Oregon, one of the state’s first such groups; it was soon followed by Mount Hood’s Cascade Ski Club, founded by Norwegian ski jumpers in 1928. That same year, Finnish Olympic wrestler Kaarlo Koskelo opened the Uniontown Steam Baths in Astoria. He would run a few saunas in Astoria over the course of his life. 

While Oregon is home to fewer Scandinavian immigrants and descendants today, Nordic traditions and imports linger. Locals still strap on cross-country
skis as soon as snowpack returns to Teacup Lake. Amid the growing interest in contrast therapy, the state’s sauna and cold-plunge scene has blossomed. Portlanders seek out morning æbleskivers at Broder, steelhead-stuffed lefse at Viking Soul Food, tables full of fika at Måurice. Many Portlandia-coded clichés have Nordic roots, from lightly roasted specialty coffee served in airy, minimalist cafés to bookish, fireplace-warmed log cabins evoking serious hygge (yes, Finnish and Swedish immigrants brought log cabins to the United States in the seventeenth century). Spirit aficionados even trace the current American aquavit boom back to Oregon distillers, who began distributing domestically made, caraway-scented liquor in 2007.

While Nordic countries are considerably chillier than our relatively temperate state, perhaps both communities have a shared reverence for a forest thick with conifers, breathtakingly cold swimming holes, and a warm alcove away from the dreary weather. While I was working on our sauna feature, Scandinavian studies professor Andrew Nestingen told me about the social significance of the Finnish sauna, where people hold business meetings, meet friends, and feel connected to their community. “The sauna is a place where people gather,” he says. “It’s strange in a certain way: You sit in this steam room naked, but there’s this neat familiarity. You start talking.” He reminded me of so many afternoons at Everett House, summer days at Collins Beach, the summer nights on the Naked Bike Ride. Maybe that conviviality has a place in our heritage, too—naked or otherwise.

Brooke Jackson-Glidden
Editor in chief