Lögberg-Heimskringla - 13.03.1981, Side 5

WINNIPEG, FÖSTUDAGUR 13. MARS 1981-5
Einar Arnason:
Mortgage zero
The remains of an Icelandic settler's home 10 miles east of Lundar.
An abandoned log house, typical of the early rural farm homes in
the Interlake area at the turn of the century.
A log house in a rural setting in the Interlake area.
As the celestial path of the late
winter sun reaches for an ever
higher zenith, our inner thoughts
are directed to the coming warmth
of milder weather culminating in
the bright sunshine and warmth of
our Manitoba summers. This feeling
of optimistic anticipation is reinfor-
ced by the lengthening days of Feb-
ruary and March, as the sun's rays
begin to defeat the frost and cause
the snow to melt in sheltered nooks
for short periods during the mid
afternoon. The white snow rever-
berates the light of sunshine, small
trickles of moisture reach down to
the tips of icicles and solidify or
evaporate on flat dark surfaces, giv-
ing off visual vapour. It is as if a
fairyland had given way to the op-
pressive winter darkness and tem-
porarily lifted its harshness, caus-
ing man to feel joyful and greet his
fellow man with kind optimism.
Such is our feeling of warmth that
can only be marred by a narmless
cold drop that may come down on
the back of your neck causing un-
comfortable reflexes in the nerves
of your spinal column.
To our original Icelanders that im-
migrated to Manitoba no such fairy-
land could have been a part of their
thoughts as the winter brought
hardship and physical suffering.
This becomes a stark reality as one
reaches into the descriptive writings
of our forefathers, for there, locked
in the Icelandic language, can be
found factual information on the life
and original habitations that were
available to them as they sought
protection from the elements.
The story is familiar. They drifted
with the current down the Red
River in open barges, to be taken in
tow by a lake steamer where the
river opens into Lake Winnipeg and
unceremoniously cast off to land at
Willow Point, just south of Gimli. It
was October 21, 1875, a memorable
day.
Two dáys later they began to con-
struct their first shelter. The materi-
al was logs from trees in the bush,
hurriedly felled without selection,
to build the walls of the first home
on the shores of Lake Winnipeg.
The roof was flat, laid over with
poles from the forest, covered with
hay and then a layer of clay. The
spaces between the logs that form-
ed the walls were filled with clay
inside and out. To one side a raised
platform of poles served as a family
bedstead. The floor was the ground
on which the log abode rested.
Some of the more fortunate ac-
quired a few boards to lay on the
earth floor in the space between the
platform for slumber, the wood
burning appendage which served as
a cook stove and heater, and what-
ever meagre personal possessions
that might grace the space within
the walls of these, their first homes.
These boards were salvage from the
dismantled barges. Generally the
size of these crude shacks was 12
feet by 16 feet.
Soon they began to reach out and
lay claim to land on which the same
log construction served as a shelter.
Winter had come early and the
snow lay deep on the ground. A site
was selected on which the new
home would rest, after shovelling
up to three feet of snow to reach the
frozen ground. It was cold under-
foot until the frost in the earthen
floor slowly thawed out as the heat
in the log cabin permeated the
ground.
As the sun rose higher in the sky
to cast its rays on the roofs of these
first homes, during mid afternoon
the snow laden roof would release
small rivulets of water that flowed
down through the clay and caused
misery to the brave occupants. Dur-
ing summer rains, the water literal-
ly poured through in torrents that
made life intolerable.
With the later acquisition of two
men manual saws, boards could be
cut out of the trees in the bush and
the lot of the settlers improved
greatly with better shelters.
Originally they could only make use
of the axe they possessed and mat-
erials which nature provided on the
shores of Lake Winnipeg which had
lain vacant since the beginning of
time.
The Icelanders that came later, to
settle in other parts, escaped some
of these very extreme hardships.
Their houses were of log construc-
tion from selected trees, that were
peeled with sides trimmed flat by
wielding an axe, and notched on the
ends to form a locking mortised
joint where the walls came together
at the corners. The roof was a slop-
ing shanty type and later mainly
ridge type of board construction
with tar based roofing paper and
later cedar shingles. Windows with
glass panes gave light and the en-
trance would be adorned by a door
made from boards on site. The floor
would be of lumber scrubbed white
exposing the raw woodgrain of the
material from which it was rnade.
The wall crevices between the logs
were plastered with a mixture of
sand, clay and lime made from the
abundant limestone of the area,
burnt in a local home-made kiln of
granite stones that so abundantly
nestled on the surface and in the
soil. The final touch that gave an air
of purity were coats of whitewash
inside and out until a pure white ef-
fect had been obtained.
This was typical rural Manitoba
architecture of the nineteenth and
early twentieth century era. The
homes were comfortable and gave a
feeling of scenic beauty as they
reflected the light rays of the early
rising sun, nestled in a background
of green prairie land and wooded
areas.
Stories of the original settlements
reveal that during the first year it
was often under extremely crowded
conditions that families had to share
hastily built log shacks. There are
instances where 16 people shared a
shelter 16 feet by 14 feet and in one
instance a 14 feet by 14 feet log cab-
in sheltered 14 people. The Iceland-
ic settler had built his modest man-
sion during summer to accommod-
ate himself and his family totalling
seven persons. During November
another family arrived and he gen-
erously offered them shelter, claim-
ing that they were welcome and that
there was plenty of room. This sec-
ond family had four children and
one unborn, that made up 14 souls
sharing 196 square feet of floor
space, or 14 square feet each which
shrank further when you deduct the
area for a stove, heater and some
belongings. These must have been
trying circumstances when the mer-
cury dropped to temperatures be-
low freezing to reach minus 30
degrees Fahrenheit.
Our people, as they selected their
lands and prepared for life ahead,
had many difficulties including
meagre financial means, but they
were not saddled with mortgage
committments. Our way of life is
mortgage and interest rates that
could not have been comprehended
by our forefathers; they would have
appeared more comparable to a
national debt than a committment
towards a modern home.
As you move about in your mod-
ern mansion, that provides indivi-
dual rooms for your children, larger
in space than 14 people shared at
the turn of the century, adjust your
thermostat, regulate the humidifier,
set the controls on your electric
blanket, and contemplate the pur-
chase of a water bed, look out the
thermopane picture window at the
raging storm outside during the
winter frosts, reflect back in time
and consider if "Mortgage Zero"
was the better of two worlds.
References: factual information
was obtained frorn articles that ap-
pear in Olafur Thorgeirson's Alman-
ak.