Kotnúpur - Bjarni
By Bryndís Viglundsdóttir
The Icelandic Writers Group contributes to the bi-weekly Rætur Fréttir/Roots News with stories relating to our current theme of the year. For 2026, we are profiling our Icelandic ancestors settling in North America. Bryndís brings us a personal story of yearning for that new world that was vicariously fulfilled many years later.
The West Fjords of Iceland are a region of deep fjords, high mountains, and blue skies. The blue skies change quickly and become grey and dark when high winds and hail rage.
During the settlement period, 870-1000, the West Fjords were considered a good region for settlement. The ocean was rich in treasure, fish, whales, seals and birds. There was abundant food for everyone, and isolation, that later became a problem for people, was unknown during the first years of settlement in Iceland. The “highway” connecting the fjords was over the mountains, on the heaths, sailing out the fjord and into the next, or simply riding on your horse or walking. That is what people did and the concept of isolation was not yet in the thinking reserve!
The people from the West Fjords were known for their independence and love of their region where food to sustain them was simply at an arm’s length off the shore of their fjord where their turf house huddled.
We see a pattern in the history of the emigration. One family left for North America; the chain of population in the fjord was broken, and another family followed. Sometimes all the families in the area left. This is the pattern we see quite often in the North-East part of the country.
The people of the West Fjords knew very well of the emigration and there were, of course, those who went.
In the late 19th century and into the 20th century, there was a strong movement in Iceland to build a new and strong Iceland. Youth groups were formed, meetings held, lectures and addresses given; people were encouraged to begin cultivating the barren country, clothing our mother, our country, in the green cloak she once had and told not to touch alcohol. Icelanders should be happy only to drink the clear water gushing down the hills and the whey our good cows provided!
The associations formed were named Ungmennafélög (associations of young people). The young people belonging to these groups were called and thought of as “Vormenn Íslands”, the Icelandic men of the spring. Nature wakes up from the long slumber of winter, the grass and flowers try to grow, and the young people were encouraged in songs and speeches to lend a helping hand, planting trees, clothing our mother in the green cloak she has lost in so very many valleys of Iceland.
On the northern shore of the fjord Dyrafjörður, there stood a farmhouse, so inconspicuous that it looked, in fact, more like a bump in the landscape than a house for humans.
The name of this house was Kotnúpur, not inhabited nowadays. In that house there lived a family of seven persons: the farmer, Ívar Arnfinnur Einarsson (I313311; 1842-1931), his wife Elísabet Bjarnadóttir (I313312 ; 1851-1926), their son Bjarni (1888-1970 ) and three daughters, Jóhanna (1882-1971), Elínborg Halldóra (1889-1911) and Guðný Ágústa (1890-1928).
Ívar Bjarnason ljómi (the shining one) was so called because people thought he was mighty handsome.
Bjarni, his son, who was an avid Vormaður, longed to contribute to the rebirth of Iceland and its children. During this period, schools were built in many communities of Iceland. A school was built and soon filled with young people at Núpur in Dýrfjörður, close to Kotnúpur. Bjarni attended the school and was burning with desire to get more education and knowledge that he might use to help build the new Iceland. There were agents hired by the Canadian government, operating in Iceland, telling people of the wonders of North America.
Paradise
Bjarni listened and decided he would go to America, learn there how best to serve his country and countrymen, clothe the barren sands and heaths with the green color they once had by planting trees that could survive the seasons of Iceland. He would bring home such knowledge as he could find and absorb in America and share with his people. He would secure passage from a boat next summer, leaving from Borðeyri in Hrútafjörður.
Bjarni knew of a cousin in America that he may have contacted. Ívar had a son, Jón Jóhann, before he was married to Elisabet. Jón also had a son out of wedlock, also named Jón and when he was still a young baby, his mother took him to America, where she married Ólafur Helgi Thorlacius and the boy took his name. His many descendants all bear the Thorlacius name.
Paradise lost
Winter came, as usual, with snowstorms and high winds. Bjarni had helped his father as in previous years to secure the roof of the turf house. They had a special cable, very long, braided from the strong fibers of the sheep fleece. The cable was thrown over the roof and fastened securely in the ground on each side of the house. Thus, the wind would not tear the roof off the house during the winter storms.
One day, Ívar was in the barn doing his daily chores, getting the hay for the animals. He slipped and fell, breaking his femur. During these days, living in a remote district, there was no medical help to be found. So, Ivar was bedridden for the rest of his days, and Bjarni became the provider of the family.
Paradise regained
Bjarni attended the agricultural college of Hvanneyri for two winters and graduated from there. He was already 30 years old and it was high time to find a wife. He started looking! There was a girl about the same age as Bjarni, by the name Jóna Guðmundsdóttir working at the Núpur school. In due time they were married and managed to find a place to build their home: Álfadalur on Ingjaldssaandur.
Bjarni brought with him to their home in Álfadalur four persons, three needing constant care. Soon the children were five. There was no running water in the farmhouse; the floor of the main room was of dirt for the first years there, and the cooking was all done on an open fire.
Life was difficult to say the least. Jóna and Bjarni managed, however, to build a good house of concrete and there was running water and a stove. What luxury!
Soon Álfadalur became the center of activities in the valley. The school for the children was held there, meetings were held in Álfadalur and the telephone station was there.
For reasons not told here, Jóna and Bjarni decided to move to Reykjavík. That was not an easy decision; life was simply not easy.
The family rented an abandoned farmhouse on the heath east of Reykjavík and made a home there. Soon all the sons of Bjarni and Jóna were working in the forestry, working at planting trees and giving our mother the green cloak she had lost.
One of the sons of Álfadalur was Guðmundur, later my husband. We met when I was working in a youth program teaching teenage girls to plant seedlings in Heiðmörk, a nature reserve close to Reykjavík. I liked working with him and most of all, I liked how he talked to the girls. I decided I would like to know him better. During the summer break, we went to the West Fjords, and he showed me his valley.
I had applied for and got a scholarship to the University of Boston to study Special Education, teaching deaf-blind children. We decided that we would be getting married back home the next spring. When I began my studies in Boston, I soon realized I would need more than one winter to dig into the mystery of what I was trying to understand and hopefully master. The program at Boston University was affiliated with the Perkins School for the Blind in Watertown (a suburb of Boston). In December, the director of the Perkins School offered me a teaching position the following year. I accepted and went home in the spring to be married.
When I asked Guðmundur if he wanted to come with me to America or wait for me another winter in Iceland, he answered: "What you want to do, my dear, I unconditionally also want to do".
We told Guðmundur’s parents that he would be going with me to America. This is when I began to realize that Bjarni, his father, never forgot his wish to go to America. When his son was going, it was in a way a fulfillment of his dreams.
When Guðmundur and I were married, Bjarni wrote a beautiful poem for us. In the poem, he wished us a good journey on the wonderful road of our future profession. We would be learning and gaining knowledge that we would bring home.
“ For Iceland calls to the hands of charity, love and care, the power station that illuminates civilized countries”.
I dare think that my father-in-law felt he had regained Paradise.
References
Vigdís Jónsdóttir, “Bjarni Ívarsson,” April 2026
Guðmundur Bjarnason, personal communication.
