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By Jason Doctor At family reunions and visits with relatives in Watertown, South Dakota, a rich history of Icelanders from the area was hidden in plain sight. Jason recounts the story of Kristín Þorkelsdóttir, a well known writer, and other Watertown ancestors. Recounting this history and their stories is vital to keeping the past alive. Growing up, the family reunions I attended alternated between the Black Hills and Lake Kampeska in Watertown, South Dakota. We would typically get together for two days and have a picnic on Saturday, dinner Saturday night, and a brunch after church on Sunday. We’d then spend a week or so traveling to different towns and visiting with relatives before or after the event. Several of my relatives lived in Watertown, South Dakota. While I knew Watertown was the last stopping place of my emigrating Icelandic ancestors, I had always thought of them as Minneotans who had finally set out to a new state and town to be part of the great Anglo world. As it turns out, this was not the case. There was a small Icelandic community of no more than 100 Icelanders in Watertown, South Dakota.  While most of the settlers had first lived in Minneota or Marshall, some had fled the failed settlement in Nova Scotia and others had moved from different parts of Canada. The most respected and well-known Photo Credit: Find a Grave Icelander in Watertown, South Dakota, was a woman writer, Kristín Þorkelsdóttir (I678661) whose pen name was Kristín í Watertown . I want to tell her story and that of the Watertown Icelanders because it is an important part of our history and heritage that has been almost forgotten. Watertown sits inside the gently rolling hills of northeastern South Dakota. When the French surveyed the land in 1838 they called it Coteau des Prairies or Hills of the Prairies . It is located just 3 miles from Lake Kampeska, an 8.2 square mile lake fed by the Big Sioux River. The lake is a gathering and recreation area for townspeople. Anglers also enjoy the great fishing. These days, Lake Kampeska is managed mostly as a walleye and smallmouth bass fishery but contains most other fish you might find in neighboring lakes, including, of course, the invasive northern pike. In the late 1870s, railroad lines were extended from Minnesota into South Dakota and with this extension came many settlers. This event was called “The Great Dakota Boom”. Watertown was founded in 1879, and it wasn’t long before the first Icelanders arrived. The September 22nd, 1887 edition of Heimskringla  gives the first mention of Watertown in an Icelandic Newspaper: Here in Watertown, there are only four Icelandic householders. Everyone is quite well off; they have their own houses, and a few plots of land on which they stand, and each their own cow, one Icelander has two horses (Guðjón Jónsson).—The number of resident Icelanders in Watertown is 23, of whom 10 are over 15 years of age, while the rest are younger. 1 The earliest settlers were closely related. Guðjón Jónsson (I469803), mentioned above, emigrated from Torfastaðir, Hofssókn, Vopnafjarðarhreppur, N-Múlasýsla in 1875 having first landed in Nova Scotia at Markland. When things fell apart there, most Icelanders scattered to different parts of Canada and the US. Guðjón chose to go to Watertown in 1881. He was one of the earliest and most successful settlers. The woman he would marry, Jakobína Sigfúsdóttir (I37588), emigrated to North America in 1883 from Ormarsstaðir, Ássókn, Fellahreppur, N-Múlasýsla. Their first child was born in Watertown in 1886. They would have a total of three children born in Watertown, South Dakota.  Guðjón’s brother, Stefan Jónsson (I548539), also left Torfastaðir and joined his brother in Watertown. In Iceland, he had married Sigurbjörg Stefánsdóttir (I578109) from Þorvaldsstaðir, Hofssókn, Vopnafjarðarhreppur, N-Múlasýsla. They had eight children, five of whom emigrated to South Dakota with them. The oldest lived out his life in Iceland and two other children, Stefania Guðriður and Ándres, emigrated to North America at a later date. Stefania Guðriður joined the family in Watertown, while Ándres got married and settled in Winnipeg, Manitoba. The sister of Guðjón and Stefan, Solveig Ingibjörg Jónsdóttir (I469829), emigrated from Hróaldsstaðir, Hofssókn, Vopnafjarðarhreppur, N-Múlasýsla, she first moved to an Icelandic community in Minnesota in 1878, but when her husband died in 1882, she and her two sons moved to Watertown, to be with her brothers. There she remarried and started a second family. One of Guðjón's sons, Einar ( I469805 ), born in 1889 in Watertown, achieved a Master's degree from University of Minnesota in chemistry in 1910. He became a successful and highly-respected chemist in the midwest and is known to have advanced methods for measuring the purity of gases. It wasn’t long before others moved to Watertown. The next wave of Icelanders came from Minneota or Marshall, Minnesota. These were the “pioneer children”–pre-teen and teen settlers in Southwest Minnesota who were now all grown up. There was growth in Watertown and these young adults certainly needed jobs. The most notable of these was Kristín í Watertown and her sibling Hallgrimur (I64092). Kristín's other brother was Pétur Adelstein Thorlakson Johnson the famous Congregationalist Minister who settled at Grinnell, Iowa. He had attended Yale Divinity School and had written books on the Congregationalist church, taking on a leadership role, as state superintendent for this denomination. While Pétur emigrated with his parents to the West in 1876, first landing in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Kristin and Hallgrimur stayed in Iceland. Kristín, in fact, did not leave Iceland until the age of 19, in 1880 (some accounts suggest she stayed in Iceland until age 22, leaving in 1883).  As a young woman, she had witnessed the great poverty and struggles of Icelanders under the communal farm system firsthand. This became the basis for some of her best writing. In 1878, the family moved to Minneota, Minnesota. Soon after Kristín had arrived in Minneota, her father died,  and the family moved to Marshall, Minnesota. In a biography 2 about her brother , Kristín describes how the children of the first settlers had to rapidly adapt, being small in number, and in a foreign place. There was no Icelandic church in those earliest days, on most Sundays the children were encouraged to find a church they liked and attend it. This, in fact, led her brother to Congregationalism.  On the habit of the Icelanders of Southwest Minnesota Anglicizing their name, Kristín notes  in an interview with her brother’s biographer: English-speaking people cared very little about the spelling or pronunciation of foreign names; they had them in spades; they often gave foreigners other names, just out of the blue, especially if they were children or teenagers. Many Icelanders changed their names to avoid trouble. They sometimes had two names, one for their own use and the other for the "English". 3 As adults, Hallgrimur became a city manager in Watertown and Kristín a writer. Kristín had moved to Watertown with her husband Sigurður Jósefsson ( I548766) , another Icelander. My first, second, and third Icelandic great-grandmothers and my second great-grandfather would move to Watertown at the turn of the century after 30 years in Minneota, Minnesota, as would several of my great-aunts and uncles. They no longer wanted to farm and decided to open a café. My third great-grandmother was first cousins with Kristín, Hallgrimur, and Pétur. Icelandic cousins stuck together and moved to be together, wherever they may go. Rev. Björn B. Jónsson (I 157569) of Minneota would visit Watertown for baptisms, church service and weddings annually in the late 19th and early 20th century. There are many more Icelanders I have not had the space to mention who lived in Watertown. However, I’d like to turn to Kristin’s writing, which is a treasure. Few appreciate her work today. As Bill Holm might say about the Vesturfarar he knew, she demonstrated from her little outpost in Watertown, that “ a heart could be filled anywhere on earth .” Her writing points out the beauty in people living their values, the importance of having honorable principles, maintaining upright beliefs, and operating under pure intentions when you might be pulled in the wrong direction. For thirty years, she wrote beautiful essays and memoirs for Lögberg . She encouraged people to live better lives, always in an uplifting way. This lasted up until the early 1950s. She often commented on current or historical events, writing fictional short stories about human relationships, or retelling tales of her experiences in Iceland. On living in South Dakota she writes, in 1942, a good travel essay in Lögberg  about the State and notes: There are no big cities here and few millionaires…but it is no loss to the people of South Dakota.  Have you heard the story of the old man and the boy? The boy asks "What is ‘wealth’?" “Yes, my boy, beware of that,” said the old man, “where there is wealth on one side, there is poverty on the other." 4 Her writing, as with this example, is full of wisdom and thoughtful commentary on the human condition.  Möðruvellir Photo Credit: Becky Byerly-Adams Probably Kristín’s greatest work is her recollections of her time at Möðruvellir, the last place she emigrated from in Iceland. Möðruvellir, a little ways west of Akureyri along the ring road, was long ago the manor house of chieftains. After the conversion to Lutheranism, Möðruvellir became a possession of the Danish Crown. Kristín gained attention 5 in Iceland from Dr. Guðmundur Finnbogason ( I43651 ) Iceland's National Librarian and Professor at the University of Iceland, following the publication of her piece “ Memories of Möðruvellir , ” 6 he contacted Lögberg to find out more about the author, since he felt the memoir was of great historical significance. He also conducted a reading of her memoir on Icelandic national radio, Sunday, April 26th, 1942. Her work highlights the values and experiences of the people she encountered during her time there. Each story carries a moral or reveals an important aspect of life, as understood by Kristín. For example, Kristín recounts her interactions with Bjarni Thorarensen (I50370) and his wife Hildur Bogadóttir ( I175446 ). Bjarni was a A drawing by Sölvi Helgason Photo Credit: Landsbóksafn Ísands Háskólabókasafn county official and poet. She describes him as a gentle and gifted man. Hildur was known to be especially kind to the poor. Krístin also tells of Sölvi Helgason (I182348), a young man with artistic talent and considered one of Iceland’s most famous vagabonds, who Bjarni tried to help. Sölvi had a habit of disappearing for days at a time, just wandering off into the heath, and returning with beautiful drawings and sketches. A shepherd who saw one of Sölvi's drawings noted that he would never see anything more beautiful. When asked where he got his colored pastels, Sölvi said that he "stole them from the girls, when they were coloring". It was a moving and also humorous recollection. Bjarni saw himself as responsible for Sölvi, his genuine concern and kindness toward Sölvi’s unique artistic approach to life are resonant, but Sölvi always came back with some beautiful creation after just wandering off and worrying Bjarni and others. Sölvi was   different and challenging, but Bjarni took care to support his creativity as best he could. Bjarni’s generosity and kindness toward Sölvi is touching, especially given the pressure to work to survive everyone faced in those days. Kristín also tells the story of the district magistrate's residence burning down one night in the winter of 1874, but everyone survived. She notes that it was "God's mercy" that the fire did not spread to the nearby farm. “The wind came from the North and the flame fell to the South”, she writes. Her writing underscores the fragility of life and the role of divine intervention in human affairs. Even in moments of devastation, there are moments of grace in her recollection. In the end, Kristín notes the progress the country made after the fire. A grammar school was built on that site, a significant step forward for Iceland. There is also an engaging story, hundreds of years old, of the Monk and Nun of Möðruvellir, a story that might otherwise be lost were Kristín not to tell it. Kristín recounts an oral story about these two consecrated souls who loved each other. They would meet by a small stream in the evenings to talk. One evening, the monk suggested that they "drink from the fountain of kisses as one drinks the clear water from a stream," to which the nun replied, "We have holy kisses in our spirit, which last forever". The tension between earthly desires and spiritual devotion ends comedically with the head of the monastery placing a guard at the river. However, Kristín is sincere in her belief the place was forever blessed by this exchange where holy kisses and a profound and enduring love of humanity prevailed. One of the more inspiring figures at Möðruvellir was Þorsteinn Daníelsson (I147082) of Lón. Kristín dedicates significant attention to him. Daníelsson is a man who wakes up every day to great poverty around him but rejects hopelessness and embraces a role of being a blessing to others. He is diligent, cultured, and focused on progress. She describes him as a master builder and carpenter who built Möðruvellir Church in a dignified style. He was known for his hard work, his generosity, and his dedication to improving his community. She also describes the way he helped a poor couple with a small baby, by giving them a proper bed after seeing the new mother needing desperate aid. He also helped a farmer whose bathhouse was damaged in a storm. Kristín states that Þorsteinn was a visionary, who saw that "humans do not have to live with hunger and filth". Þorsteinn’s hard work, practicality, and kindness are crucial to community progress and living a transcendent life Kristín sees as a real form of success we should strive for. His visionary spirit led to material improvements. She hoped by depicting his character, his greatness could be replicated and serve as a model to others for how to live.  There is also the story of Reverend Arnljótur Ólafsson (I140090). Kristín described Reverend Arnljótur Ólafsson as a thinker and intellectual who spoke out for justice and equality. He argued for lower taxes for the poor and was a doctor who helped many people. Arnljótur felt it essential to advocate for the rights of the less fortunate and to work towards a more just and equitable society. Kristín valued the way that he put his thoughts into proposals for the community, always with an eye to improve conditions in Iceland. His work in the community made the case that progress happens when those who work the hardest and do the most are well supported regardless of their standing. In each of these stories, Kristín has an uncanny ability to reveal the best qualities of these people illuminating their values and beliefs through her words on the page. She herself values kindness, hard work, justice, and the importance of culture and community. Her recollections of Möðruvellir serve as a way to honor the people who shaped her life and the lessons that she learned there. The pages of Lögberg were a place where she could write about the good in humanity that she witnessed in Iceland and also in North America. That she called herself Kristín í Watertown (Kristin in Watertown) and not Kristín frá Watertown (Kristin from Watertown), shows that she never fully adopted the American identity. But her writing is a useful bridge between cultures for Western Icelanders. A look in the Icelandic Roots database shows that many of the descendants of the early  Watertown Icelanders still live in Watertown or other towns in South Dakota. For a while, this was a special place to live for Icelandic immigrants. Many were able to thrive in this small community. From this little town in South Dakota, Kristín was able to share her wisdom across Canada and the US with all the Vestur Íslendingar who read the newspaper  Lögberg , which was almost everyone. Endnotes 1 "Fegnir: Úr Hinam Íslensku Nýlendum." Heimskringla . 22 Sep 1887: p3. Retrieved from https://timarit.is/page/2148224 2 Guttomisson, séra Guttorm. "Dr. P. Adelstein Johnson." Almanak (Ólafs S. Thorgeirsson). Winnipeg MB, 1946: p50–54. Retrieved from https://timarit.is/page/4667244 3 Guttomisson, séra Guttorm. "Dr. P. Adelstein Johnson." Almanak  (Ólafs S. Thorgeirsson). Winnipeg MB, 1946: p50. Retrieved from https://timarit.is/page/4667244 4 Kristín í Watertown. "Suður Dakota." Lögberg . 19 Mar 1942: p4. Retrieved from https://timarit.is/page/2201945 5 Jonsson, Ingibjörg (ed.). "Áhugamál; Kvenna: Merkiskina Níræd." Lögberg. 03 May 1951: p5. Retrieved from: https://timarit.is/files/56160967 6 Jósefsdóttir, Kristín. "Á Möðruvöllum." Heima er bezt . 01 Feb 1989: p56–60. Retrieved from: Retrieved from: https://timarit.is/page/4599856

by Gerry Stefanson potato or pudtadough, square or round not as simple as that this Icelandic Celebration Cake could be all of that layers 5 through seven dare offend by eleven culmination by prunes, cardamom, extracted vanilla, temp a dash of cinnamon – tempting two tomato or toemadough, round or square. 350 degree, how wood is your stove well hot enough to fry a bee. egg, butter, alman, flour icing / frosting/ rumors of booze formulated in Iceland at earlier date held dear to every Westlanders wandering heart the size, layers, height, shape the best recipe could bring men to their feet shape shift Ammas to Valkyries of course, everyone’s family has the best the volume of all will contest. Peace On Earth To All And a piece of Vínarterta To All.

by Ken Barr   Reprinted with permission from Icelandic Connection  v67(1): pp12–13, 2015. Living in caves out of town, They wait all year for their chance, For mischief in December, To dance their holiday dance.   The thirteen sons of Grýla, ýla, Their father Leppalúði, Each yuletide season they come, For mischief, wait and you’ll see.   Each one is so different, In at the antics that they choose, But they’re brothers after all, Each one with nothing to lose.   So starting December twelfth, They come to town one by one, Each day brings another lad, As they come to have their fun.   The first of them was Sheep-Cote, With legs as stiff as wood, He wanted the farmer’s sheep, Their milk was very good.   He tried to milk the ewes, But couldn’t in the end, His knees were much too stiff, He could not make them bend. Second there came Gully Imp, A crafty little elf, He would sneak into the barn, And steal the milk for himself   He would hide among the stalls, And give the cows a quick wink, Before he stole the milk pail, Faster than you think.   The third brother was Stubby, A short and stout little man, He loved to eat the scrapings, From the bottom of a pan.   Slipping pans into his pouch, Whenever he was able, He’d eat the burnt bits in them, At his own dinner table.   Spoon Licker, the fourth brother, So thin and always hungry, Would lick the spoons while cooking, Which made the good chef angry.   Sneaking into the kitchen, He would pull the cooking spoon, From the meal upon the stove, And he’d lick it much too soon. The fifth brother Pot Scraper, He loved to eat the scrapings, That were cooked into the pots, The ones that he was stealing.   He’d sneak into the houses, Thinking himself so clever, And off he’d run with the pots, To feast upon his treasure.   Bowl Licker the sixth brother, We would always lick the bowl, That was placed upon the floor, Getting it was his main goal.   He would lick every bowl clean, That was meant for the dog or cat, And then he’d laugh to himself, And say, “how do you like that”.   Seventh brother Door Slammer, Such an angry little man, When people home were sleeping, He’d be as loud as he can.   Slamming doors and making noise, Not a very good house guest, With all of his door slamming, No one home could get much rest.   Skyrgámur the eighth brother, Would steal into the houses, And gobble up their yogurt, Milk, cream, skyr and cheeses .   He’d eat all that he could find, Too much food for one alone, Still he ate until it hurt, Then he’d start to howl and groan.   Sausage Swiper was the ninth, A crafty little raider, Hiding in the house rafters, Waiting to steal his dinner.   From his perch on high watching, The cooking of the nightly meal, Swiping sausage when he could, And waiting for more to steal.   And tenth was Window Peeper, Always peeking through the glass, Looking for things he could steal, There was nothing he would pass.     He’s always on the look out, For treasures that he can steal, He’s always got his eyes out. For valuables so real.   Door Sniffer was eleventh, Always looking for lace bread, He could smell it from so far, Or sniffing for cakes instead.   With a nose as large as his, He could smell lace bread for miles, No ones food was safe from him, He had his crafty wiles.   Ketkrókur the twelfth brother, Many skills he would display, Stealing meat with his long hook, Eating on St. Thorlak’s Day.   Standing upon the chimneys, Stealing many legs of lamb, While using his long meat hook, Saying, This is who I am.   Thirteenth was Candle Beggar, A cold and lonely young elf, Following children begging, For candles to have himself.   The brightest lights he could find, So special for Christmas Eve, To have a candle so bright, A miracle to believe.   The last brother arrives on, December twenty fourth, so, Having all of their fun, The brothers prepare to go.   With the holidays over, One by one they return home, And dream about next season, When they make their Christmas roam.   Ken Barr December 22, 2013 Ken Barr reintroduced the Jolasveinarnir through the eyes of an outsider and confesses that he has modernized them in his book,  Jolasveinarnir, The Yule Lads and Their Family,   available through Amazon .  ISBN 9781499277678 confesses that he has modernized them. His Gay Strandemo also tells the story of the Jólasveinarnir through the drawings in her book, The Yule Boys , available at https://theyuleboys.com/

by Shaune Jonasson This month, we are profiling a contemporary Icelandic author born on 17 December 1963, Jón Kalman Stefánsson. The Icelandic Roots Book Club has had the privilege of hosting Jón Kalman as the guest author to discuss his book Summer Light, Then Comes the Night  in May 2024. In January 2026, the Icelandic Roots Book Club will meet to discuss the 2024 English translation of Your Absence Is Darkness .   Jón Kalman Stefánsson Photo Credit: Reykjavík Grapevine, Viktor Svan Jón Kalman Stefánsson (I195011) had not intended to be a writer. He believed he would study astrology after being influenced by a show on Carl Sagan. "When I was eighteen, I dreamed of becoming an astronaut after watching a show in which Carl Sagan talked about the universe. I was completely overwhelmed by that richness and the mysteries of the universe – I later realized that it was, in a way, the essence of fiction.''[4]   Jón Kalman, born in Reykjavík, was raised in Keflavík and the surrounding countryside in West Iceland. As a young man he toiled at casual jobs that included a slaughterhouse, the fishing industry, masonry, and policing at Keflavik airport, all before studying literature at the University of Iceland. Jón Kalman attended university, wrote for the Icelandic newspaper, Morgunblaðið , and taught literature courses at a high school.  A year after the completion of his university studies, he moved to Copenhagen where he worked as a labourer and spent his off time reading. Returning to Mosfellsbær, he worked as a librarian until 2000. Jón Kalman identified early as a poet, publishing his first collection in 1988 called Með byssuleyfi á eilífðina . He claims reading a poem is something that can be done easily in a short time anywhere, and it can stay with you for the rest of your life. The best poets “can change the words into music.” He believed reading poetry brings forward different experiences and influences one’s life. In addition to his poetry, he has also published numerous short stories and many novels; however, these writings are often influenced by the poet in him. There is a richness to his writings, which offers a uniqueness to each reader. As a novelist, Jón Kalman believes that all readers leave with a different opinion based on what they have read; nobody closes the book at the end with the same opinion. When reading, one will often be affected by those things that matter to them within the book, and, as a result, their worldview may be altered. He writes his books intent on causing the reader to think as they delve more deeply into the story. His characters are ordinary people living ordinary lives that come face-to-face with unexpected situations. His subject is the humanity of his characters and the soul of their community. The weaving of wants, desires, beliefs and secrets of these casual lives is what mystifies the reader, yet remains relatable. Jón Kalman presently lives in Iceland as an independent author. He achieved international fame for his Trilogy about the Boy , which includes Heaven and Hell, The Sorrow of Angels  and The Heart of Man , the latter two having received special recognition and have obtained a feature film arrangement. The trilogy “…explores the depths of despair to celebrate the redemptive power of friendship.” Upon publication in Iceland, his novel The Story of Ásta  (2017) rose to become an instant bestseller. Many of his books, originally written in Icelandic, have been translated into at least thirty different languages: German, French, English, Danish, Italian, to name a few. Many of these have also won awards. Among his many accomplishments, Jón Kalman Stefánsson was also anointed as Knight of the Order of the Falcon in Iceland in 2020. If you would like to know more about who the person is behind the author Jón Kalman, I recommend viewing the book launch hosted by McNally Robinson of Winnipeg, MB on YouTube. Enjoy learning about Your Absence is Darkness  with Jón Kalman from December 2024. A very enlightening look at the man behind the book. Click on the Event to access YouTube: An Evening with Jón Kalman  Stefansson ( Your Absence Is Darkness )   Awards and Nominations With interesting titles and captivating stories, Jón Kalman  has received many accolades for his works: Icelandic Prize for Literature: Summer Light, and then Comes the Night   Per Olov Enquist Literary Prize (2011):   Heaven and Hell . Man Booker International Prize nomination: Fish Have No Feet Longlisted for the Independent Foreign Fiction Prize for The Sorrow of Angels   Winner of the Oxford-Weidenfeld Translation Prize for The Heart of Man   The Icelandic Prize for Literature (2005): Sumarljós, og svo kemur nóttin (Summer Light, and Then Comes the Night), with additional nominations for his other books in 2011, 2013, 2015, 2017 and 2024 Nordic Council Literature Prize: he has received four nominations in 2001, 2004, 2007 and 2015. The Icelandic Bookseller’s Award: four times awarded The Budapset Grand Prize (2024) award winner at the International Literature Festival held in Budapest where he was also the guest of honour. BookStar award 2024 Best Foreign Book Award organized by "France Inter" and "Le Point"           References 1.       Icelandic Roots   2.       The Booker Prizes   3.       Wikipedia    Jón Kalman Stefánsson 4.       BookStar Jón Kalman Stefánsson  2024 5.       Reykjavik Grapevine: The Traditional Form Does Not Appeal to Me  Sept 12, 2208 6.       YouTube: McNally Robinson, Winnipeg, MB. “ An Evening with Jón Kalman  Stefansson ”

The story is based on Jón Árnason's Icelandic Folktales and taken from the book Hildur, Queen of the Elves, and Other Stories: Icelandic Folk Tales retold by J. M. Bedell. Story is used with permission. Hildur, Queen of the Elves And Other Stories: Icelandic Folk Tales, retold by   J. M. Bedell, Interlink Books, 2007. amazon.com Around the middle of the 7th century, on a poor farm in the Kelda district, there lived two sisters, Sigrídur and Geirlaug. For reasons no one else knows, their mother Ása adored Sigrídur but disliked Geirlaug. Attending Mass on Christmas Eve was a tradition everyone enjoyed. If the unpredictable winter weather permitted traveling, Ása always insisted that Sigrídur accompany her to church and that Geirlaug stay behind to milk the cows. Ása knew that Geirlaug was frightened to stay home alone, especially on Christmas Eve when the elves came out to celebrate. Sigrídur and Geirlaug’s father dearly loved his daughters and understood Geirlaug’s fear. So every year, he found a way for the girls to stay at home together, thus avoiding any possibility that the elves would visit their farm. The years passed and one day a young man from Laugar began courting Sigrídur. He eventually won her hand in marriage and she happily left her parents’ farm and went to live with her new husband. Geirlaug suspected that on the next Christmas Eve, her mother would again insist that she stay home alone. So at the start of winter, she asked if she could visit her sister. At first Ása refused but when Geirlaug’s father intervened, she gave her permission, on the condition that Geirlaug be away for no more than one week. Since winter daylight was short, the journey would take two days. Geirlaug would have only three nights to spend with her sister. Geirlaug happily accepted her mother’s demand. In preparation for the long walk over sharp lava and sand, she sewed several pairs of sheepskin shoes. When she was finished, she set off on her journey. The two days of travel passed quickly. Geirlaug safely arrived at her sister’s farm and received a warm welcome. The sisters enjoyed every moment of their time together, but each of them often mentioned that the visit was far too short. On her last day, Geirlaug confided to her sister that she was very unhappy at home. Now that Sigrídur was gone, there was no way to avoid staying home alone on Christmas night. She was frightened and begged her sister for help and dealing with the elves when they came to the farm. Sigrídur agreed and prepared a bundle, filled with flour, lard, and animal fat. She told her sister to hide it from their mother so it wouldn’t be taken away. On Christmas night, after everyone was gone, she should make flatbread from the flour, fry it in the lard, and use the rest of the fat to make candles. She should gather some mussel shells, place them around the house, and burn the candles in them. In that way, the entire farm would be bright and well lit. Then she should read the scriptures and sing a few hymns. When she was finished, she should lie down and not worry, no matter what happened later in the night. Sigrídur gave Geirlaug a new pair of shoes and food for her journey home. The two sisters lovingly parted and Geirlaug walked for two days, arriving at the farm just before twilight. She secretly hid her bundle of flour and fat in a place where her mother would never find it. On Christmas night, as Geirlaug expected, her mother ordered her to stay home alone. After the household left for Mass, Geirlaug did everything her sister suggested. First she placed lighted candles around the farmhouse. Then she sang several hymns and read from the scriptures. She baked the flatbread and while it was still hot, divided it, along with the butter and lard, into three equal portions. She filled three plates with food and placed them on a shelf above her bed. Before retiring for the night, she checked to make sure every candle was burning and that the passageways and rooms were well lighted. Geirlaug locked up the house and climbed into the bed closest to the entryway of the living room. After a time, she heard loud noises coming from the front of the house. A few moments later, three handsome young boys raced into the living room and put their chins onto the side of Geirlaug’s bed. They stared at her without saying a word. Although she was frightened, Geirlaug reached for the three plates on the shelf above her head and handed them to the boys. Each boy took a plate and silently ran out of the room. As they disappeared from sight, Geirlaug wondered what would happen when her mother discovered the plates were missing. To her delight, the boys quickly returned and placed the empty plates at the foot of her bed. A short time later, Geirlaug again heard noises and voices at the front of the house. A man, who sounded like a leader, said, “This is a well kept home. It is well lit and although few people live here, they are good people.” Geirlaug silently huddled in the corner of the bed, covered by a blanket. She peaked out of a tiny hole and saw a huge crowd of people gathering in the living room. As she watched, the men brought in tables and the women placed expensive foods and delicious drinks onto them. An elderly man and woman sat at the head table. Geirlaug guessed that they were the leaders of their people. When the glorious banquet was finished, everyone started dancing and playing games. The elderly man sat by the east window and watch the horizon. Every now and then he would say, “Continue playing your games. Day has not yet dawned.” When the light began to peak over the mountains, he said, “It is time to stop playing. Dawn has arrived.” At his words, everyone in the room fell silent. Following the elderly man’s instructions, the people quickly removed the food from the tables and hauled everything out of the house. The last person left in the room was the elderly woman. She approached Geirlaug’s bed and placed a tightly wrapped bundle on her pillow. “This is a gift for you, Geirlaug my love,” she said. “For what you gave to my children. Your mother will try to take this gift away from you, but I promise she will not succeed. The moment she tries, your life will be filled with good luck.” And she followed the others out of the house. Geirlaug's heart pounded with excitement. She opened the bundle and uncovered a very expensive woolen skirt and a beautifully stitched waistcoat. Later that morning, Geirlaug's parents returned from the Christmas Mass. Geirlaug told them everything that happened during the night and she showed them the beautiful clothes. But she did not mention the kind words of the elf-woman. When Ása finished examining the clothes, she said, “I do not think the elf-woman meant to give these to you. You are not important enough to wear such beautiful garments. They must be her payment to me for allowing her family to use my house without permission. They are a fitting price for coming into my house uninvited. You will never, ever get to wear them. I will sell them to the priest's wife in Garður. She is a woman who is worthy to wear them.” Geirlaug was too frightened of her mother to object, and her father was undecided about what should be done with the garments. So he remained silent and avoided arguing with his wife. On New Year’s Eve the old woman took the clothes to Garður and sold them to the priest’s wife. To everyone’s surprise, on New Year’s Day, the garments disappeared from the priest’s house. They reappeared on Geirlaug’s bed, wrapped in a bundle that was sitting exactly where the elf-woman had first placed them. Ása grabbed the clothing from Geirlaug and returned them to the priest’s wife. The very next morning, the bundle reappeared on Geirlaug’s bed. That night, Ása had a dream. An angry woman stood by her bed and demanded that she stop taking Geirlaug’s clothes. The woman warned that if she didn’t stop, she would come to Ása in person and force her to stop. A frightened Ása never touched Geirlaug's clothing again. A year passed and it was Christmas Eve again. This time, Ása decided that Geirlaug should go to church and she would tend the farm and milk the cows. Delighted to leave her behind, father and daughter set off for midnight Mass. Later that night, Ása lit one candle and lay down in Geirlaug’s bed. A short time later, she heard voices coming from the front passageway. Three boys raced into the room and rested their chins on the bed, just like they had the year before. Ása became very angry. She demanded to know what they were doing in her house and ordered them to get out and go home. When the boys didn’t obey as fast as she thought they should, Ása grabbed her dirty kitchen dress, and whipped it at the side of the bed, hitting each one in the face. With her screaming voice following them, the three boys raced out of the room. A short time later, Ása heard more noise and voices coming from the front of the house. She watched as a crowd of people entered the living room and set up tables just like they had the previous Christmas Eve. They celebrated throughout the night and when morning came, just like before, they cleaned up the mess and left the house. But this time, when the elderly woman walked up to Ása’s bed, she said, “I need to speak to you about your treatment of my boys.” She grabbed Ása’s foot and yanked her off the bed. She pulled so hard that when the old woman landed on the floor, her thigh bones broke. Without a backward glance, the elderly elf-woman followed the rest of her family out the door. Ása lay on the floor paralyzed until her family returned from Mass. Geirlaug found her mother on the floor and helped her into bed. For the next several weeks, she gently nursed her back to health. Ása regretted how terribly she had treated her kind and caring daughter. She was so ashamed of her behavior that from that time on, she became a good and loving mother. But as a reminder of her unkind past, for the rest of her life she stooped over and walked with a limp. Later that winter, Geirlaug met a handsome young man from outside the district. He began courting her and soon asked for her hand in marriage. Geirlaug eagerly accepted his proposal. Ása asked the young man to move to their farm and in the spring, he did. The young couple was married that summer and took over the running of the farm. Geirlaug's parents lived with her until they died. Geirlaug and her husband dearly loved each other. They had several children and enjoyed many years together tending their farm. Just like the elf-woman promised,  Geirlaug’s life was filled with good luck and she became one of the richest and best-loved women in the country.

This wonderful new Christmas legend is currently only available in Icelandic, but will be out next year in English. If you have been learning Icelandic a children's book can be a good way to practise, and I did surprisingly well with reading it, I was very encouraged!  You will have heard, I am sure, of the festive peril that awaits you should you not be gifted any new clothes for Christmas - Jólakötturinn , or the Yule Cat, will come to devour you! Jólabókaormurinn introduces us to a new story that I think stands a good chance of entering into legend - the Christmas Book Wyrm who will come and eat you if you don't receive a book for Christmas! You're probably aware of Jólabókaflóð , the Christmas Book Flood - the tradition of gifting books at Christmas in this incredibly literate nation, where allegedly 1 in every 10 people has published a book. But what happens in this day and age, when book reading is being eschewed by the young particularly, in favour of their phones, tablets, TVs and computer games? The book is set in the not-too-distant future, when two siblings are begging their Amma to tell them the story of the creepy house on the hill...  It used to be a library and book shop, and the librarian a friendly and helpful man, but as time wore on and books and reading became less popular, things soured. However the Christmas tradition of book gifting remained, but no one actually bothered to read the books. Instead they got used to fill gaps, prop up wobbly tables - even piles of them became furniture themselves! Teachers at school invited the children to come up with imaginative uses for all these gifted but unread books, and then someone had this marvellous idea - what better on a chilly winter's eve, than to gather the family around a cosy fire and... burn the books . Light and warmth and comfort! Hygge (Danish and Norwegian for a cozy and comfortable setting) at its best! Everyone thought this was a marvellous idea, bringing families together, using the books, saving money on fuel.  One day, the siblings began to wonder - 'everyone always buys and gifts books, so the Book Wyrm can't have eaten anyone for positively ages , so it's probably not even a risk any more - what if we just don't bother, and see what happens?' So they put aside the obviously book-shaped presents, and wait...  To their horror, the enormous Wyrm comes to their house, climbs their walls, enters the window...and eats them! But inside its mouth they are plunged into a world of colour, adventure and excitement, the search for a missing temple for the girl, and a dog and cat spy story for her brother.  They wake up the next day safely in their beds, and realise that the Wyrm is not fiendish after all, but wants to share the joy and wonder of imagination and reading with anyone who doesn't receive a book. They know their friends will never believe such a thing, so they have to wait a whole year until Christmas comes around again, before telling all the children that they shouldn't believe this Book Wyrm nonsense, there's no danger, just don't open the books that their parents will inevitably gift them, nothing will happen... Their pretend scorn convinces the other children to go along with them, and so the Wyrm comes for all of the children and opens their eyes to the wonder of reading, returning them safely to their beds. Village life is invigorated, the library is reinstated and becomes a social hub, and book stores spring up on every street. And the Book Wyrm? No longer needed to open people's eyes, he becomes the new librarian!  The book has wonderful, fun illustrations and is notable for being in black and white throughout the early part of the book, and only when the children are 'eaten' does colour enter their world, a very effective creative device.  Although the risk of such a bookish nation ever turning its back on reading is probably quite low, I feel this is a book well placed to become a Christmas classic alongside the other Icelandic festive legends. Of course on a serious note, the threat of smartphones, social media, TikTok, reels, YouTube and the like on attention spans is real, with the added detrimental effect of these things on the Icelandic language, as discussed recently in the Guardian by former PM Katrín Jakobsdóttir & author Ragnar Jónasson. Their fear is that this beautiful and historic language is in very real danger of dying out within the next generation or two if concerted efforts are not made to protect and ensure its survival. The worry is that the generation growing up now, using English more than Icelandic, will be less likely to ensure that their children speak Icelandic, and this way, in short order, its demise is almost unstoppable... But I do hope that, unlike the Christmas Book Wyrm, the language is NOT something that will pass into legend.

The Icelandic Roots Book Club Leader, Heather Lytwyn, has been busy behind the scenes creating a wonderful start to 2026 with a diverse series of books to explore. Here is a quick look at the 2026 lineup so far: On January 8, Jón Kalman Stefánsson's latest novel, Your Absence is Darkness , is the focus of discussion. In 2025, the book club explored his intriguing novel, Summer Light, and Then Comes the Night, and as a special treat, members were visited by Jón Kalman and his English translator, Philip Roughton. The session was a fast hour, where the two writers discussed the work and how to translate it into another language. While neither writer will be present to discuss Your Absence is Darkness , the novel is so rich in detail, setting, and characters struggling to make sense of their lives and life itself, that club members have much to discuss. Heather says the novel opens with an intriguing premise, "a character realising he has no idea where he is or who he is." That character becomes the first person we encounter in the story. The second character may or may not be the devil. If you don't have time to read the book before the club meets, Heather has a tip to get a quick orientation to the work. She suggests searching on YouTube for the video titled: An Evening with Jón Kalman Stefansson (Your Absence Is Darkness) . Heather adds that in the video, "you will see how the writing process for this 'poet turned novelist' is similar to the amnesiac main character who learns who he is – by just letting the story unfold. In February, Heather says, "We will look at the memoir, Confessions of an Immigrant’s Daughter, by Laura Goodman Salverson (1890-1970). This story begins in Iceland and follows the novelist's family to Winnipeg, the northern and southern States, and then back to Canada. First published in 1939 & 1949, and republished in 2023 by McGill-Queen's University Press. The memoir won the Governor-General's Award in 1939. Our guest will be the storyteller Karen Gummo." "In March," Heather says, "we will be joined by Laura Goodman Salverson's granddaughter, Julie Salverson, and her book A Necessary Distance: Confessions of a Scriptwriter’s Daughter . We will also learn how these two guests, Karen Gummo and Julie Salverson, know each other, and their planned performance in Iceland in 2026." Heather leads the book club in a new direction for April and May. "In April & May, we will read two murder mysteries. The first has the familiar setting of the Westman Islands in the page turner Harm by the acclaimed Icelandic author Sólveig Pálsdóttir. "Then, in May, we will be introduced to the first novel of a series of six, set initially in Iceland, Where the Shadows Lie , by the British author Michael Ridpath. If you go to his website, Michael Ridpath , and sign up for his newsletter, you can keep informed about his publications and receive a free copy of the novella The Polar Bear Killing." Heather reminds newcomers that they are always welcome, and if you haven't read the book, come anyway and listen to the conversation. It may just lead you to your next favourite book. Note: If you would like to join the book club discussions, becoming a Samkoma Member of Icelandic Roots is the easiest way to participate. Samkoma Members receive the Samkoma Member Newsletter bi-weekly. The newsletter contains a list of upcoming member events and the Zoom links to join all live events. To sign up, go to the Icelandic Roots Membership page: https://www.icelandicroots.com/membership

By Phyllis Smith It is that time of year again where giving gifts to family and friends is part of our tradition. Icelanders experience the Jólabókaflóðið, both giving and being given a book, or more! The best part is curling up with that new book and a hot beverage of choice.   Image generated using Canva Friends who have heard far too much about the Icelandic side of my lineage will send me messages in the lead-up to Christmas. “I just read an article about Iceland. Have you ever heard about the book flood? I love it!”   Yes, yes, I have heard about it. Anyone who mentions it to me will be subjected to a long-winded discussion of the long history of literacy in Iceland and the love of literature and poetry. I confess it makes me proud to say I descend from such people.   I will share that my grandmother kept a bookcase in the house that contained the Icelandic library for the small community in Keewatin, Ontario. My grandfather, who immigrated to Canada in 1910 and worked as a grain cleaner in the local flour mill, wrote poems about home and tried to improve his English by reading popular books of the day. I grew up with books all around and still have far too many books. I can’t help it; it’s in my genes.   There’s nothing better than being gifted a book at Christmas. That is what the Book Flood is all about. Every year, Icelanders await the release of Bókatíðindi or The Journal of Books , which lists newly published books. I imagine children circling their preferences and adults leaving a dog-eared copy of the catalogue around as a hint.   The tradition began in 1944, the first year Bókatíðindi was released. As a result of the high cost of importing most giftware items into Iceland during WWII, there were limited options for interesting gifts. Restrictions on paper were not as strict, and books quickly became the most available gift item.   The arrival of  Bókatíðindi signifies the beginning of the holiday season. The bookstores stock up for the onslaught of Christmas shoppers. Everyone gives and receives books on Christmas Eve. Once they have prioritized their pile of new books, Icelanders can spend a luxurious Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with their beverage of choice in one hand and a new book in the other.   Doesn’t that sound heavenly?!   You can see this year’s selection in Bókatíðindi 2025 . Mind, it is in Icelandic.   You might find English translations of Icelandic authors by searching your favourite bookseller’s website.   Are you reading any Icelandic authors, or books with an Icelandic theme? Share your recommendations on the Icelandic Roots Facebook group .   An ideal choice for your personal Jólabókaflóðið is The Advent by Gunnar Gunnarsson (translated by Philip Roughton). It was first published in 1936 but has just been re-released and translated into English in October 2025. Vanity Fair said , “Gunnar Gunnarsson’s novel is the Icelandic ‘A Christmas Carol’.”     Gunnarsson, Gunnar. The Advent (Translated by Philip Roughton). Oct 2, 2025: Vintage Classics.   “ With his dog and his ram by his side, traversing wild snowstorms and crystalline nights, fuelled by endless cups of hot coffee, Benedikt dedicates himself to helping other living beings in need. It is midwinter in the harshest of landscapes, but this is a place of deep belonging and peace – brutal and remorseless yet irresistible and indispensable. It is also a time of peace, filled with the anticipation of that special time of year – the days before Christmas: Advent. This enchanting Icelandic classic of one man’s selfless quest at Christmas time has been newly translated into English for the first time in 90 years.”   Amazon     Read More Wijerathne , Nipun. (12 Nov 2025). “Why Icelanders Read Books on Christmas Eve.” In Medium. Retrieved from https://medium.com/@mr.don07/why-icelanders-read-books-on-christmas-eve-and-what-it-says-about-quiet-joy-80873e1b9f46

Icelandic Roots is bringing a delightful story from our archives to enjoy again this season... Icelandic Roots volunteer, Natalie Guttormsson, asked fellow volunteer Bryndís Viglundsdóttir to reflect on how Christmas celebrations in Iceland have changed compared to her memories of her childhood. This is the story she wrote... The Christmas holidays, jólin, as the season is celebrated now-a-days, have certainly changed over the years. My memory of looking forward to the jól stretches back a good 80 years and I would like to share with you some of these memories. My mother began to look for material for the new dresses, the Christmas dress she would make for us every Christmas. People tried very hard to give their children some new clothing items before Christmas. Why did my mother not just take us to the store and we could pick out a dress there? There were no stores offering such luxury! Ready made clothes for children came much later. Material for clothing was hard to come by during my entire childhood and I associate standing in a queue outside stores that sold material for clothes when Christmas was approaching. The utmost luxury was getting a new pair of shoes. I remember one Christmas when we had been standing in a queue outside a shoe store and when we finally got inside the question was: Have all the shoes been sold? Well, we got in and there were those black patent leather shoes that fit perfectly and never was there such a happy child waiting for Christmas to come. I took them with me to bed not to lose that wonderful smell of the shoes. The ship bringing the apples from “the faraway countries” was finally in the harbour. Christmas really came with that “apple-bringing” ship when I was a little girl. We lived not far from the harbour but we, the children must not go there. When the apple ship had docked, my parents made the exception and allowed us to go down to the harbour to smell the apples. Some day I am going out in the world to a far away country where the apples grow to see how it is there, I vowed, standing by the ship’s side in the December darkness breathing in the scent of the apples. Sometimes I get that wonderful feeling of gratitude when I walk into the market and see tables loaded with fresh fruits of all sorts. I will admit though that the wonderful scent I found in the harbour by the ship’s side has disappeared. One Christmas a disaster was hanging in the air. The apple ship was in harbour but the dock workers were on strike and it looked as if there would be no apples for Christmas. What a terrible outlook. But the dispute was solved and people got their Christmas apples! Flour, sugar and many more items were rationed during my childhood. Eggs were very hard to come by so baking before Christmas was quite a challenge. My parents knew a farmer close to Reykjavík and he owned a few hens. He remembered our home as Christmas was approaching and what a happy day when he had one of his workers bring us some eggs! My mother baked cookies and tortes, always the vínarterta among other sorts. What a feast! I realize this sounds odd! What is so marvellous about getting two dozen eggs? For us this gift that we got from the farmer before Christmas in my childhood years made the difference for us. So it is when people are helped, whatever the need is! Preparing for the Christmas feast evolved much about making new clothes for the children and preparing good food for the family. Finding the ingredients for the festive meals and the baking was a challenge! I remember, for example, many years standing in a queue outside the stores where milk was sold waiting to get cream for the Christmas dessert. Each person could have 1 dl. ( 3.4 ounces) That was not enough cream to make desert for the family of seven so we, the three sisters all waited and would go to more than one store! What a difference walking into the markets December 2019 and seeing all the abundance. Christmas began at 6 o´clock on the 24th of December. A service at the main church in Reykjavík, Dómkirkjan was broadcast and we gathered around the radio joining the choir singing the Christmas hymns. The minister read the Christmas gospel and we always thought he gave too long a sermon. The food was ready. After the festive meal the table was cleared and then we were allowed to look at our presents. This was the procedure in most families. The food choices were certainly not as varied as they are now. The smoked lamb was a staple in most houses on Christmas Eve. Some families served a leg of lamb or ptarmigans. Potatoes and vegetables- if available- were served and some sort of a dessert was put on the table after the main meal. The Christmas tree stood on a table in the corner, only about a yard tall, decorated with candles and some colorful glass items. Our tree was made of wood, had never stood in a forest, but even so we thought it was beautiful! There were only a few evergreen trees in Iceland when I was a young child and no one would have dreamt of chopping them down to use as Christmas trees. We once had a very fancy Christmas tree when my grandfather made a tree and found some branches of juniper to tie to it. It was simply beautiful. There are many Christmas songs in our culture and one is about walking around the juniper bush. We sang that song with a special enthusiasm the Christmas our grandfather decorated the tree he made with the juniper. Now -a- days some people are giving immense and expensive Christmas gifts. When I was growing up there was, in many households, little money to use for gifts. People tried to give the children new clothes and serve something special for dinner. For many that was all they could do. When you hear this you realize that “the times are a changing“! What has not changed, I believe, is our wish that our loved ones, all our brothers and sisters may enjoy a beautiful and joyous holiday season at Christmas, jólin . Gleðileg jól! Merry Christmas! Bryndís Víglundsdóttir

By Gunnar Birgisson   Photo Credit: Mathieu Neville: Geothermal Power Plant in Iceland; Wikimedia Commons Over the ages, Iceland offered its residents few resources to enjoy. The soil and climate rendered it difficult to grow crops for human consumption, with most farmers instead using their land to grow grass to make hay for feeding sheep and cows in winter. Aside from blueberries (see my earlier article on Berjamór ), almost nothing growing in nature could be harvested and eaten raw. There was no granite for building, mostly just jagged lava rocks. There was no coal to burn, and not many trees to use for construction. There were no deer or other large land-based mammals to hunt. And the weather, particularly in winter, made life harder.  This is a bleak picture. But finally, finally , we get to the good part. In various places, geothermal hot water bubbled up from the earth. Iceland is located on the Mid-Atlantic ridge, leading to a high degree of volcanic activity. The underground heat warms up water, which in various locations bubbles up to the surface.  The water is close to boiling, but early on, Icelanders found ways to divert hot water streams and mix them with water from cold springs to create water that was warm but not scalding. Little pools would be constructed where people could assemble and relax, and use the water to do their washing. This was a luxury— perhaps even a necessity for many inhabitants. Think of everything that made life difficult: the limited diet, the howling wind and raging rain, the dark and dingy dwellings. At least people would occasionally be able to dip into a sublime pool of warm water.   Moving ahead to the miraculous twentieth century and all its technological advancements that improved life in Iceland and elsewhere. In the first decade of the century, some innovators learned to channel hot water for house heating. The city of Reykjavik began drilling for hot water in the 1920s and built a distribution pipeline that connected to houses. The hot water flows through the pipes, through the radiators attached to the walls, spreading warmth throughout the building to the descendants of the people who could only occasionally dip into the warm water. Today, there are municipal or community-owned district heating operations— Hitaveita —throughout Iceland, and more than 90% of homes and buildings in Iceland are heated through geothermal district heating. The country’s ample network of public swimming pools is likewise possible because of district heating. While the Icelandic weather can still be awful, and the winters are just as long, our homes— the ones no longer built of dirt and lava rocks—are well-heated. Today, people take this for granted. We don’t remember anymore what it was like to be so poor and deprived.

by Sunna Olafson Furstenau As Icelanders, we honor and love to share our Sagas and Stories. One of our ancient heroes is Sæmundur the Wise. He outsmarted the devil not once, but twice! This story has been told for nearly a thousand years and is preserved in several ancient texts. It blends history, faith, and just the right amount of mischief. Sæmundur fróði Sigfússon (I136284) lived from 1056 to 1133 in south Iceland. Even though none of his personal writings have survived, he left behind powerful stories, legends, and a reputation as one of the most clever men in Icelandic history. After returning from studies abroad, Sæmundur became a leading figure in Iceland's early church and education. His home at Oddi became a renowned center of learning. From Oddi, we get the powerful Oddaverjar clan—the descendants of Sæmundur who influenced literature, religion, politics, and more for many generations. Sæmundur traveled to Europe to study, most likely in France. Stories call it the "Black School" and say that the devil himself taught there, and each year at graduation, the last student to leave belonged to him. That year, Sæmundur volunteered to go last. He put on a large cloak and did not fasten it. When the devil grabbed him, Sæmundur slipped out and ran, leaving the cloak behind. Sæmundur and the Seal, University of Iceland, Reykjavik, Iceland. Photo Credit: Phyllis Smith, 2006 When Sæmundur wanted to return home to Iceland, the devil appeared again, disguised as a seal. He offered to carry Sæmundur across the ocean, but if he got even a little wet, his soul would belong to him. Sæmundur agreed and climbed onto the seal's back. As they crossed the ocean, Sæmundur read from the book of Psalms. When they were near the shore, Sæmundur raised his Bible and struck the seal on the head. The devil sank beneath the waves, and Sæmundur quickly made it to land. If you visit the University of Iceland in Reykjavík, you can see a statue of Sæmundur lifting his book above the seal where wisdom triumphs over evil. Many legends also demonstrate Sæmundur's kindness. One story includes a young woman who unknowingly promised the devil her unborn child. She turned to Sæmundur for help, and he told her to have the devil carry water in a box with holes in it. Sæmundur then hid beside the church bells and rang them each time the devil passed, so the water spilled out. The woman and her baby were saved. His descendants, the Oddaverjar, are many, and there are quite a few who are famous in our history. Jón Loftsson (1124–1197) inherited Oddi and was a very respected leader, chieftain, scholar, and the foster father to Snorri Sturluson. Generations later came Loftur the Rich—Loftur 'ríki' Guttormsson ( I39611 ). Loftur lived through the Black Plague of 1403, which erased many families. He inherited vast estates and became one of Iceland's wealthiest and most influential men. He was the Royal Governor of North and West Iceland. He was knighted by King Eirik III, King of Norway (1389–1442), granting him a coat of arms with a white falcon on a blue field. Heraldry for Icelanders was extremely rare. Today, every person with Icelandic ancestry is a direct descendant of Loftur. You can check for yourself in the Icelandic Roots database. You can also explore synopses of the Sagas, the complete Sagas in English and Icelandic, plus see people and places connected to our shared story. Sæmundur and Loftur are mentioned in Njáls Saga , Þorsteins saga Síðu-Hallssonar , Íslendinga Þættir , and Landnámabók . For centuries, people believed Sæmundur had compiled the "Edda"—the great collection of Old Norse poems about gods and heroes. Modern scholars now agree that the Poetic Edda and the tradition of calling it "Sæmundar Edda" stem from his association with wisdom and as the guardian of Iceland's earliest stories and knowledge. Loftur is my 23rd great-grandfather. If you are of Icelandic descent, you'll find him in the Icelandic Roots database as your ancestor, too! There is much to discover. Every story in our database and our outreach community connects us to those who came before and those who will come after us. Join our online Icelandic Roots community, a living network of cousins, stories, and shared heritage across the world.

By Sharron Arksey Celebrating Thanksgiving is held at different times in Canada and the United States. Our Writers' Group wrote stories about thankfulness for both holidays. With our American cousins anticipating its arrival, Sharron shares her thoughts on thankfulness after the trip to Iceland this past September. I did not try to count the sheep I saw in Iceland during the 2025 Icelandic Roots tour; there were too many. I did, however, smile often as I watched their woolly rear ends hightail it out into the fields as our tour bus passed by.  “They have such cute bums” is not something you can say about just any animal – rabbits perhaps, but I did not see any rabbits in Iceland, although I know they are there. (Rabbits are not indigenous to Iceland, but pets have escaped or been set free and once loose they do what rabbits do; they proliferate.) The time of rettir was near; within days the sheep would be rounded up and brought home for the winter. Their fleece would be shorn, sorted, graded, scoured, and carded until it was ready to be used. Earlier in the trip, my cousin had given me a new pair of handknit woolen mitts. I call them Stapi mitts for the farm where she lives. I love my Stapi mitts. I live in Manitoba, after all. Manitoba winters and Stapi mitts are made for each other. I looked at wool in a new and different way when we visited the textile museum at Blonduos. We saw mitts there, of course, and sweaters. But also, we saw Icelandic national costumes, children’s sleepwear, scarves and tapestries and stylish feathery hats. Wool became art before my eyes. Later that same day, we sat in the restaurant at the Hoffstadir Guesthouse, looking out at a vista of water and mountains. Five adult horses and one foal waded through the water at its edge. They seemed almost ethereal, as if we had dreamed them and they magically appeared. Several tour members stood up and moved to better vantage points, bringing out their cameras as they did so. The horses continued their trek. One woman told me that later that evening the horses passed in front of her guest room window, and she was able to get a video of their movement. I wish I had known; I was in the room next to her and would have seen it for myself if I had not had my drapes pulled. Sometimes a lost opportunity is as simple as pulling the drapes. In the morning, I could still see the horses on the other side of the water. Five adults and one foal: I knew they were the same animals. It was raining the morning we gathered at a coffee shop in Akureyri’s Botanical Gardens to meet translator Philip Roughton. Roughton, an American by birth, has translated books by Icelandic authors such as Halldor Laxness, Jon Kalman Stefansson, Gunnar Gunnarson and Arnaldur Indridason. He has been a guest at the Icelandic Roots book club several times and would be again a few weeks later. I can see us sitting at the long table and I can see one of us holding an orange cat that had made its way out of the rain into the cozy café. It seemed right at home, and we thought perhaps it belonged there. But a staff member told us that the cat was an uninvited guest. Please put him out, he said. We tried, but to quote a Manitoba children’s entertainer, “The cat came back. It just couldn’t stay away.”  It came back several times. The last time I saw it, it was heading down the hallway to the customer washrooms and the kitchen area. I did not see it come out. A day or two later, a white dog sat outside the entrance to Hotel Varmaland, located near Bogarnes and the Snaeffellsnes Peninsula. The entrance doors were open, letting in the crisp morning air. The dog did not move. Unlike the cat in Akureyri, he showed no interest in getting indoors. “He comes almost every day,” the woman at the reception desk said. “Especially if there is a tour bus in the parking lot. It is almost as if he knows that there will be more people here to pay him attention.” If attention was what he sought, he was surely getting it. Departing guests stopped to pat him and several dug out their phones to take his picture. That included me. I had seen this dog running down the road behind the hotel. The hotel staff did not seem to know who he belonged to, just that he was a regular, friendly visitor. So now all memories of Hotel Varmaland— wonderful accommodations housed in a former women’s college teaching cookery and housewifery skills— will include this dog. Sheep, horses, a cat, and a dog: they are small things compared with the grandeur of the country’s scenery and history. Yet they colour and enhance memories of my time in Iceland, and I am thankful for them.