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April 19th
I can already tell I like Iceland’s visuals. As we were coming down out of the clouds, with the sun beginning to rise, we got a glimpse of the black/brown volcanic soil, the indigo blue of the ocean water, and the bright greens of the sprouting grasses. I feel like I’ve gone to photographers’ heaven!
We landed at Keflavik Airport just before 6:00 am local time. Bridgette and I got very little sleep. I’m not comfortable snoozing in the seated position.
My attempts to learn Icelandic through YouTube videos and a download from Pimsleur did not work. They talk much faster here than in the tutorials. Also, everyone we’ve encountered speaks English, so I guess I’ll get by.
I’m very happy that no one discovered my dope hiding spot in the suitcase. Although I’ve read that Iceland is pretty chill about marijuana, I was afraid they’d have drug-sniffing dogs roaming about while we were going through customs. Bridgette would kill me if she found out I brought along a one-month supply of my favorite bear-shaped edibles.
Let’s hope I get better at driving with a stick shift! On our way to Reykjavik, I stalled out four times, including once trying to enter our first Icelandic round-a-bout. If Bridgette’s looks could kill, I would have died several times today. I definitely should have spent more time with Mom learning to use the clutch. I’m thankful the University agreed to pay for the damage insurance. I may need it before this trip is through.
April 19
Flight over was easy. I was too excited about beginning my research to get much sleep. I still can’t believe how sparse the literature is regarding animal husbandry practices for Icelandic sheep. Dr. Gilwain is not going to regret the grant he arranged for me to conduct this study, and to complete my dissertation.
I intend to use this journal to help me keep track of what I am experiencing and feeling. Writing down my personal thoughts has been recommended as a way to not get too caught up in research documentation. Several recent PhDs told me that they forgot to “stop and smell the roses” while they were focusing on data collection and analysis. Brad said he was going to keep a journal, as well, along with his self-assigned role of project photographer.
After watching Brad drive today, I’m not sure the two of us will make it to our third wedding anniversary. I was certain that truck was going to hit my side of the car when we stalled in that traffic circle. I will not apologize for my shriek and the accompanying yelling. I guess I should have believed her when Brad’s Mom told me he had not been taking their stick-shift driving lessons seriously.
April 20th
Reykjavik is a fascinating city! I wish I could have spent more time down by the docks, checking out the shops and photographing all those wall murals. I was on my own for a couple hours while Bridgette spent time at University of Iceland, confirming with some agricultural bigwig which farms we’d be visiting and picking up written letters of introduction, so the farmers will know we are legit. She is so excited for this trip and her research! I’m very thankful that I can join her. I’d be miserable if I had to stay in Ithaca while she was here on her nine-week adventure.
I’m very glad that our electrical adapter worked so that I can charge my cameras. Iceland’s two-circle outlets look weird to me.
I’m pretty sure I was on the right street, but I never did find the Icelandic Punk Rock Museum.
April 20
Nice long talk today with Dr. Jonsdottir from the University of Iceland. She had been a classmate with Dr. Gilwain at Cornell and I have to wonder if they ever dated. Both of them are rather coy about the nature of their relationship during grad school. As Dr. Gilwain had promised, she was a treasure trove of information regarding the factors sheep farmers consider deciding when to move animals between the barn and pasture, and what circumstances might lead them to intervene with ill or injured animals during the summer open pasture months. I think that Dr. Jonsdottir was more comfortable speaking with me in person than she had been over Zoom.
Dr. Jonsdottir cautioned me about rivalries that exist between sheep farmers in the regions we’ll be visiting. She also described Iceland’s shepherds as being very protective, secretive even, about their unique “tricks of the trade.” I’m confident that I will know how to charm them enough so that they share their sheep-raising game plans.
I had been worried about not knowing any Icelandic, but Dr. Jonsdottir said I would have no problems communicating in English with my shepherd families. I guess there was no need for me to join in when Brad was listening to those language lessons.
Brad is like a kid in a candy store here. He is taking photographs of everything he can see. I love that man but wish I could spend less time waiting for him to get the “perfect shot.”
There is too much traffic in Reykjavik for my tastes. Of course, I also think that Ithaca, NY has too many cars and not enough farm animals.
April 21st
Long drive on Route 1 to Akureyri, Iceland’s “northern capital.” Gorgeous scenery as we drove past hills/mountains and through bright green and white valleys. Yes, there is still plenty of snow on the ground. With intermittent showers, we kept seeing rainbows that, somehow, seemed more vibrant than the ones we see in New York. I wanted to stop several dozen times to photograph the rainbows, panoramic vistas, and waterfalls. Bridgette reluctantly agreed to take a short detour so I could stop and photograph a rush of water coming off one of the plateaus (somewhere near Stadur). Then, not five minutes later, we saw an even taller and more powerful waterfall off to the right but didn’t have time to stop again. Not sure why she is not completely mesmerized by all this natural beauty.
We had to get to the Lamb Inn before it got dark. Yes, how perfect is it that my sheep-loving wife arranged for us to stay in the Lamb Inn, outside of Akureyri, for the first three weeks of our stay?
I’m feeling less jet-lagged today. Maybe that’s why I only stalled the car once during our entire trip.
April 21
I can’t wait to see all these fields filled with sheep! Beautiful drive up to Akureyri. There is a lot of uninhabited land and, according to Dr. Gilwain, most of it is used for grazing during the summer. Of course, more snow must melt, first. I kept looking at the barns, off in the distance, wishing we could get started introducing ourselves to farmers and asking about their practices, and even offering to help during the upcoming lambing season. I bet there’s lots of pregnant Ewes in all those barns we passed!
I always feel a bit guilty when I do it, but we ate lamb soup today ... at a gas station of all places! As I keep telling my vegetarian brother, just because I love studying Ovis doesn’t mean I can’t love eating them.
Brad was annoyed with me on our drive up here. He kept wanting to pull over to take photographs and I was in a hurry to arrive, worrying about how long the trip would take. Turns out there was no danger of any traffic jams in this part of Iceland, and we got here in plenty of time. I believe I made it up to Brad earlier this evening.
The Lamb Inn is adorable. The owners have a beautiful barn housing a small flock of sheep. As the owner Johannes (am I spelling that right?) and his wife Ragnheiour told me, these are the lucky animals from area farms that haven’t been turned into soup. These older animals simply spend their days grazing and sleeping. I was struck by how many of them seemed to be looking at me when I entered the barn.
April 22nd
Excited to get started photographing sheep! We drove to Fossholl today to meet Inge, who introduced us to her farm and her 63 head of sheep. While Bridgett spoke with Inge, I waded through the herd to take photographs. I’m not sure how all those animals fit in that modest barn. The animals were bleating and baaing like crazy when we first arrived, but then got mostly quiet when I entered. I love their handsome faces, and the way they seemed to pose when I was capturing their image. Inge told us to not stare at an individual animal for too long, that they would take it as a sign of aggression. I wanted to learn each of their names, but Inge told me they do not name their animals. It was difficult to tell how big their bodies are given how much wool they are carrying. We met a woman from a neighboring town who would be buying some of Inge’s wool after shearing day, which is the end of this week.
I believe Bridgette had a good first day researching “out in the field.” She is in her element talking with sheepherders. I love seeing that twinkle in her eye when she enters a barn for the first time.
It seemed right to order the salmon for dinner tonight.
April 22
Met Inge Eggertdottir and toured her farm located about an hour east from Akureyri. Today was mostly a “getting to know you” session. I figure I have several weeks to ask her probing questions about their animal husbandry decision making.
Inge’s husband died from cancer a few years ago so she is running the family farm with the help of two of her sons, Kristofer and Gunnar (who we did not meet). I was struck by how committed they seem to be to their lifestyle and to their animals. This is not just a business venture for them, this is their family’s way of life. Inge could not tell me how many generations of her relatives have been tending sheep, but she thinks it is several hundred years’ worth, at least.
I am honored to be studying one of the purest sheep breeds in the world, first brought to Iceland over 1,000 years ago! I am so jazzed to be here and, I’m afraid, ignored Brad for most of the day.
April 23rd
I hadn’t thought of sheep as being a particularly smelly animal, not like pigs or chickens. I’m thinking differently today. The barn at the Fjord View Farm (I think that’s what those Icelandic words mean), only 15 minutes from the Lamb Inn, smelled pretty ripe. The animals have been inside pooping and peeing all winter and the farm hands don’t seem too concerned about keeping the floors clean.
Maybe the sheep are pooping more because they are being sheared. About half of the animals at this farm are clean shaven while the other half are soon to be. I’m pretty sure I would piss myself if someone was about to flip me on my back and shave every inch of me.
It felt like the sheep were looking at me while they were being sheared, as if to say, “Don’t just stand there ... stop them from doing this to me!” I did get several great shots of animal faces as they were being held down. The afternoon light coming through the barn door was gorgeous.
I’m excited to experience over 20 hours of daylight in June!
April 23
Travelled to Hrafnagil to meet Aron Victorson and tour his farm. He and his family have a huge operation with over 350 head of sheep. Impressive facilities, though a bit unkempt. Mr. Victorson did not seem as welcoming to me as was Inge yesterday. Despite my introductory letter from Dr. Jonsdottir, Aron asked if I was working for Alexander Dagurson, who, I guess, is a cousin. Supposedly, Dagurson is hard-nosed and boastful, and has been known to try sneaking away with competitor sheep during the September gathering. Aron strikes me as a suspicious and protective guy.
I was very impressed with the efficiency of the shearing team Aron had hired. It was taking them less than two minutes to shear each animal. Once they finally got started (after much coffee, smoking and gossiping), their assembly line of prep, shearing and cleanup was coordinated and fast. I was surprised to notice that the animals were emitting small vocalizations while they were losing their wool. I don’t think I had ever seen that on our farm in Ohio or while studying at Cornell.
I love how comfortable Brad is walking into the barn, chatting with the farm hands, and getting up close with the animals. You’d never know that he grew up in the rich suburbs of Philadelphia, with no farm animals in sight.
April 24th
If yesterday’s farm was called “Fjord View,” then todays should be called “In the Fjord.” Just off the road to Grenevik, Olafur and his family’s house had an amazing view of the mountains to the east and water towards the west, just 100 yards away. The fjord is called Eyjafjordur, if I’ve spelled that correctly, and continues north to the Greenland Sea. The wind coming off the water sure seemed like it had travelled directly from Greenland ... it was cold!
Just like when we were with Inga, Olafur’s sheep got eerily quiet when we entered the barn this morning. Weirder still, there was one time when it looked like two of the bigger animals were communicating with each other, and then looking at me, and then communicating again. They kept looking at me and then at their partner. Bridgett told me that it was crazy to think that Sheep can have a conversation like I was describing. She was clearly embarrassed when I talked about what I saw with Mr. Grimsson nearby.
I am continuing in my quest to learn Icelandic. One of the farm hands taught me to say, “ad er mjog kalt,” it is very cold!
The afternoon light was just getting good when we had to head back to the Lamb Inn. The rich colors of this landscape are amazing, unlike anything found in the mid-Atlantic states.
April 24
For the third connection in our northern trio of Icelandic farms, we introduced ourselves to Olafur Grimsson, his family and his 142 head of sheep. While their facilities are pretty basic, it was immediately clear that Olafur knew his animals and knew his business. He sounded like some Cornell MBA students I used to know. He was talking about expense to profit ratios, injury risk abatement, and feed-loss minimization protocols like he was preparing to take over some big agricultural conglomerate. Actually, I think that Olafur was most focused on the business side of running their farm while his wife Eva was focused on the care and feeding of the animals.
Eva could be a spokesperson for the Icelandic sheep brand. She talked a lot about how special their animals are, especially in contrast to other breeds. She talked about how they have been bred for strength and intelligence given that they’ve lived outdoors for generations, with unlimited access to the rocky and mountainous grasslands of this northern peninsula. I found it curious that she spoke with such reverence for her animals when most of her newborns get sold for meat production.
All of Olafur’s animals had just been shorn by the same team we met yesterday at Aron Victorson’s farm. They were walking around in a post-sheering daze. Brad said he thought they were embarrassed to be so naked. It’s funny how Brad attributes human “feelings” to these beautiful but intellectually simple animals.
April 25th
Back to Inga’s place in Fossholl. We met her two sons, Kristofer and Gunnar. They were making fun of me when I asked about a group of sheep who were taking turns mounting each other from behind. I hadn’t thought that males and females mated at this time of year, and Gunnar explained, trying hard to not smirk, that the group in question was all rams - all male. I hadn’t known that gay sex was a “thing” for sheep, but Kristofer explained that the behavior I was seeing was routine, that it was consensual between a close-knit group of second year animals, and that he thought it was disgusting. I guess that rural Icelandic men aren’t very accepting of homosexuality, even when it occurs among their farm animals.
It seemed to me that those sheep were communicating. It looked like the rams were both speaking and listening before and after they would mount each other. I swear it looked like one of them was nodding his head and moved into position after another one had vocalized. Imagine that conversation. Bridgette thinks I am anthropomorphizing.
April 25
Inge and I talked about how she chooses which young animals will be slaughtered at 6/7 weeks (June or July), which will be slaughtered at six months (November or December), and which lucky few will be kept for breeding stock. She takes into consideration the sturdiness of the animal’s frame, the early development of their teeth, and even the coloration of their wool. Animals that have especially light or dark wool are kept given the desirability of contrasting tones for knitted sweaters. She also must consider how many of her sheep have died within the past year, how her bank account will be impacted by the number of animals she sells for meat in any given season, and how much space in her barn she has to care for them in the winter.
She described how making life or death decisions, after looking at an animal for only 30 seconds or so, causes her a great deal of anxiety. She talked about having dreams, all year round, involving deciding the fate of living beings. I would not be comfortable doing that!
I already feel like we are part of Inge’s extended family. I saw Brad, Kristofer and Gunnar joking around while pointing at the animals this afternoon. I think the locals like the idea of helping the agriculturally ignorant artist learn about their way of life. Of course, it’s also true that, as my mother said early in our relationship, Brad could “charm the birds out of the trees.”
April 26th
Travelled through the rain to Aron & Katrin’s Fjord View Farm. Given the weather, we had to stay inside pretty much all day. With the family caught up inside talking with Bridgette, I got on this kick of photographing detailed barn images. With my trusty LED to light the scene, I was able to capture some cool images of bits of leftover wool, the hand-pump sink where the family washes their hands, and a shovel that looked like it must have been in this barn for 100 years.
I’ve been fantasizing about creating enough images to create a coffee-table book documenting the beauty of Icelandic sheep farms. I wonder if anyone would buy such a book.
Towards the end of the day, I came across a really old farmhand who appeared to be listening to a group of three older sheep as they were gurgling a bunch of noises. I think that he was Aron’s uncle, or maybe a great uncle. He was startled when he saw me approaching and did not seem to understand my English. If I had spent most of my life in close quarters with several hundred sheep, I suppose I would be caught up in communing with them, too.
April 26
Interesting talk today with Aron Victorson. He started by telling me about the tensions that exist between lamb suppliers and the producers who slaughter the animals and cut them into the meat that gets sent to what he called “end-use consumers.” According to him, producers are aggressively taking advantage of struggling sheep farmers who can’t afford to stay firm with their per-pound prices and, as a consequence, do not offer fair rates to their multiple suppliers. Then, because they are selling their sheep at a loss, several area farmers, such as his uncle, have lost their farms within the past decade. Aron wishes that he could grow his operation enough so that he could afford to both raise the sheep and also produce the meat that gets sold to stores, eliminating the middleman.
Aron thinks that his ewes will begin to give birth within a week or two. He joked about how the ewes are chattering with each other more than normal and that the rams “can’t stand all the girls’ talk” and find ways to keep away from the females.
It’s been fun to see Brad getting excited about his photographs. I had been worried that he might not enjoy the months we’d be spending in Iceland. Unfortunately, he may be committing the classic non-farmer mistake of becoming attached to the animals he is meeting. I hope he doesn’t start giving them pet names.
April 27th
Our second visit to Eva and Olafur’s farm. As I was taking pictures, trying to get the mountain or the fjord in the background, Eva kept telling me about each animal’s lineage. “The mother of that one had been misdiagnosed with ‘sheep foot rot.’” “Oh, that one was born from a ewe who had experienced a stillbirth the season before.” I asked her how she keeps track of which individual animal is which, especially since they were just shorn and look pretty different after losing their wool. She told me that she recognizes the structure of their heads and the “personality” of how they carry themselves. I sensed that she has some secret way of telling them apart she’d rather not share with an outsider like me. Or maybe she is simply pretending to know them when she does not.
I was psyched to meet Eva and Olafur’s daughter, Margret, who is a fan of punk rock! We talked about our shared love for The Clash and Blink-182. She’s even a fan of A Wilhelm Scream, a band no one in Ithaca seems to know about. Margret pretty much told me that she would much rather tour with an up-and-coming punk band than stay in northern Iceland and tend sheep with her parents. I could tell that there is a serious mother-daughter struggle going on in this family.
Bridgette is looking a bit tired today. I worry that my honey might get sick if she pushes herself too much.
April 27
I am learning a lot about the business of sheep farming from Olafur Grimsson. Actually, I think that several of my Cornell ag professors could learn a lot from him. He is using “big data” techniques at a small farm scale to maximize every Kroner being spent on feed in the winter, visits from the veterinarian, and transportation costs. He seemed to have a multi-tab spreadsheet for pretty much everything that can be measured on a farm, including how much time his family and workers spend cleaning manure from the barn! I thought I was overly analytical, until I met Olafur. I should be stepping it up a couple notches!
Olafur introduced me to his 18-year-old daughter, Margret. She rolled her eyes when her dad started talking about the family business and was eager to put her headphones back in and scroll through her phone. She mentioned several times how her boyfriend lives “in the city,” which is clearly where she would prefer to be when she graduates.
I was too tired to write tonight, other than this journal, so Brad and I found a crazy British show on the TV called “Naked Attraction,” a dating show with much nudity. These crazy Europeans! We are certainly not in the prudish US anymore.
April 28th
Nice to have a day to ourselves today, though I wish Bridgette hadn’t spent most of it writing. Bridgette arranged for one day per week without farm visits, but she seems intent on working all seven days. She’s very excited about her research, which is why we’re here, but I’d rather not spend all of it in barns or in our room. I want to see more of this beautiful country, especially on this bright and relatively warm day! After organizing the photographs I’ve taken so far, before lunch, I guess I was annoying Bridgette, asking her to take a drive. She shooed me out of our room so she could focus on her work. I drove to Akureyri and explored a bit, and then took a quick drive up to Olafsfjordur, on the northern coast.
There wasn’t much going on in Olafsfjordur, but that didn’t matter because the drive up was glorious with dappled sunshine, snow-covered hills on the left and windswept waters on the right. I must have stopped a dozen times to take photographs of the scenery, which Bridgette would not have wanted to do if she had been in the car. I took one of my secret gummies and just sat next to this wall, looking out on the sun-dappled water. This coast is completely different from the Maryland shore!
Listening to the Pimsleur Icelandic language download made much more sense today now that I’ve heard the language spoken by natives. I’m still too embarrassed by my US accent, though, to speak with any confidence.
Bridgette was a lot less stressed about her research by the end of the day. It was very nice to be able to finish that bottle of wine after dinner, light a couple candles, and simply snuggle on the sofa. We had a good heart to heart about our future together. We both agreed to not name any of our children “Gunnar,” “Inge” or “Olafur.”
April 28th
I slept soundly last night, hurray!
Thank goodness Dr. Gilwain pushed me to schedule one day per week without farm visits. Today, I really needed to be organizing the pile of notes I’ve been gathering into something resembling a coherent structure. My list of research questions keeps expanding, which is a problem if I am going to limit my dissertation to under 200 pages. I’ll be able to focus on my eight major questions as long as my “incessant sheep curiosity” (as Brad calls it) doesn’t add to my list.
Brad finally got the hint that he needed to find something to do today, outside of our room. He kept wanting to talk about how he might organize his photographs and I needed to wrap my arms around my notes. I am once again learning that being apart from each other every now and again can be good for our relationship, and for my studies.
When Brad got back to the room before dinner, he was downright giddy talking about the scenery he encountered on his drive. I can’t stay annoyed at Brad for long when he is sharing his enthusiasm for his art, and when he smiles that 10,000-watt smile of his. That bottle of wine certainly helped, too.
April 29th
I’m not sure that I believe what I heard today. We travelled back to Inge’s farm, with the wind howling and the temperature dropping. While Bridgette was in the house reviewing spreadsheets and talking with Kristofer & Gunnar, I was in the barn looking for new images to capture. I decided that I would take advantage of the intermittent sun, ignore the chill, and walk the perimeter of their property. At the barn door, bundling up with my Cornell hat and my sheepskin-lined gloves, three recently sheared rams clip-clopped up next to me. The biggest one of them, after turning its head up and looking right at me, vocalized what sounded remarkably like, “ad er mjog kalt.” Am I crazy, or did that sheep just tell me that it was “very cold” outside? Stunned, I think I responded, saying something like, “Sure is.” I swear it then said “Ja,” or yes. I looked around to make sure no one else in the barn had heard me talking to Mr. Lampchop. The trio of sheep trotted off, making no more sounds, as I was left staring after them.
Though I took a brief walk around the side of Inge’s barn, I was completely lost in the idea that a farm animal had communicated with me through a vocalization. I want to tell Bridgette what I heard and saw, but know she will not believe it. In fact, I bet she will think less of me because I believe it. When we got married, I promised Bridgette that I would openly share my feelings and experiences with her. On this afternoon’s drive back to the Lamb Inn, I’m sad to say I did not tell my wife about my encounter ... even though it might have incredible ramifications for her area of study.
April 29th
Inge was not at home this morning. She was getting her truck fixed in town. That was OK because I really enjoyed speaking with Kristofer and Gunnar about their decision-making related to veterinary care. I was not surprised to learn that birthing season is when the bills from the veterinarian are at their highest. What did surprise me was to learn that local vets significantly inflate their charges during April and May due to the demand on their time. There are only 25-30 vets in all of northern Iceland and I guess supply and demand pressures allow them to nearly double their per-hour charges. Gunnar is hoping that the Parliament (he referred to it as the “Althing”), during their next session, will put a cap on spring vet cost increases.
The other surprise to me was how low their veterinary bills are for the rest of the year. With their flock scattered across several dozen square miles during the summer months, and not kept in fenced fields that protect them from dangerous areas (such as rocky cliffs and steep gullies), I would have thought that Icelandic sheep would be much more prone to injury requiring veterinary care. It turns out these animals are pretty adept at navigating the local terrain and rarely get themselves injured.
Brad was acting strange on our drive back to the inn. He was not his usual garrulous self, especially after being outside and taking photographs. He kept saying “it’s cold,” in a weird tone. I hope he’s feeling OK. I also hope he didn’t bring any of his edibles on this trip. They make him act weird.
April 30th
After yesterday’s experience at Inge’s farm, I was hoping I could find time alone with some of Aron’s sheep. I checked the weather forecast this morning and knew that I couldn’t say anything to the sheep about the cold temperatures ... it had gotten much warmer. Instead, I had to look up how to say “It’s raining hard” in Icelandic - “pao er rigning erfitt” (the Word program on my laptop doesn’t have the weird letters I need to type that). After eating Katrin’s crullers (they were delicious), I slipped out of their kitchen and went back to the barn. Before my eyes could adjust to the lack of light in the barn, Aron’s Uncle was saying hello to me, in English. He had been organizing some of the tools and was standing there with a filthy face, gap-tooth smile, and the smell of alcohol on his breath. It was 10:30 in the morning, but it was clear that he had been drinking ... for a while. Keeping his balance and his focus on me seemed a challenge for him. He told me his name was “Jon” and asked if I was from America. Almost before I could answer, he began telling me about losing his sheep farm, being “taken in'' by his nephew, and the “unfairness of having to care for the dirty, god-less sheep.” I tried to get him to explain why caring for the sheep was “unfair” and he went on and on about having to “save so much land for the little rutters.”
After Jon had sat himself down in a corner chair, he stopped talking and it looked like he was about to doze off. I was going to leave him to his thoughts when he blurted out “Stupid Althing pact!” Now, I know that the Althing is the Icelandic parliament, and that this form of government has been around for over 1,000 years. I asked Jon, “What pact are you talking about?” Jon responded by standing up, asking if I was “from America'' and then turning away so he could get back to work on his tools. I asked again about the pact he had mentioned, several times, but Jon kept saying “I don’t know nothing about no pact.” When it became clear I would not be learning any more from Jon, I left him to his tools and his hidden supply of alcohol.
Over dinner at the Lamb Inn with Bridgette, I asked what she knew of an Althing pact, maybe involving sheep. She had never heard of such a thing. She asked why I would want to know about it and I told her that Inge’s uncle had “blurted out some nonsense that made no sense to me.” She asked if he might have been referring to some upcoming legislation on insurance pricing caps, and I simply said “maybe,” though I was pretty sure that was not what Uncle Jon was talking about.
April 30th
Miserable weather today for our visit to Aron and Katrin’s. I didn’t even get out to the barn; it was raining so hard.
Talking with Katrin over coffee and pastries, I got the sense she is tired of all the stresses and strains related to sheep farming. She asked about our life in the United States and was particularly keen to talk about my mom’s clothing store in Findlay. Katrin enjoys shopping for clothing, especially when she can find vintage items that need a bit of repair. Making sure Aron was out of the room, Katrin said that she and her friend had been talking for years about how they might rent space to open a used clothing shop in Akureyri. In those conversations with her friend, Katrin said that “convincing her husband” was her biggest stumbling block.
I’m not sure what is up with Brad. He was telling me about a conversation he had with Aron’s Uncle Jon, who sounds like a shady character to me. He said something to Brad about an “Althing Pact'' and Brad was acting like he had discovered clues to a missing treasure. Brad has always been more eager than me to believe conspiracy theories. He also has a reputation among his friends for being gullible.
May 1st
Bridgette thinks that I am “being so ridiculous.” After what Margret told me this morning/afternoon, I needed to share with Bridgette both Margret’s story and my recent observations, even though I knew Bridgette would have some serious doubts .... let me start from the beginning.
When we arrived at the Grimsson place this morning, I saw Margret to the side of the barn loading up a fleece baling machine. She looked pretty unhappy with her work and I wanted to talk with her some more about the Icelandic punk rock scene. I also offered to help her bring armfuls of wool out from the barn. She agreed that I could help her, offering up a short but thick blunt for us to share (not sure how she could tell I would be open to that). After talking about how we were first introduced to our favorite bands, she turned on some Dead Kennedys from this tiny speaker she had set up. During the course of our conversation, she was complaining about her family’s dependence on the “miserable mutton machines.” I then joked that “maybe the Althing Pact was to blame,” hoping she might know about it. She stopped what she was doing, looked at me sideways, and softly said, “Oh, you guys know about that? I wasn’t sure.” I nodded, pretending that I did “know” about it, not wanting for her to think that we were totally ignorant, though mostly hoping I could learn more.
Margret then expressed her incredulity that the pact had not been re-negotiated “after all these many centuries of vocal communicating” between Icelandic sheep and humans. “Why,” she asked, “do continuing generations of human families need to care for these animals and follow their nonsensical guidelines regarding which lambs live and which get turned into meat.” Stunned, though trying not to show it, I let Margret talk. “People complain that racial prejudices and socio-economic biases are detrimental to human society, well, it turns out that our wool-growing friends over there are mean-spirited bigots based on social slights that occurred generations ago. And, this historical antagonism leads to life and death decisions involving the great grandchildren of, for example, a ewe who had made a derogatory comment about the shape of her sister’s ear. Can you imagine letting one lamb live, every generation, so that they will have to watch all but one of their children, and their grandchildren, get slaughtered?” At this point, I’m sure that I was staring at Margret with an open mouth.
Margret told me how the Sapien-Ovis Althing pact from 1137 allowed humans to slaughter and eat most of the young sheep, without fear of a violent uprising, as long as the sheep were 1) fed during the winter, 2) allowed to roam freely during the spring, summer and fall, and 3) allowed to decide which lambs survived into adulthood. At the time, with both species struggling to feed themselves during the harsh winters, and fearful of a repeat of recent droughts caused by volcanic explosions, humans and sheep feared for their long-term survival on this remote island. Leaders from each contingent saw the pact as an agreement that would insure their mutual survival.
Asking Margret about the “violent uprisings,” I was very surprised to learn that North European short-tailed sheep had a reputation for launching lethal attacks on individual humans, with head-butts to knock them over and stomping hooves to crush their skulls. Supposedly, dozens of sheep farmers were killed in this fashion in the years leading up to the Althing pact.
Centuries later, when it became apparent that tourism would be important to the Icelandic economy, Margret sheepishly acknowledged that the Althing imposed strict penalties on humans who revealed to an outsider that their sheep could communicate with humans. Althing historians were even barred from publicly acknowledging the Sapien-Ovis pact. (There was no worry about sheep revealing the pact because almost no one outside of Iceland speaks Icelandic.) At this point in the conversation, I could tell that Margret was getting suspicious about my questions. She only talked about punk rock after that.
OK, I am very tired now. Off to bed.
May 1st
Brad is being so ridiculous. While Olafur and I were in his office today talking about the factors that impact worldwide demand for lamb meat, Brad was outside getting an earful from Margret. It seems that Margret was spinning a tale about sheep and humans communicating, and even signing agreements 1,000 years ago. I can’t even begin to wrap my head around how he would believe such a fantastical story! Margret is clearly a teenager who is rebelling against her parents and, it seems, also has an active imagination. Brad is also convinced that one of Inge’s sheep told him that it was “cold outside.” It is clear that Brad’s attempt to learn Icelandic has failed if he is hearing human words in a sheep’s vocalizations. I even accused him of smoking some new form of marijuana which, as has happened in the past, has got him delusional. When he finally turned off his bed-side light, it was clear that Brad was mad at me for not believing him. He couldn’t look me in the eye and his forehead got all wrinkled up. For my part, as I sit here in the quiet, I am feeling rather guilty for calling him an “idiot” and saying that his ideas were “totally insane.” I don’t want to think such things about my husband, but I can’t imagine a world where sheep and humans are talking to each other! Given everything I’ve learned about sheep at Cornell, and before at the farms around Findlay ... I mean, how could I even consider such an idea?
May 2nd
It’s a new day and I’ve got a plan, or at least an outline of a plan. It is clear that my words alone will not convince Bridgette that Icelandic sheep are communicating with the humans around them, no matter how certain I might be. Instead, I am hoping to show her that it is happening or, better yet, get one of our sheep-farmer hosts to admit it.
Given my plan, I started off our morning by apologizing to Bridgette for last night’s argument. I told her that I would think more sceptically and rationally about the story Margret shared with me, that I would consider the reliability of the source of this story, and that I would reconsider what I “thought I had heard” at Inge’s farm. Bridgette seemed relieved, though she also seemed a bit sad.
May 3rd
OK, how to tell the tale from yesterday?
Ironically enough, we were back at Inge’s farm in the morning. I left Bridgette, who was talking in the house with Inge, and took up with Gunnar who was organizing bales of fleece for delivery. As I was half-heartedly taking photographs of the bales stacked up in the morning light, I kept an eye out for the sheep three-some I had encountered three days ago. They were nowhere to be found (as if I can tell one set of sheep apart from another). I also tried slipping into my conversation with Gunnar questions having to do with the Althing and long-ago pacts. I described how I had been learning about Althing pacts at one of the other farms we’ve been visiting. He seemed very skeptical of my new-found interest in Iceland’s form of government and kept changing the subject, trying to introduce me instead to the exploits of the Icelandic men’s handball team, nicknamed “Our boys.” I care not about handball (or any other sports, actually) and it was clear we had reached a conversational impasse. Afraid that I could not coerce him into revealing any sheep-talking secrets today, I boldly (stupidly?) said, “I thought I heard your sheep talking a couple days ago.” The look Gunnar gave me ... you would have thought I just gave him a cancer diagnosis. He simply said “Nei'' and walked away from me. Gunnar returned after ten minutes to tell me that Inge had prepared a lamb-stew lunch for us. He did not eat with us.
At about 3:00, I was taking long-distance shots of their barn in the afternoon light, only half aware of what I was doing. I heard the sheep’s footsteps behind me and was starting to turn, but could not figure out where those thump, thump, thumps could be coming from. When it hit me in the left thigh, I remember my camera flying away from me as I landed in a heap, a yard or two from where I had been. The pain was immediate and intense. By the stains on my coat, I must have vomited, probably around the time I passed out. I don’t remember being loaded into Kristofer’s car and only remember snippets of the drive to the Akureyri hospital. Bridgette was told she could not stay overnight and had to bum a ride back to the Lamb Inn. Daylight is thinking about making an appearance out the window and I’m alone in this strange place, with my broken leg up in a sling. Luckily, my backpack was brought with me and my laptop remained unharmed, so I am able to summarize the rest of yesterday’s news in this journal.
Call me paranoid, and groggy from the pain meds, but I think Gunnar asked that sheep to head-butt me!
May 3rd
Brad is in the Akureyri hospital with a broken leg, and I am sitting here in the Lamb Inn waiting for Johannes to complete his morning chores so he can drive me into town. Our car is still at Inge’s place, though it doesn’t really matter because I don’t know how to drive a stick-shift. I think I’ll need to learn quickly.
Yesterday afternoon, Inge and I were at her computer when I heard a yelp outside. I thought nothing of it until Gunnar came in to say that Brad “got run over” by one of the rams. We rushed outside and found Brad passed out and with his leg at an impossible angle. I couldn’t believe what I was looking at, with Brad face down on the ground, one of his shoes missing, and his smashed-up camera a couple yards away. We got him to the sitting position, but he threw up on himself and started moaning about the pain. We pulled him into the back seat of Kristofer’s car, with me hunched down on the floor at the back of the passenger-side seat and took off towards the hospital. The ER nurses took Brad back for x-rays almost immediately and were kind to me, except when they kicked me out at 6:00 pm, with firm instructions to return only when visiting hours resumed at 10:00 am. Kristofer seemed to know one of the ER nurses, and she promised to be in touch if “there was any news.”
I don’t understand what just happened to my husband! Why would a sheep run into him like that, unprovoked? There were no females in heat nearby. It wasn’t running away from a predator, was it?
Even more maddening to me, I was going through Bard’s toiletries this morning, to see if I could find anything he might need in the hospital, and I found a whole bunch of gummies in a plastic container, hidden under the condoms. What the hell is he doing with marijuana edibles in a foreign country? I have to assume he did not buy those here. What if we had got caught bringing those in? He told me that he only ate those “once or twice a month,” but it seemed like he had enough gummies to take one almost every day!
Got to go ... Johannes is ready to drive me to the hospital.
May 4th
Yesterday was a rough day. Brad had surgery in the morning to realign his leg bones so that they will heal properly. The doctor told me the surgery was a success, but that Brad would need bed rest for at least a week and then physical therapy for several months after. He won’t be able to walk without crutches for maybe a year. I was on the phone with his parents, my parents, Dr. Gilwain, my three sheep families ... it seemed like I was talking to well-wishers all day.
My anger over Brad’s marijuana use has lessened a bit. In fact, after speaking with him in the afternoon, I am now wondering if that stupid gummy Brad took Tuesday morning, combined with the refer he smoked with Margret, caused him to hallucinate all of that bullshit about an Althing Pact. Eva revealed to me that Margret had shared a blunt with Brad, that her daughter is a “frequent user.” After I chastised him for using, Brad rather bitterly admitted that he does get paranoid when he gets high. He also acknowledged that he “really, really wanted to believe that the sheep could talk.”
I am still confused about why a sheep would ram into Brad like he did. When I woke in the middle of the night, worrying about both my man and my research, I got it into my head that Gunnar or Kristofer had somehow hurt Brad in a fight. Kristofer did seem pretty unsympathetic about Brad’s injury while we were driving to the hospital. With no marks on Brad’s face, it seems unlikely that one of the brothers broke Brad’s leg but did not punch him in the face. All I can think of is that Brad was making intense eye contact with a dominant male, maybe trying to communicate, and the male felt threatened. In that scenario, though, I wouldn’t think the ram would get such a running start ... I suppose we will never know what motivated that miserable Q-Tip.
May 4th
Bridgette has gone back to the Lamb Inn and I am now wide awake, and hurting. I was groggy all day when she was here, dozing off on several occasions. The pain was dulled pretty well, thankfully. Now, I think they might have skipped a dose of my pain meds late this afternoon and my leg, hanging up above the bed, feels awful.
I can’t believe that this has happened to me. I did not think I was at risk for serious injury just walking around Inge’s farm! If I got hurt on this trip, crashing our car after stalling out on a round-a-bout was a much more likely possibility.
Bridgette is convinced that I hallucinated Margret’s story about the Althing Pact and, I hate to say it, I am wondering if she might be right. I know that pot does weird stuff to my head, and I could tell right away that Margret’s joint was pretty powerful. Bridgette was very convincing as she explained how the world would have found out long ago if Icelandic sheep have been talking with humans over many centuries. I wish I could speak with Margret again, and maybe Uncle Jon, but I’m not sure that will be possible ... Bridgette was talking about sending me back home once I get released from the hospital.
OK, the nurse just came with some more meds and is taking away my laptop.
May 5th
Brad Was a bit more awake today. He talked to his parents and he was trying to make jokes, like how I could now finally beat him in a running race. After some more x-rays, the doctor said that Brad’s bones are in the proper position to heal, but that he needs to be immobile for four or five more days.
Eva is teaching me to drive a stick-shift. When I saw Brad this afternoon, I had to apologize for giving him such a hard time about stalling out when we first arrived. During my morning lesson with Eva, it seems like I stalled out more than I moved forward.
Inge, Katrin and Eva all visited with us in the hospital today. I feel like we’ve made some terrific connections, friendships even, during our two plus weeks here in Iceland. Inge kept apologizing for what her sheep did to Brad. I think they might have put it down already!
Cornell has agreed to fly Brad home next week, when he gets released. His parents are figuring out how to pick him up from JFK and bring him home to Ardmore for several weeks of physical therapy. For now, I am planning to stay through till early June. I don’t want to be away from Brad for that long, but he agrees that I need to keep up my momentum with my research. I had to agree that I am, despite my scientific nature, not well-equipped to act as his nurse. His mom will do a much better job babying him. Besides, Brad is a classic “momma’s boy,” especially when he’s not feeling well.
While talking to his parents and his friends, yesterday and today, I did not hear Brad say one word about an Althing Pact between humans and sheep. Though I’m a bit surprised that he might have abandoned the talking-sheep story so quickly, I admit that I am also pleased. I was feeling very uncomfortable about the possibility Brad might be sharing this fiction with others, especially if word somehow got back to Dr. Gilwain.
May 7th
Guess I haven’t posted here in a bit. Between the pain meds, the physical therapy they’ve started me on (for everything but my left leg), and making plans with my family for a premature return home, I’ve not had time for journal entries. I am totally depressed about leaving Bridgette for two months, and for leaving this beautiful country, but my recovery is going to be so much better if I am at home in Ardmore and my “Momma Bear” is taking care of me. By leaving her in Iceland for a month, I can also avoid having Bridgette resent me over forcing her to step away from her research, and take care of me, at such a critical time in her thesis prep.
When I am finally off these pain meds for an extended period of time, I am looking forward to going through all of my images from my trip. I’d like to make Bridgette a video montage documenting our shortened time in this “Land of Fire and Ice.” (Really, they should call it land of fire, ice and sheep!)
Looking back on my previous journal entries, it’s clear that I have fallen in love with Iceland, and that I totally got caught up in believing that these sheep can talk with their humans. It seems silly now, but I was sure that sheep had said to me, “ad er mjog kalt.” I suppose I should have concentrated more on the Pimsleur Icelandic language CDs prior to traveling here and less on that crazy Dr. Dolittle movie Bridgette and I watched this past winter (Robert Downey Jr. should not have made that ridiculous film).
Speaking of ridiculous stories, I should mention my conversation yesterday with Olafur Grimsson. He was describing how his daughter Margret admitted to telling me a tale about a “Sapien-Ovis Althing Pact.” She and her “wise ass boyfriend Einar” (Olafur’s description) had fabricated that story when he was looking to enter a creative writing contest. I guess there was a 10,000 Kroner prize, sponsored by a local newspaper, for the top fictional essay. Margret and Einar “really got into” writing a piece titled “Speaking With Sheep.” Olafur described how Margret “could not believe” that I was believing the story she was telling me, so she kept embellishing it. Eventually, Margret told her dad that she had to change the topic of conversation because she could not “keep a straight face any further.” I feel like a schmuck for believing her ... though I have to give her credit for reeling me into her fantastical yarn. If Margret was a couple years older, I’d buy her a beer to prove I am OK that she pulled the wool over my eyes (unintended sheep reference!).
May 8th
––––––––
Dad tells me that our American friend has fallen for his story about me and Einar making up the Sapien-Ovis Althing Pact. Thank God! I was in such trouble for spilling the beans about our sheep talking!! For the past several days, Dad has been going on and on about how I “had ruined centuries of Icelandic shepherds being able to keep the one secret that was central to maintaining our independent way of life.” He clearly wanted for me to feel terrible about myself even though I kept telling him that this Brad guy had asked me about the pact and that I was well aware I shouldn’t bring it up to anyone from outside Iceland. Saying “He brought it up to me” seemed to me like I was putting up a strong defense, but Dad did not care. He was scared and angry, and he was clearly embarrassed that word might get out about a member of his family revealing our amazing little secret. “We’d never again be able to show our face in public,” he said several times, with an uncomfortable amount of emotion.
Sitting here now, I wonder how Dad came up with the fiction contest falsehood. I didn’t think he was capable of having an imagination.
I feel badly that Brad thinks I deceived him. I liked talking about punk bands with him. Guess we’ll never do that again! I also feel terrible that Gunnar asked one of his third-year rams to injure Brad. I guess Gunnar’s reputation for playing rough in handball carries over to other aspects of his life!
June 4th
Not sure why I want to document this, but I guess I want proof if the story of sheep talking to humans ever becomes public.
A couple weeks ago, I came across the SDXC memory card I had been using in my camera during our Iceland trip. I couldn’t find it and assumed it got lost when my camera went flying after Bashful (yes, that is what I named that stupid ram) had crashed into me. It turns out it got stuffed into my camera case by someone, probably the afternoon of the attack. I found that I had captured some video and audio, back in April, of Inge’s rams as they were taking turns mounting each other from behind. As I said in this journal, I thought at the time that those rams were communicating with each other. Bored and curious, I wanted to test that theory. So, I copied the audio only and then posted it on Twitter, asking if anyone from Iceland could translate what was being said. My first ever Twitter post included several versions of “#translateIcelandic” in the hope that someone knowledgeable would find my post and listen to the audio. Four people have responded, so far. One of them said they teach English at the University of Iceland. All of them have indicated that Icelandic words are being spoken! While there is some variation in their translations, all of them reported that the voices were saying things like “Stand still,” and “My turn next.”
I’ve not told Bridgette about my findings. (I am happy she and her family are not on Twitter.) I know she is not ready to believe that some of her beloved sheep can communicate with their human keepers ... and I don’t want to put more of a strain on our long-distance marital relationship than already exists. She’ll be coming back to me in less than a week and I am not planning to say anything to her about the responses to my Twitter post.
Given all the free time I’ve had since returning, waiting for or recovering from my physical therapy, I’ve thought a lot about my experiences in northern Iceland. I can understand how everyone in that country might be invested in keeping their national secret. I can also understand how Gunnar and his family might react with drastic measures if they thought their secret was in serious jeopardy. I can imagine their sense of panic, but so wish I had not been the cause of it, with my non-stop questions.
I wonder if Margret got in trouble for talking to me. I wonder if anyone figured out that Uncle Jon had told me about the Althing Pact. I wonder why I was so quick to doubt myself, to abandon my belief in what I had seen and heard.
I wonder if word will ever get out. I know that I will not be the one to tell the world. This seems like a secret that’s worth keeping.