The ‘Christmas Pickle’ tradition and origin, explained

Consider the Christmas Pickle: 

A small, glass simulacrum of a vinegar-soaked cucumber is hung from a hook or a ribbon. Camouflaged expertly amidst the branches of a dying fir tree, it waits on Christmas morning for some eagle-eyed champion of Yuletide vigilance to spot it, gleefully exclaiming “Look! A pickle!” What happens next varies from pickle to pickle. Sometimes, being the first to find it will win some lucky duck an extra present from Saint Nicholas himself. Other times, the finder will be the recipient of a year of good luck. Almost every time, they will be asked to keep their voice down, because it’s barely 6 A.M. and Dad hasn’t had coffee yet and calm down, Travis, it’s a pickle.

Like so many traditions, the origins of the Christmas Pickle have been lost to the hungry mists of apocrypha. Folks have called it a German tradition, almost as often as confused German people have called it “no it’s not.”  Are there theories about where it came from? You bet there are. Here are three, ranked from least to most disturbing.

Pickle Origin 1: Occam’s Pickle

In life, the simplest explanation is often the best, and there’s an exceptionally simple explanation for why we have Christmas Pickles: Namely, that somebody who was good at selling stuff had a ton of glass pickles lying around.

In the 1800s, being German meant that you were less closely associated with getting punched by Indiana Jones than you were with zany Christmas traditions like bringing a tree into your living room. That particular quirk became wildly popular following the marriage of Queen Victoria to a German cousin that she liked a lot, Prince Albert, who made his homeland’s Christmas trees a must-have for anyone in Britain trying to be as hip and trendy as the royal couple and their bevy of anemic little World War I starters.

The tradition spread, as did the association between Germany and Christmas. Glass ornaments became the norm, and by the late 19th century, representations of fruits and vegetables were all the rage. It’s not hard to imagine a situation where a creative salesman — the kind who worked at Woolworths, where according to Northern Wilds, European blown glass Christmas decorations experienced an explosion of popularity around this time — came up with a story about the exotic German tradition of hiding a good-luck gherkin on the tree, guaranteeing a bonus present from Santa to whoever found it. They might not have known that Saint Nicolas doesn’t show up on Christmas in the German tradition, instead poking his head in on Saint Nicholas Day, earlier in December. But they did know that there was better money in selling glass pickles than there was in keeping them in storage for another year.

Pickle Origin 2: The Pickles of War

We turn now to legend, and the American Civil War. The story goes that Private John C. Lower, a Union soldier of Bavarian descent, was captured and imprisoned at Fort Sumter. Suffering from severe pickle deficiency, he begged his captors for just one tasty pickle on which to nosh, and lo, in a moment of wartime holiday camaraderie on par with the Christmas Truce of 1914, that pickle was granted. Lower tucked in, consuming the briney treat from stem to seed, and credited it with his recovery in the harsh conditions of the Confederate prison. 

Upon returning home to Pennsylvania after the war, Lower paid homage to his saving pickle, placing a glass facsimile on the Christmas tree every year and promising good luck to whoever found it first. It’s a nice story. Is it true? The Lower family descendants say it is. Historians mostly seem to reply by shrugging and saying “Sure, okay.”

Pickle Origin 3: Pickles in the Time of Briny Child Meat

There remains one more widely-held belief regarding the origin of the Christmas Pickle. Like the high-sodium pickles around which the tale revolves, it is not for the weak of heart.

In medieval times, or Victorian times, or somewhere in between those two — this isn’t going to be the most watertight story — it’s said that a pair of siblings were out for a jaunty constitutional, heading back home from boarding school. Stopping at an inn for the night, they were alarmed to discover that the innkeeper was an cruel and sadistic man. He stuffed the pair into a pickle barrel and closed the lid, soaking them in a tasty brine in order to make them more delicious.

As happens sometimes in folklore and one Narnia book, Santa Claus showed up for no reason. Hearing the boys banging on the lid, he let them out. That’s it. Back in the day, “the kids didn’t get eaten by a pickle man” was as close as you were going to get to a happy ending.

The odds are long and the narrative thruline is tenuous, but the child-pickling innkeeper story is a favorite, especially in Berrien Springs, Michigan – “the Christmas Pickle Capital of the World.” They have a whole annual festival dedicated to the myth, the merriment, and the pickles, crowning one lucky citizen as the pickle-distributing Grand Dillmeister. You’re encouraged to check out the town’s website for yourself, if for no other reason than that I just typed the words “pickle-distributing Grand Dillmeister” and I’d appreciate third-party confirmation that I’m not having a stroke.