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This is not a literary device, this is the real thing! Story written by Natalie Guttormsson Story told by ... shh! It's a secret. But we'll tell you at the end of the story. This story begins in the winter of 1998 on a farm called Hámundarstaðir, in Vopnafjörður, where the farmhouse stood empty, even though it was available free of rent. No one wanted to live there because a man had died in the house and there were rumours it was haunted. When my friend arrived to the area in January of that year she was recently widowed and only working part-time, so the free-rent was an ideal situation, ghost or no ghost. Her cousins helped her move in and for the first winter she slept in the downstairs bedroom. She soon learned the story about why the house had been empty. The previous couple who lived there had split up. The woman had moved on but the man could not, he took his own life instead, in the very room my friend had made her own. For the first few weeks my friend sensed nothing, but then one Saturday morning while cleaning the house, she saw, or rather felt, a shadow before her as she entered the kitchen. She remained calm, said nothing, but thought: if you can’t be alive, don’t bother me. And that was the end of that. Later on, when her boyfriend moved in, odd things began to happen. They heard voices, odd knocks, scratching and thuds on the roof, and the TV would suddenly turn on when no one was in the room. They lived with these disturbances for a few years without fear, but eventually, they did move, and the house stood empty again. Between 2003 and 2004, a work crew was repairing road number 85 from Vopnafjörður to Bakkafjörður. They briefly moved into the farmhouse, but fled at the first opportunity. Rumours were that they fled in terror of a ghost. A few years later, my friend went to visit some friends of hers that lived near Akureyri. They told her the story about the road crew who had fled a haunted house somewhere near Vopnafjörður. It was said that the crew couldn’t understand how anyone, much less “a small woman and the Icelander she had ‘taken up with’” had the courage to put up with the ghost for four years. They all laughed. It turns out my friend was considered some sort of “dynamo” when it came to ghosts! After the work crew left, the farmhouse stood empty for a few years. Another couple live there now and have been there for nearly six years with no known complaints. As for my friend, the house my friend lives in now is not haunted, so she knows that whenever she smells cigarette smoke (no one in her house smokes), that the ghost is paying her a friendly visit. Have you guessed who the “dynamo” is? Thank you Cathy for letting me share your story. “In spite of the "goofiness", I was never nervous while I lived there. I thoroughly enjoyed - perhaps even needed - the remote location and the intense beauty of the view. And sorely missed it when we needed to move.” - Cathy Want to get an idea of where this farm is located? You can search for Hámundarstaðir under “Places” in the database. The correct location is noted as Hámundarstaðir, Hofssókn, Vopnajarðarhreppur, N-Múlasýsla.

When we think of receiving mail today barely a thought goes into the effort it has taken to get delivered to us. Today, mail is delivered in the space of a day in some places and up to two weeks economy class between countries as far across the globe as Iceland and Australia where I live, a feat that would have taken over three months back in the early 20th Century. The story of the Icelandic postman is closely connected with the development of Iceland as a nation and its cultural evolution. As the country developed its written language, its newspapers, books, correspondence, reports, documents and money, there was the postman to deliver it from the sea ports across the land to the north, to the south, to the east and to the west of the country. The delivery of correspondence in Iceland dates almost back to Settlement, where merchants and men of importance sent mail and correspondence at their own expense, but it wasn't until about 1776 that the sovereign of Iceland, King Christian VII of Denmark, issued a decree that a postal system should be established in Iceland. This was to be a system where the government paid the wages of the “runner” who delivered the mail brought out by ships from Denmark and delivered these across the land to the important trading centres of Iceland and to the Icelandic parliament. Two years after this decree, regular postal sailings began between Iceland and Denmark; one trip a year that increased to twice a year, spring and autumn and three trips by the middle of the 19th Century. In 1873 the first Icelandic stamps were issued and the postal system placed under local administration along with the first post offices being established. Post Train making a start to the journey. Source: Söguþættir Landpóstanna V.1 by Helgi Valtýsson The postman of 18th and 19th Century Iceland was considered a hero by the people. He was a man of the land, adept at travel over a rugged landscape and he knew the mountain trails like the back of his hand. He was a bringer of news with the gossip he shared and the important letters he carried whether by horse or in a pack on his back. He was a hardened man of great character, strength, endurance and courage above all and the people of Iceland welcomed him wherever he went. He was nothing like the postman we know today. He came from a time in history when complaining of life and its constant battle was not part of his makeup. It was said that the postman feared neither danger nor death and took no pity from others as one postman of old was quoted saying, “Sooner would I die than be afraid.” Can you imagine an Iceland with no roads, no bridges over fast flowing rivers, having to hack safe paths for his train of horses that were carrying heavy mail boxes over glaciers and rugged snow blanketed terrain? It was he who suffered many cold days and nights exposed to the biting mountain air, battling the snow storms, the wind and the rain in clothing not nearly as insulated as the brands we wear today. How did he see through the dark of night on that barren heathland, or the rocky mountain ledges he traversed? Did he carry a torch or a lantern to light his path on the dark nights or did he make his way by the brightness of the stars or trail of the moon light? It is important for us, their descendants, to remember their stories, their courage and their sacrifice. Without them there was no communication between the farms, between the villages and the merchant towns of Iceland. His horses were his treasured assets as they carried the mail in boxes over the unbeaten paths, his dog a trusted companion over the long silent distances. It was only a few years ago that I discovered a postman of old in my own Icelandic family tree. My three times great grandfather Sigurður Bjarnason was for a long time a postman on the northern route from Reykjavik to Akureyri and later from Reykjavik to the south and the east of the country. Imagine the distances he had to walk. What today would be flown in planes or driven in postal delivery trucks and delivered in the space of a few hours or a few days was known to have taken him on average about two to three weeks on foot. He was described thus in the book Saga Íslendinga í Norður Dakota: “Sigurður the postman was a strong man of impressive stature, tall and broad shouldered, one of those people that never raises his temper regardless of what the circumstances are, always happy, chatty and an enjoyable person to speak to until the end of his life regardless of having been blind in his last years and liked by all that got to know him…” Sigurður Póstur as he was called was born in Iceland on the 19th of November 1823 at Brautarholtssókn, Kjósasýslu, Iceland. While Sigurður undertook the northern route from 1863 to 1866 he lived at Barð near Akureyri, a turf croft situated near what is today the Menntaskóli (Highschool) in Akureyri by the road Eyrarlandsvegur. He had the misfortune of losing his first wife shortly after the birth of their second child. His eldest daughter Kristjana Margrét was my great great grandmother. Not much is known of Sigurður’s life as a postman. His stories were never recorded, however local newspapers reported his comings and goings. As was mentioned earlier an average trip from Akureyri to the capital city Reykjavík took him about two weeks by foot and on some trips up to three weeks, depending on the weather. Norðanfari newspaper dated 1st of December 1863, pg. 103, recorded his comings and goings: “Northpost Sigurður Bjarnason arrived from his trip to the south of the country on the 17th of November; where he had fallen ill on his way to the south (to Reykjavik) and lay bedridden for two weeks at Sveinstaðir in Húnavatnssýsla and had to get a man to continue the delivery of the mail to the south.“ Sigurður undertook three trips a year around April, August and December in tune with the arrival of postal ships to the merchant towns. Crossing deep waters. Source: Söguþættir Landpóstanna II by Helgi Valtýsson In 1868 Sigurður moved his family south as he had taken the position of Eastern Postal Route, which he held until 1870. He was forty seven years old when he stopped making these trips. They were no light task. The trips needed to be planned out from beginning to end. His horses had to be carefully chosen, the healthiest and the steadiest of temperament. Many times the postman was accompanied by travellers and he would take them under his care as their guide across the precarious landscape and through unpredictable weather. He had to be mindful of the conditions at river crossings and be able to read the weather conditions as well as the lay of the land to find his way across barren uninhabited heathlands. This knowledge of the land and ability to read the weather was deeply ingrained into many Icelanders, the knowledge passed down from postman to postman and generation to generation. In the early days of the Icelandic Postal Service the Postman would carry the mail in a locked leather bag as he walked between the merchant towns. He would carry the bag under his left arm and place the strap across his right shoulder. In this bag he would carry twenty to forty letters and up to one hundred letters at a time. As time passed longer trips required him to carry two leather bags of mail under both arms. Postal bags were used for a while with some postmen carrying fifty to sixty pounds (22 kg to 27 kg) of weight over long distances. Slowly the amount of mail increased and the use of a Skrín (box/case) was common, carried on foot but more commonly on the back of a horse. For a long time, it was common for a postman to use one horse to carry the mail and ride another horse. This was a practice that lasted well into the 19th century, however as the mail increased dramatically from about 1874 and again after 1880 with an increase in the use of school books and newspapers being published and with the sending of newspapers, reports and parcels the number or horses used on a postal trip steadily increased. Around 1900 the average number of horses on a postal train was between six to twelve for long trips. The mail carried to the parliament - Alþingistíðindin quickly became the largest baggage train. It was said that nineteen horses were used to carry the mail by the Postman Hans Karel Hannesson on the Southern Postal route. The boxes that carried the mail were not large but were made strong and weighed about ten kilograms with a mail carriage of twenty kilos per box, making a total of thirty kilos that the horses could carry. They were made from wood, well made, water proofed with an overlapping lid and covered with canvas to hold it together. It was known that Sigurður carried one skrín to begin with but by September/October of 1870 he was carrying two Skrínur. In 1877, seven years after he stopped his postal deliveries, Sigurður’s eldest child Kristjana was in her mid-twenties, settled in her life in Iceland, had long since left home when her father and stepmother decided to leave the poverty and hardships of Iceland in the hopes of prospering like many before them in what was called “Vesturheimur” - the Western World (North America). Sigurður and his second wife Sigríður Bjarnadóttir had lost five of their eight children in the years prior. They were living at Skrautarhólar in Kjósasýsla and from there they emigrated to New Iceland in Canada and later to Akrabyggð in North Dakota and then to Pembina where he lived to his dying day. Records show that Sigurður continued the profession he had left in Iceland and according to the US Census was employed as a Postal Clerk in Pembina, North Dakota in 1900. He died in Pembina, North Dakota on the 28th of December in 1912. The glacier returns what it has taken Many Icelandic postmen suffered constant hardship and the risk of accident or death on their travels. In fact records show that between 1792 and 1939, Iceland lost a total of nineteen people during postal trips across the country. Of those, fourteen were postmen, many of them drowning during river crossings, dying from exposure during snowstorms, or on rarer occasions falling to their deaths down crevices of ice or rocky mountain ledges. It is with this in mind that I wanted to share a story I stumbled across in the postman biographies put together by Helgi Valtýsson in the book Söguþættir Landpóstanna Volume I. This accident was known as póstslysið mikla (the Great Postal Accident). It is a reminder of the constant risk our postal ancestors took in service of Iceland in their duty of delivering the country´s correspondence. This accident occurred in the autumn of 1927, on the 7th of September. Þorlákur Þorláksson was the postman. He worked the Suðurlands (Southland) postal route from 1923 to 1933 which covered the area from Prestbakka at Síðu to Hornafjörður. On this fateful day Þorlákur lost four horses and a man that was travelling with him while they were crossing the glacier at Breiðamerkursandi which is the glacier known for its runoff into the ocean as the famous tourist spot Jökulsarlón. It was usual for Þorlákur to cross this glacier on his postal route and it had taken him only three hours the day before to cross it. Care had to be taken when crossing this area as the conditions up there could change daily with the melting ice and movement in the glacier. On this particular journey it so happened that the travellers had gone a distance of about twenty fathoms up the glacier when they (including the postman) had to stop and work to clear a safe path for the horses. Jón Pálsson, the teacher travelling with Þorlákur had decided to wait with the horses and with him were also two female travellers. It got quite cold standing there waiting, so one of the women decided to help clear the path and the other one followed to try and get some warmth into her limbs with the movement. This was a move that saved their lives, for no sooner had they moved to the area where Þorlákur was clearing a path that the Glacier cracked directly beneath the horses feet. All the horses fell with the cracked ice, seven in total, along with Jón Pálsson who had been guarding them. Devastatingly, they all fell into the crevice but six horses could be seen, some stuck between the ice in the crevice. They were able to rescue three of the horses after much effort. In some areas where Jón and the horses fell there was running water. They searched into the night but fruitlessly. Þorlákur had to continue his journey to Prestbakka with news of the accident and report the missing traveller and mail boxes. The search for Jón Pálsson and the missing mail continued to no avail. The following spring Björn Pálsson, the brother of the deceased school teacher, was searching the area of the glacier in hopes of finding something when he saw the head of one of the horses that carried the mail, stuck in the ice. He went home and sent for men and tools to dig up the horses. At last, the glacier had returned what it had stolen and the body of Jón Pálsson was found along with six small post boxes, wet and half crushed from the glacier. Breiðamerkurjökull Glacier field Photo by Andreas Tille-Own work, CC BY-SA 4,0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=326278 Please honour our Icelandic Postmen, by visiting their pages on the Icelandic Roots Database where we are working on recording their stories. Perhaps there is a postman hiding somewhere in your family tree. Send information and photos to me by email. If you are not a member yet, come and join us. There is much to explore in the database. Use our relationship calculator to see how closely related you are to the postmen mentioned in this blog using the following Icelandic Roots ID Numbers Hans Karel Hannesson - I213593 Sigurður Bjarnason/Benson – I330602 Þorlákur Þorláksson - I446801 References "Íslendingabók". 2018. Islendingabok.Is. https://www.islendingabok.is/. Jackson, Thorstinu. 1926. Saga Íslendinga Norður-Dakota. Winnipeg: The City Printing & Publishing Co. Norðanfari. 1863. "Innlendar Frjettir", 1863. http://timarit.is/. "Póstur.Is - History & Role". 2018. Póstur.Is. https://www.postur.is/en/about-us/operations/history-role/. Valtýsson, Helgi. 1942. Söguþættir Landpóstanna I. Akureyri: Bókaútgáfan Norðri. Valtýsson, Helgi. 1942. Söguþættir Landpóstanna II. Akureyri: Bókaútgáfan Norðri. #IcelandHistory #HistoryofIceland

The Friðrika Björnsdóttir Memorial Restoration Project Riverton, Manitoba, Canada It all comes with the cold water…. “Kemur allt með kalda vatninu” By Salín Guttormsson Photo Credit: Angela Helgason Chalmers As It Happened Productions Many likely know at least a few things, by now, about Friðrika Björnsdóttir, the Icelandic woman who came to Canada in 1876 and who also happens to be my langalangamma (great-great-grandmother). She and her husband, Pétur Árnason, came with three children all under the age of six, lost those three a year later to the smallpox epidemic, had five more children within the following eight years, died as a result of birthing complications at the young age of 35, just three weeks after her namesake was born, and was buried - not in a cemetery but at her homestead, Árskógur, near Riverton, Manitoba. Friðrika’s life story has been extensively shared over the last fourteen months through both traditional and social media platforms, multiple community presentations, and most recently through the production of a documentary. Apart from a rather intriguing connection to Danish royalty, her story, while also historically significant in terms of home burial practises, is not particularly exceptional; it’s not so much different from so many of the Icelanders who sailed off after the Askja eruption in search of a “better life”. Friðrika’s story is unfortunately a rather typical one - one of hardship, challenges, obstacles, and perseverance. It is worth repeating, but not here. Because the story behind her Memorial Restoration Project is also one of hardship, challenges, obstacles, and perseverance. That’s my story here. Back in 2015, I dubbed myself the “Lead” of the Memorial Restoration Project, later adding the qualifier “not so much by design, but much more so by default.” It all came about on that eve on which one is supposed to make resolutions. Mine was to either see this project to fruition, having sporadically inched along in fits and starts for well on eight years, or to shut it down. I had been asked to join the Project Team, then comprised of eight descendants of one of Friðrika’s daughters, Vilborg, and up to that point, this headstone project was beginning to feel more akin to a millstone. The project was ambitious in scope, consisting of at least seven separate parts. First up on the list were the repairs to be made to the original picket fence, the fence that delineated the area where Friðrika’s remains lay, and the application of wood preservative. Located on private land, no longer owned by direct descendants, these seemingly simple tasks therefore presented their own challenges, complicated further with the fact that none of the Project Team had actually put down roots in Riverton. Attending to the overgrown and out-of-control plant forms surrounding the picket fence also called for pilgrimages, permissions, and prolonged periods of pruning and purging. I persevered, despite a nasty encounter with some sort of plant-based toxin (likely poison ivy, but diagnosed as “unknown”) and a six-week course of prednisone. I persevered, too, when the company initially contracted to install the pillar went out of business and when the other company that had been contracted to supply the limestone pieces erred and didn’t produce the inset area for the plaque to the required specifications. I persevered when signages were not provided in proper format, when the pillar was toppled and chipped by “playful” cows - two weeks before the protective fencing was to go in - and when the fencing company decided on its own to deviate from what had been ordered (based on its version of “aesthetics”), after they had already failed to attend on the scheduled install day. As they were not alone in failing to adhere to the schedule, I began to expect this as the norm. I persevered through broken promises of support, through website mishaps and disappearing pages, through further damage to the newly installed fence - two days before the Dedication and Unveiling Ceremony was to take place - and through fits of family pique and a frenzied outbreak of pandemonium when facts were reported as, well, not 100% factual. Now might be a good time to offer up an explanation of the title to this piece. A literal translation of kemur allt með kalda vatninu is “it all comes with the cold water.” What it means, though, is: if one is patient, things will fall into place. Now might also be a good time to offer up a bit more about me; simply put, I have no patience. I am also a perfectionist and a person who does not usually roll with the punches particularly well. With no project management or other relevant experience to draw upon, these and many other obstacles had me almost admitting defeat more than once - but I am also stubborn. Those of you who have caught onto the “p” theme here are likely thinking “pig-headed” might have been a more appropriate word choice. So I persevered. I pushed myself. What I didn’t know, I was prepared to learn. But what I didn’t know and what I wasn’t prepared for was the extent of the rivalries and the resentments. Naively thinking “we’re all of made of this stuff our ancestors brought with them” and “this is a good thing we’re doing,” I never once thought there could be resistance and reluctance in so many forms: coteries, cliques, and claims of disbelief. Although not a superstitious type, it was hard not to conclude, at times, that the project was cursed. When the day of celebration finally came around on Canada’s Sesquicentennial, my own cursing also finally came to an end. My punishment (for what, I’ll never know) seemed to be over. Will I ever agree to volunteer for such an undertaking in the future? Absolutely not! Do I regret having done so? Absolutely not! Despite all the hardship, there were, in fact, far more positive outcomes. Friðrika’s burial site is no longer unrecognized - she has a beautiful triangular-shaped pillar, designed to represent the three generations of the past, the present, and the future. She has a plaque with her dates of birth and death - her “book-end” dates. As Kate Morton wrote in The Distant Hours, those dates are important: “A life … a human life … is bracketed by a pair of events; one’s birth and one’s death. The dates of those two events belong to a person as much as their name, as much as the experiences that happen in between.” The panel, publicly accessible in the local park, commemorates Friðrika’s brief, tragic life. The content included also contributes to the interpretation of Manitoba’s heritage. She is but one representative of the Icelandic settlement struggles in Canada. Perhaps, though, by bringing her personal story to life and preserving it, a deeper understanding of belonging and place will inspire others. Potentially, it will cultivate more respect and appreciation for those who came before us. And the connections that have been made throughout the decade-long term of the project - in particular, those made with newly found relatives in Iceland who disclosed that they, too, had grown-up with the “royal blood” family lore - are priceless, probably worth more than a (Danish) king’s ransom. Today is the 25th of July, Friðrika’s 168th birthday. If you’re so inclined, you can wish her well through Facebook. You can also wish me well, as I splash “the cold water” and repeat my new mantra: “Just Say Nei”. Photo Credit: JEDS Construction Ltd. Project Support The Project Team was very fortunate to receive a generous historic preservation project donation from Icelandic Roots, in keeping with just one of its many laudable goals. Financial support for future preservation and maintenance is still sought and welcomed! The Friðrika Björnsdóttir Memorial Restoration Project: fridrikamemorial@gmail.com READ MORE ON FRIÐRIKA’S WEBSITE #FriðrikaBjörnsdóttir #IcelandicRoots #Genealogy

Have you ever been in line at the grocery store, and just as you were about to pay, you realized that you were $2.00 short? Embarrassing for sure, but if you are one of the lucky ones, some nice stranger behind you realized your predicament and happily paid the clerk the balance of your bill. I bet you can remember the warm feeling you had walking out of that store knowing that a total stranger opened up his heart for you. It was an act of kindness that hopefully spurred you on to help someone else in their time of “need.” Something so simple, yet I’m sure a moment you will remember for years. The old adage is true: It is better to give than receive! At Icelandic Roots, we have volunteer genealogists who work tirelessly to add your Icelandic ancestors and living cousins in the database. They are doing this because they know how important capturing this history is to preserve our combined, Icelandic story. They get excited when they find a famous person or wily character who has been lurking in your background waiting to be found. They get excited to hear the hundreds of stories being memorialized with photos, births, marriages and death certificates added to the database for future generations to access. They use their sleuthing skills to help all people of Icelandic descent, not just their own families. This is their way of Paying it Forward! I’d like to pronounce May 2019 as our first Pay it Forward May. For the whole month, let’s all find ways to contribute financially to Icelandic Roots so our non-profit organization can continue the great work of memorializing our Icelandic ancestors and living cousins. Your tax deductible donations will be used to continue supporting our ongoing finances to secure the database, acquire genealogical assets, promote Icelandic Roots, provide scholarships to Snorri Recipients, and support the many worthy organizations and causes that promote our Icelandic heritage. We are all blessed by the thousands of hours our volunteers donate each year. I hope you will consider “Paying it Forward” so others will benefit by the work of Icelandic Roots just as you have been. May your acts of kindness for people you may never meet come back to you ten-fold! Donate Here Shine your light, Sunna and the IR Team

By Þórdís Edda Guðjónsdóttir In the summer of 2018 I had the privilege of working as an intern for Icelandic Roots to catalogue their library. This internship was credited towards my Master's Degree in Library and Information Science at the University of Iceland, not to mention the fun and the knowledge I gained while doing it. Icelandic Roots is a five year old 501 (c) (3) non-profit organization, located in Fargo, North-Dakota, USA. Their mission is to educate, preserve and promote Icelandic heritage by connecting cousins across the Atlantic Ocean and across the world. In these five years, a good number of books have been donated to the organization. Many of these books are written in Icelandic or they concentrate on Iceland or Icelandic matter. It is estimated that the amount of books and magazines at the Icelandic Roots Library is 3,500, but hard to tell for sure until they have all been catalogued. For the cataloguing I used Microsoft Office Excel and divided one sheet into different columns where I wrote, for example, the name of the book, author and/or editor, publisher, year of publishing etc. I also added any additional interesting information about the book or magazine in one column. Each book was also given search words and a Dewey Decimal Classification number. The entries in the Excel sheet were in total 1,144. Few entries had multiple volumes of the same magazine so I estimate that in total I handled close to 1,600 books, magazines, maps, journals, letters etc. At the end of the summer, the catalogue was printed on A3 sized paper with a total of 140 pages. Many interesting books are found in the Icelandic Roots Library, some very old and some new, some big and heave while others are small and thin. The oldest book printed in Icelandic language is the book Leiðarvísir til að lesa hið Nýa Testament með guðrækni og greind, einkum handa ólærðum lesurum (A Guide To Read The New Testament, Especially For Untrained Readers) published in 1822 in Copenhagen. The books published in 1821-1860 are in total 18, 85 books were published between 1861-1900 and 108 were published between 1901-1920. The youngest books were published in 2016, a volume of the magazine The Icelandic Connection and the book The travels of reverend Ólafur Egilsson: the story of the barbary corsair raid on Iceland in 1627 by Ólafur Egilsson. Some of the old books had the title page missing or the publishing year was not shown in the book, those are not included in the numbers above. The biggest and heaviest book is Guðbrandsbiblía, printed in the 1950´s as a reprint of Guðbrandur´s Bible from the late 1500´s. This book weighs 6.6 kg/14.5 pounds. Edda holding Guðbrandsbilía. This bible weighs 6.6 kg / 14.5 lbs The library consists of many different themed books, for example, Christianity books (Psalms, bibles, Christian studies and reading for children etc.), picture books, books on Iceland such as geography, geology, folklore, wildlife, botany etc., novels, short stories, folktales, poetry, genealogy and many more. Most of the older books were religious books, such as psalms and bibles, but also a few novels. I am certain that some of these books came from Iceland with the settlers back in the late 1800's or early 1900´s. One particular book was a challenge to catalogue. It was in a bad shape, the title page was missing so no information on the book's title or publishing year could be found. After a while, with the help of a flashlight, I was able to barely read the title on the book´s end, Nýa testamenti og sálmar Davíðs (The New Testament and the Psalms of David). I was not able to find any other information on the book itself. However, the interesting part is that the owners´ names were written inside the book and by searching the Icelandic Roots Genealogy Database, I was able to find where they came from. I was very excited to see they emigrated from the county Dalasýsla, from farms I know well. The book that was brought over with the settlers from Dalasýsla, Nýa testamenti og sálmar Davíðs Another pleasant surprise for me was when I found two volumes of Bernskan (The Childhood) written by my great uncle, Sigurbjörn Sveinsson. Bernskan, volume 1 and 2 by Sigurbjörn Sveinsson Icelandic Roots is grateful for all the books that have been donated to the organization in the past five years. Most of the books that were catalogued this summer were donated by a librarian from Chicago, George Hanson. He had a good collection of books in Icelandic or that focused on Iceland or Icelandic matter. Icelandic Roots is honored to receive his wonderful collection and all his books are kept together as the George Hanson Icelandic Library. As the library grows, more books need to be catalogued in addition to those who I could not finish this summer. Therefore it is my hope that I will get the opportunity to continue my work in the near future. I would like to thank the Icelandic Roots for this great opportunity for me to be their intern this summer. This article was originally published by the Lögberg-Heimskringla newspaper. Click on the link to subscribe to the only Icelandic newspaper in North America.

Want to go on an adventure of a lifetime? This weekend, will be the annual Skrapatungarétt. Each September, the local farmers in northwest Iceland gather together for a Horse Roundup. In 2010, I was able to take part in this awe-inspiring and unique horseback experience in the rugged and isolated terrain in the Laxádalur Valley region near Blönduós, Iceland. This was an exhilarating day filled with remarkable horses, friendly people, amazing views of the mountains, treks across glacial rivers and the ancient horse trails through the long, deep valleys. The area farmers unite to bring their horses down from the highlands and remote valleys in this annual horse roundup. The Icelandic horse is an amazingly sure-footed animal. They proved their strength, agility, and stamina during our 12-hour ride on that September day. These horses are unique and special. They have the ability to move in 5 different gaits. The fetgangur (walk), the brokk (trot), the tölt (fast walk), the skeið (pace) and the stökk (gallop). My horse, Jarl, is 135 cm high and impressively strong of body and character. He loved to run – and he ran very fast over the uneven and rough landscape. It was truly amazing and at times a little bit surprising, like when Jarl came to the first stream. The other horses in front of me were walking calmly through the stream, which was about four feet across. So, I was expecting Jarl to walk calmly through the stream, too. Instead, he slowed down just a little and then leaped across the stream! Well, that would have been fine if I had been prepared for him to vault across a four-foot glacial river! In addition, the saddles are unlike our Western saddles. They are very thin and do not have a horn to hang onto. It was certainly thrilling to leap over the streams that day – but that first time was definitely a shock! Thankfully, I did not fall off – – but I attribute that more to the wonders of Jarl than to any personal horsemanship skills! These horses are the descendants of the original horses brought to Iceland in the 9th Century with the first Norse settlers. Over time, they have adapted to the sometimes harsh conditions in Iceland and have become smaller and stronger than their Norse Cousins. Until the 19th Century, horses were the mode of transportation around the craggy and harsh island. This horse breed has remained pure for over a thousand years. Today, there are almost 80,000 horses in Iceland. Their intelligence, agility, personality, smooth gait, and sturdiness have led to many people in other countries purchasing these horses. Riding horses in Iceland is common and many people enjoy riding for pleasure and in competitions. Because the Icelandic horses are allowed to roam free in the highlands and the wide open pastures, they are very spirited and they enjoy a good fast run. They do not start training these horses until they are four or five years old. Their height is only about 55 inches or 13 – 14 hands tall, but they are strong and carry big men easily over the uneven terrain. If you go, make sure that you are strong, healthy, and feel very comfortable on a horse – maybe even one that leaps across the glacial streams. Jarl was brilliant at going through the crystal-clear rivers. He stayed calm and steady even though the water was very cold and sometimes quite fast-moving. It was truly an unforgettable experience to ride that day in the deserted back country of the Laxárdalur Valley in Austur Húnavatnssýsla. On my muscular and determined steed, I was climbing mountains, galloping across wide open plains, and crossing the many bogs, streams, and rivers of the Laxárdalur Valley. The Laxá River was so beautiful as it wound through the valley. As we made our way on those ancient trails, I imagined the many other riders and people from past years that traveled on the same path through the mountains. Vigilance was needed to pay attention to my horse, the other horses and riders, and to the spectacular panoramic beauty of the surrounding area. I felt very alive. There was strength and energy in the fresh mountain air. The beauty that surrounded us was amazing and I thanked God for creating such wonders. The unspoiled nature and the smooth gaited “tölt“ of my horse (Hestur in Icelandic), was quite an extraordinary experience. On a few of our stops through the beautiful, sunny day, we were greeted with musicians playing the guitar and accordion. There was singing and story-telling. Many bottles and cans were shared amongst the riders that day. Everyone was very cheerful and friendly to me. My only regret is that I cannot speak Icelandic – – but it was not a problem because almost all Icelanders speak perfect English. That night, all the farmers and friends celebrate the successful round-up with a feast and by singing and dancing the night away at the local community center. My gracious hosts on this trip were Magdalena Margrét Einarsdóttir and her husband, Pétur Snær Sæmundsson. Their farm is called Brekkukot and is located near Blönduós. They have about 70 horses. The area surrounding their farm is the scenic Vatnsdalur (dalur is valley in Icelandic), which leads deep into the hinterland. This valley is where the Vatnsdæl Saga takes place and this area is referred to in other Icelandic Sagas, too. Our ride started at the farm, Strjúgsstaðir in Langidalur and we stopped at Kirkjuskarð to rest the horses. People had packed sack lunches and there were concessions there, too. The musicians were entertaining the crowd and everyone spent time visiting and relaxing in the perfect, sun-filled day. After a long break, everyone caught their horses again and readied them for the rest of the ride. When they released the huge group of the wild horses, it was extraordinary. They were magnificent and wild in their natural habitat yet they stayed with the other horses on the way down to the big Skrapatungurétt corral. Afterwards, Magdalena, Pétur, and all the others in our posse rode to the farm, Síða. This is where Magdalena´s paternal grandparents and uncle reside. Magdalena´s mother, Sigga Hermansdóttir, and I are 4th cousins and have been friends since 2009. However, I feel as if we have known each other our whole lives. Every minute that I spend with Sigga and her family strengthens my connections with Iceland. Knowing them is a true blessing to me. Sigga and her husband, Einar, live at Hjallaland (Hill Land) where they raise sheep and horses. Their two grandchildren are so delightful and we had fun trying to see what words they knew in English and that I knew in Icelandic. Their ancestral home was built in 1881 along the beautiful river and made of Iceland rock and timbers from old buildings. Spending the night at Hjallaland was truly magical and I slept perfectly at their wonderful farmstead overlooking the Vatnsdalsá River and the long lake, Flóðið, where geese, swans, and ducks abound. The next day, Sigga brought me to the Þingeyrarkirkja (Thingeyrar Church), which is a distinctive and rare church. It is the site of the first monastery in Iceland. This entire region is a paradise for people who like outdoor activities like fishing and horseback riding. The Blanda River, is one of the best rivers for salmon fishing in Iceland. They also have many small lakes with a lot of trout. There is a textile museum with traditional costumes, tools, and a wool exhibition. There is a Sea Ice Exhibition Center and lots of good food at the Cafés and Restaurants. I am so thankful that I was able to participate in the annual Skrapatungurétt. The relationships with my cousins in Iceland have been made stronger. My passion to connect with the people, the horses, the country, and the land of Iceland has become even more intense. I would encourage everyone to make this trip to Iceland. Enjoy the beauty of the hidden valleys. Feel the powerful pull of the Sagas and the history. Meet with the people of Iceland – they love their country and their traditions. Go experience the annual Horse Roundup – – Skrapatungurétt – believe me – – you will form a memory that will last a lifetime!

Judy Richardson Arborg, Manitoba Until my afi’s death when I was five years old, he and I were very close. We lived nearby and he spent a lot of time with me. Everything was fun with him – he took me to the park and bought me chocolate bars. He laughed at my antics and told me stories. I still remember many of them. As a preschooler, he taught me to sip coffee through a sugar cube. I only learned later, years after his death, that he had suffered from shell shock – an affliction now known as PTSD. He had been a soldier fighting in some of the worst battles of World War One. I never saw that side of him. From family stories, it was much worse for him, my amma, and his children as they were growing up. Shell shock was not a pretty illness. I got to know my amma much better after my afi died and we moved into her house. Over the next 16 years, we bonded in a way denied most grandchildren. I was so very lucky to have her. She was intelligent, quiet, and funny. We watched movies together, read the same books, and spent many a Saturday evening watching Hockey Night in Canada when there were only six teams in the NHL. But there was always a shadow. Because I wanted to be with her so much, I always watched the Remembrance Day ceremony on CBC with her. It was a deeply sad time. In fact, it was the only time I ever saw my amma cry. She had lost her only full brother, Fred Josephson, in WW1. I came to realize that although she soldiered on long after his soldiering had ended, she never truly came to terms with his loss. He was one of the thousands upon thousands of missing people from that horrific war. He was killed on the battlefield in France in the fall of 1918, and his body could never be found or identified. There could be no real closure. For many years, she imagined him with amnesia, working on some farm in France. She clung to hope. She showed me a postcard Fred had sent her, and a photo of him when he was a baby. A photo of them together. A photo of him and my langamma. And so, my life was somehow shaped by that war. I studied the “War to End all Wars” in high school and again in university. In 2014, my husband and I toured the World War 1 battlefields in Belgium and France. It was the 100th anniversary of the outbreak of that unimaginable conflict. The following year we joined Joel Fridfinsson in doing a presentation for the Arborg Thorrablót about men of the area who had been in the Great War. From doing that research, I realized I could do more. In fact, I was hooked. As a child I had sometimes paged through the family copy of Minningarrit Íslenzkra Hermanna, taking it from the bookshelves and looking at the photos of the soldiers and nurses. I obtained a used copy over the internet and went back to it with vigour. I decided to research every soldier in it. It didn't hurt that I was a librarian and knew how to research. It also didn't hurt that I love history. At first, I didn't know what I would do with the research – just enjoy it, write articles, or maybe write a book. I settled on the latter, and plan to publish in about a year. Along the way, my grandson Tyler joined me in research and in constructing and maintaining a research database. It has been a way to introduce him to our family, our people, and the wonderful history of Icelanders in North America. Icelandic Roots has been a good friend and resource for our research. It is my plan to share anything I discover with them. I know of no better resource for people of Icelandic descent to research genealogy and the history of our people. I know that there must be many others reading this who had family in World War 1. I am interested in stories, photos, letters -virtually anything dealing with the almost 1400 North American soldiers and nurses of World War One that were of Icelandic descent. If you would like to share anecdotes, letters, photos, or anything else, please contact me at my email. Vikings of the First World War: Icelandic Canadians in Service runs through March 3, 2019. Here is a photo of the Vikings from their exhibit.

The following article is from Ármann Jakobsson Professor in Medieval Icelandic Literature at the University of Iceland All Icelanders know that J.R.R. Tolkien used Icelandic material in his work but know less about how he used it. There are many rings in Icelandic medieval literature but magic rings are a fairly ubiquitous folklore theme and thus it is somewhat far-fetched to imagine that the ring narrative was inspired by Iceland. But some other material does come from Iceland and I will say a few words here about how Tolkien’s dwarves, elves, dragons and ghosts are partly inspired by medieval Icelandic matter. Many of Tolkien’s Icelandic readers have finished The Hobbit by the age of 18, when they read Snorra-Edda and Völuspá in school and realise that the dwarf-names of the former (such as Thorin, Dwalin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur) are also in the latter. But therein the resemblance ends. While many medieval Norse dwarf names are known to us, only a handful of dwarves appear as characters in Old Norse narratives. In the eddas and sagas I have counted seven in toto – well, perhaps eight but the number seven is better since it is a number people have to associate with dwarves in contemporary culture. Dwarves can also be found in the indigenous Icelandic romances, narratives that are clearly inspired by continental tradition, but in a somewhat restricted role as supernatural helpers that may be of assistance to a hero in his efforts to become betrothed to his bride. They are almost non-existent in post-medieval Icelandic folktales. While Tolkien did indeed take the dwarf-names from Icelandic texts (though famously adding Balin whose name is nowhere to be found in the eddic tradition), the character of the dwarf, established so clearly in Tolkien’s work, is hardly present in the Icelandic material he used. It is at once his creation and his interpretation of his eddic material, but it is very much his and not simply appropriated from medieval literature. Such is the power of Tolkien’s fiction that often even scholars fail to realise this. Thus, for medievalists, Tolkien has become an attractive siren totreat with suspicion. I have found many examples of his portrayal of dwarves (and possibly also other dwarf portrayals from the literary culture of the 19th and 20thcenturies) getting in the way of what is actually said about dwarves in the medieval material. For Tolkien, the dwarf develops a character compatible with rock and stone and earth, materials that are in some legends (but far from generally) associated with dwarves in the medieval sources that inspired him.Tolkien’s dwarves are heavy, solid, loyal, atavistic, resilient, stubborn, materialistic, prosaic, implacable, and vindictive. All these traits may possibly owe something to Old Norse narratives, but they are far from apparent in most of them. Tolkien has, of course, somewhat typically for scholars of his generation, combined all known dwarf narratives and tried to find common denominators. This is how mythologists worked for most of the 19th century until the last few decades. But he is also creative, he is deliberately filling in the gaps and creating new myths to make up for the paucity of old myths. Tolkien’s elves may also be seen as his own interpretation of older material. It is evident that he has used Icelandic material, mostly the eddic poems Alvíssmál and  Völundarkviða, and possibly younger folktales, of the 18th and 19th centuries,where elves are far more prominent than dwarves. However, the truth is that elves in Icelandic medieval sources are shadowy creatures that are a far cry from the very clearly defined race of elves that appears in the works of Tolkien. In fact, the term álfrseems to have been fairly broad in the Middle Ages, and possibly applicable to any supernatural creature with magic powers that still remained outside the Norse pantheon of the æsir. I have noticed that modern scholars often seem to be envisioning Legolas when they write about medieval elves. Indeed, Tolkien’s elves are compelling, but the medieval Icelandic elf may have been completely differently envisioned, though the sources hardly allow us to establish that. Thus, Tolkien is again creating from sources that do not really yield much detail and the result is an elf that for most contemporary people has becomethe image of the traditional elf. Tolkien mined medieval Icelandic material in many other ways. His most direct borrowing from eddic poetry is possibly the conversation between Bilbo Baggins and the dragon Smaug, surprisingly mundane and even amiable in part, but eerily resembling the conversation between the dragon Fáfnir and his slayer Sigurðr (the Siegfried of the Wagnerian cycle) that is related in the eddic poem  Fáfnismál. Again, Tolkien is not only a shrewd literary critic, but also a compelling creator. One of the things a modern reader of Fáfnismál will notice is the fact that Sigurðr and the dragon finish their encounter with a fairly polite conversation, which makes the dragon not only more accessible but also, perhaps somewhat paradoxically, far more terrible. Tolkien uses this to great effect: the chilling guile of Smaug when he seeks information from Bilbo, juxtaposed with Bilbo’s shameless flattery, intended to lure the dragon into revealing a weakness, is far more unusual and in my mind also more effective than any battle with a mindless monster might have been. Indeed, Tolkien confounds his readers’ expectations by making Bilbo’s encounter with the dragon a duel of wits, whereas the dragon is instead killed by a completely new character with no back story (Tolkien invented that later). In this way Tolkien departs radically from the narrative conventions that partly inspired him and instead presents the worldview of the common soldier of the 20th century who may be participating in a gigantic struggle but is more or less powerless to do much about it. Bilbo does not distinguish himself in battle in this story because the 20th century anti-hero does not need to do that. What he instead does is stumbles more or less accidentally on new technology (or as it happens ancient, as the ring is in the story) and uses it (mostly its ability to make the wearer invisible) successfully to tilt the adventure game in his favour. That all technology is dangerous only occurred to Tolkien later. There are no ghosts in The Hobbit, unlike Icelandic folktales and sagas, but in The Lord of the Rings, Tolkien very successfully adapts the Icelandic ghost to a new genre, possibly inspired by such stories as Bram Stoker’s Dracula, published when he was five. While ‘ghost’ is a term often used about the medieval Icelandic undead, they are much more closely akin to vampires, as Andrew Lang, whose anthologies of traditional material aimed at children were eagerly devoured by Tolkien, realised when he called the undead Glámr a “vampire” in 1897 in his English retelling of Grettir’s duel with this notorious undead. Essentially Icelandic ghosts are corporeal, and this corporality is also a feature of the nine ring-wraiths, the ghouls that Frodo Baggins has to face in The Lord of the Rings, which is, thus, perhaps surprisingly to some, also a ghost story. Not only is Frodo trying to evade these wraiths for most of the first book, he is also attacked by a barrow-wight, and other ghosts play a substantial part in the great battle of book five. More importantly, Frodo himself is slowly becoming a ghost throughout the narrative, due to the evil influence of the ring but possibly also due to infection from the magic blade of the wraiths (vampirism is notoriously infectious both in the Icelandic sagas and in 20th century horror). As Tom Shippey has remarked, the wraiths operate mostly through fear, as is also true of Old Norse ghosts. Their power is not really of this world and yet they have a clear physical presence in it. As a ring-bearer, Frodo suffers more or less the  same fate. He does not turn to evil, although in the end that happens partly through accident, but even though he nominally survives the fall of Sauron and the end of the third age, the last part of the story deals mostly with his inability to return to the world. He has in effect become a ghost himself and the only solution is for him to leave the known world of Middle-earth along with the elves and Gandalf. As you will note, this is a ghost-story quite unlike its medieval influences. It is possibly far more influenced by 19th century romantic literature which Tolkien may have been critical of but in this as in general, he remained a man of his own age. I have mentioned dwarves, elves, dragons,and ghosts but no review of Tolkien’s Icelandic influences would be complete without addressing Gandalf. Possibly the clearest example of a direct borrowing from Old Norse, the name Gandalf appears in the dwarf lists of both Völuspá and Snorra-Edda. There is also a King Gandalf in Heimskringla, about whom we know little apart from his name. The name literally means ‘elf with a staff (possibly a wand)’ in Icelandic and Tolkien is here working with little but a name in his great creation of Gandalf. In both novels, The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, Gandalf fulfills the role of supernatural helper, teacher, mentor, and surrogate parent. His role, in fact, is closely akin to that of the university professor himself. Thus, it hardly needs to be a surprise to every reader of modern campus novels that in the text of an Oxford don such as Tolkien, Gandalf is a great comic creation, providing a very necessary counter-balance to the seriousness of some of the narrative. Gandalf is benevolent, trustworthy, and essentially good and kind but still short-tempered, impatient,  superior, and occasionally condescending. He repeatedly reprimands, scolds and makes fun of the hobbits like any excellent contemporary teacher would. They are slightly scared of him and yet not too scared. In The Hobbit, he is presented at the beginning as a familiar figure, and who is more familiar to us than our parents or grand-parents, and later our teachers? And yet these all-important, nourishing, benevolent, kind, and sometimes slightly ludicrous figures will later turn out to have dimensions unknown to us – growing up often involves realising that our parents are not just our parents but also people (some nominal grown-ups never actually reach this stage) who have their own lives and desires and hidden dimensions. And this is precisely what happens with Gandalf. As the hobbits grow in experience and knowledge, so he also grows in The Hobbit, and especially in The Lord of the Rings, and turns out to be far more remarkable, dangerous and awe-inspiring than the reader could possibly have imagined at the beginning of the story. The development of Gandalf is possibly one of the greatest strengths of the two novels. Actor Ian McKellen, who portrayed him splendidly in the original three Peter Jackson films (and now six), once stated that he felt Gandalf was the star of the books and he was not wrong. However, this is the work of Tolkienhimself with insignificant aid from medieval Iceland. From the Old Norse sources, he took little but the name and the idea of an elf with a staff, in the company of dwarves. What I have been attempting to say in this talk is that it may be far from unusual to have a great love of Iceland, to be inspired by this country as the PR-people of today will phrase it. What is unusual is how JRR Tolkien used this influence in his own creations that, while seeming somewhat anachronistic at first, actually turned out to be more in tune with the modern world than any other novelistic creations of the 20th century. Thus, his work has been spell-binding the masses for decades. Ármann Jakobsson Part of a talk given at the 8th Omentieva Toltea, Reykjavík, 2 Aug 2019, includes material taught in the class “Tolkien og íslenskar miðaldabókmenntir“ in Borgarnes and Reykholt from Oct 2018 to April 2019.

August is "Iceland Month." Today we begin a very fun and busy month with "Everything Icelandic." Icelandic Roots will be at events in the United States, Canada, and Iceland. August 1, 2, 3: Mountain, North Dakota for The Deuce of August Today the IR Team has a 3-hour genealogy seminar teaching how to use the database. It will include special features, how to find information, and more. The focus will be on how to connect deeper with your Icelandic family story. August 4 and 5: Gimli, Manitoba for Íslendingadagurinn During this week, the kids are having fun at the Gimli Icelandic Camp. Icelandic Roots has provided funds for an education grant. They use the donation to help teach the youth Icelandic Language. Then we will be at The New Iceland Heritage Museum for a very fun Sunday. Then several of the IR team will leave for Iceland and take part in the INLNA 100-year Tour to Iceland. We will be visiting important sites for our shared ancestors. The IR cartographer, Doug, has developed an AMAZING map showing the birth and emigration locations for each of the participants. Kent Lárus Björnsson has provided an interesting and fun itinerary. We will visit the Emigration Centers in Vopnafjörður and Hofsós plus many historic and tourist sites. The tour consists of volunteers from these major Icelandic organizations: Icelandic Roots INLNA - Icelandic National League of North America INLUS - Icelandic National League of the United States Lögberg-Heimskringla newspaper plus many members of Icelandic Clubs throughout North America. We will take part in Menningarnótt (Culture Night) in Reykjavík on August 24th and in the Icelandic National League of Iceland's conference on the 25th. Icelandic Roots is an all volunteer organization. We "pay it forward" for scholarships, grants, educational events, help with conferences and conventions, heritage sites, and provide the wonderful Icelandic Roots Database. Come and join us today!

We each have a date we were born and a date we will die. The two dates are separated by a dash. While these exact dates are important in genealogy research, the team at Icelandic Roots (IR) is extremely interested in "the dash." In the Icelandic Roots Database, we want more than just names and dates. Obituaries are a valuable resource and tell the story of "the dash." Precious family information is included in an obituary. The IR genealogists use many newspaper resources to find obituaries. GenealogyBank, Newspapers .com, NewspaperArchive, WinnipegFreePress, Morgunblaðið, and all the online newspapers at www.timarit.is – (my favorite). In addition to these sources, the IR team has over 2,000 other sources where we gather information. By using obituaries, notes, custom events, special reports, histories, and more, we can tell and preserve the stories of Iceland, ancestors, and descendants wherever they may live. Please share obituaries and stories from your family. We will connect the information to the IR Database. Enjoy this wonderful poem called “The Dash.” Have a great day, everyone. Live your dash! THE DASH the poem by Linda Ellis I read of a man who stood to speak at the funeral of a friend. He referred to the dates on the tombstone from the beginning … to the end. He noted that first came the date of birth and spoke of the following date with tears, but he said what mattered most of all was the dash between those years. For that dash represents all the time they spent alive on earth and now only those who loved them know what that little line is worth. For it matters not, how much we own, the cars… the house… the cash. What matters is how we live and love and how we spend our dash. So think about this long and hard; are there things you’d like to change? For you never know how much time is left that still can be rearranged. To be less quick to anger and show appreciation more and love the people in our lives like we’ve never loved before. If we treat each other with respect and more often wear a smile… remembering that this special dash might only last a little while. So when your eulogy is being read, with your life’s actions to rehash, would you be proud of the things they say about how you lived your dash? by Linda Ellis, Copyright © 1996-2019, thedashpoem.com Icelandic Roots has received written permission to post The Dash poem by Southwestern Inspire Kindness, Inc. They own the copyright and trademark of the poem. Icelandic Roots is a registered charity 501(c)(3) nonprofit. Individuals who read this blog post may share it to their personal FB and social media pages and share the blog post via email with family and friends. To read additional terms of use for this poem, please follow this link: https://thedashpoem.com/use-of-the-dash/ Discover more about your family at www.IcelandicRoots.com and click on "Join Now."

By Bryndís Víglundsdóttir Mid July 1961. The days were still fusing with the nights and the nights with the days. We had been working all day at planting trees in a valley, Laugabólsdalur that stretches inland where the fjord hit its limits. The fjord Ísafjörður is the innermost fjord in the huge Ísafjarðardjúp of the West Fjords. When Iceland was being settled around 900 this valley is said to have been covered with trees, mostly birch. For various reasons most of the trees have disappeared. The family at the major farm in the area owned the valley and they offered it to the Reforestation Association of Iceland on condition that reforestation would be done there in the correct way. So we were there, the first summer of many. My husband, Guðmundur oversaw the project and I took on the job of providing food for the group of twenty young men who were all of the age when there is never enough food to fill the empty stomachs! The first part of the project was putting up a sturdy fence around the area where the seedlings were to be planted. The fence would have to be sturdy enough to withstand the heavy snow that fills the valley in the winter and also keep the sheep out. Otherwise they would eat the seedlings the very first spring of their presence there. In order to get to the area a heath had to be crossed and it was not open until a week of July and the crew of young men was available until the end of August. So everyone had to work long hours, the crew completing the fence and then planting the seedlings and I doing the cooking! There was no electricity in the old house where we stayed so I cooked on a huge ancient cast iron stove. Keeping the fire going was a challenge for me as I hadn't done that before. The first task each morning was to get the fire going and I soon found out that I needed kindling, wood and coal. The kindling I got by gathering dried horse and sheep droppings (last years production) and that worked well. There was very little wood anywhere to be found and the coal I ordered from the village Ísafjörður. A boat would bring provisions around the Ísafjarðardjúp once a week. Fish and meat we got from the fiord that gave us abundantly. I would prepare and cook this wonderful food for the boys and send them off to do their part in reforesting our country! Yes, the working days were long but who wants to go to sleep when the sun is still shining at midnight? We would walk along the beach, listening to the symphony sounding all around, the eider ducks calling their úa-dú, the other sea birds peeping as they do, seals stretching up their head to look around, the arctic terns, lively as they are diving to fetch the small minnows in the sea to feed their chicks. They will soon have to make the long flight over to Africa. And as if to gather all these sounds into this Symphony of Nature the waves play a steady continuous cello cord as only a master knows how to. We came upon a field of the greenest grass where a few cows were grazing. “There is a sea cow in this group”, said he, “the grey one is looking at us. I will go and have a closer look”. The black cows were all for the close encounter but the grey sea cow didn't want to come close to the man. I took the picture of Guðmundur having a moment with the black cow, Dimma (the Dark one) on July 15th 1961 right at midnight. There are several stories of how farmers have come by sea cows. They are as a rule very good cows, milking well and being very manageable. This story is from Þjóðsögur, (Folklore) collected by Jón Árnason. There once was a man named Bjarni, known as Bjarni the Strong, who lived in Breiðavík by Borgarfjörður in the county of Múlasýsla. One summer day, Bjarni was out in the field in overcast and foggy weather when he heard the sound of cattle from the shore below the farm. He gazed into the fog and saw a herd of no fewer than eighteen cattle. A small boy ran behind the herd, followed by a calf. Bjarni took off and ran in front of the herd, as he suspected that these were sea cattle. When the boy saw this, he began egging the cattle on. Bjarni saw that first among the cattle was an ox with rings on its horns, which rattled as it ran. Bjarni and the boy raced until they came to the shore, by which time Bjarni had overtaken the calf. As the herd and the boy disappeared into the sea, Bjarni turned to the calf and burst the bladder between its nostrils, said to be present on all sea cattle, thus preventing it from returning to the sea. Bjarni then took it home. The calf, which was a heifer, became a fine cow from which a great breed descended in Breiðavík. Jón Árnason, Íslenzkar þjóðsögur og ævintýri I, p. 129.

By Robert Isleifson I was born in the early thirties in the town of Glenboro in southern Manitoba, another “Goolie” joining the community. I’ve heard many stories about the origin and meaning of this term, but I still don’t know why those of us with Icelandic names were called Goolies. If anyone has the answer, please enlighten me! The one regret I have about my childhood is that I didn’t become fluent in Icelandic. Such an opportunity wasted. But when you’re young and there are games to be played, who wants to be labeled as just another Goolie? Still, I felt there was something special about having a father who’d come from Iceland. When I heard my Uncle Stone (Steini) and my dad talk about coming to Canada from Iceland, I developed a keen interest in my Icelandic heritage. Joining the Icelandic Canadian Club of Western Manitoba and the INLNA and receiving Hálfdan Helgason’s newsletters helped keep the interest alive. A trip to Iceland where I got to visit some cousins fanned the flames of my fascination. Then there was some online research and a family tree report put together by Nelson Gerrard that one of my cousins shared with me – pure gold. Using all this information I had at my disposal, I put together a family tree website that went back to the 1500s. I was content to just sit back and make the necessary changes as births and deaths occurred. Then Icelandic Roots entered the scene and altered my life. Suddenly, all this information was available with just a couple clicks on the old keyboard. The database has so much information and is so very easy to use, and if you do run into a problem, help is just a click away. But I must warn you, once you try using the relationship button you’ll be hooked! When someone asks where afi is, my good wife is likely to say, “oh, he’s probably in his cave rooted to Icelandic Roots.” I’ve been a member for two years and spend lots of time on the site (too much, I’ve been told!) and still have not explored everything the database has to offer, but I’ll keep trying. Thank you to Icelandic Roots and all the good people that make it happen!