Lögberg-Heimskringla - 15.04.2015, Page 8

14 • Lögberg-Heimskringla April 15 2015
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As I was writing Vikings on a Prairie Ocean, several pieces that I
had written as fictionalized
accounts, based on historical
facts, did not find their way into
the final manuscript. Yet these
stories are worth telling, for
they show the conditions faced
by the early settlers.
… 1881… the assault
continues. Now the haylands
are under water. It is five
years since he had arrived in
this land, to this island, to a
new beginning. Or is this the
beginning of the end? Alone
together, Sigurdur and his cow
stubbornly struggle on ...
His feet are wet and cold
from the first steps into the
soggy field. A curtain of grey
clouds hangs over the lake,
intercepted on the horizon by a
narrow band of dawn widening
out to the south. The wind is
stiffening and shifting, turning
splashes of white on the lake
into a tumbling snowy blanket.
They’re in for another blow
from the northwest – and more
rain. Will this weather never
turn?
The baying of the cow
grows louder as he walks.
Sigurdur gets precious few
hours warm in bed, but he
can’t ignore a cow in trouble.
Without that cow, who knows
how close to the edge they’d
be? He and Helgi had struggled
to get the cow with them to the
island when they arrived. Helgi
should be fighting through this
damn swamp. Where in hell is
he?
He stops just before
stepping into a pool of water
in the low light. Overnight, the
lake’s swollen waters spilled
over the banks and turned
this low-lying pasture into an
inland lake. He walks around
to the end, where there’s a
little white orb bobbing at the
edge of the mud. He bends
and picks it up, but it falls
apart in his hand, soaked and
rotten. Even the potatoes have
drowned.
There’d been a lot of rain
the past couple springs. This
wasn’t the first flood to hit the
settlement, but it was the worst
he’d seen in his six years on the
island. The lake had covered
almost all the haylands and
there was next to nothing for
the handful of cows and oxen
to graze on. Now, with the
water getting worse, it looked
like soon there may be no
salvageable hay at all.
Thank God for the fish.
The constant wetness
almost makes him long for
the other seasons, but he soon
thinks better of it. There aren’t
any good seasons here. He
remembers struggling with
his young son Stefan, through
snow waist deep, to find wood
to burn in the shack they called
home that first winter. With
the heat of the summer only
came more rains, and then
mosquitoes – creatures he’s
thankful the devil never sent to
Iceland.
He looks over to the small
sailboat he and Helgi built
together. They pulled it over the
bank into the field the evening
before to protect it from the
waves battering the shoreline.
Now it’s almost floating again.
They need to prepare today and
leave on the boat in the morning
to try to find work in the new
sawmill in Selkirk. There is no
choice.
He comes over a ridge and
sees the cow covered in mud.
He might have missed her, had
it not been for her struggling.
Her legs have sunk too deep to
free herself. She’s on her side
and barely has the strength
to keep her head out of the
muddy water. There’s no way
of knowing how long she’s
been there, but she looks like
she doesn’t have much struggle
left in her.
He gets as close as he can
without risking a broken leg.
He wraps his arms around
her neck and gives a tentative
pull, but she slips away. He
tightens his grip and pulls.
She’s not moving. Another
pull. Nothing. Come on! He
tries again and, just as she
starts to shift, he loses hold
and tumbles backward, arms
flailing, and thumps down on
his back in the mud, panting.
The cow continues stretching
her head up, her neck tense.
Sigurdur’s impressed by her
resolve. “You don’t give up, do
you girl?” he mutters. “Damn
stubborn animal.”
Lying in the cold mud, he
looks around at what his life
has become in this new land.
He gazes up to the log shack,
where his family is getting the
rest they’ll need for another
long day. He hopes their empty
bellies don’t wake them too
soon. They’re all hungry for
something other than fish.
All but five of the other
families have left the island.
Others have died of smallpox
– whole families wiped out.
Has he doomed his wife and
boys to a future even bleaker
than what they left behind?
Whether he was a dreamer or
just bull-headed, there they are.
Even if he wanted to return,
they didn’t have the means to
do so. It was his decision to
bring them to Canada. Family
and friends in Iceland warned
him not to go – said he’d end
up starving them all – but he
held firm. He couldn’t bear the
thought that his boys wouldn’t
grow up independent, their
own masters.
Sigurdur’s voice bellows
out across the soaked field,
joining the incessant baying.
The startled cow falls silent.
He imagines how he must look
lying in the mud, wonders what
God must think looking down
upon him. … Damn stubborn
animal! On a different day he
might have chuckled.
Thank God for the fish
Glenn Sigurdson
West Vancouver, BC
Participants can either camp on-site or find
accommodation in Selfoss. As Iceland is not
known for balmy May weather, Shigeoka says
thorough preparation will be the key to having a
comfortable experience. The team will provide
packing lists for attendees.
In order to maintain an intimate community
feel, this year’s festival will be limited to
750 participants. Tickets are 9500 krónur
(approximately US $70 or $87 Canadian) and
are available at www.midi.is. Ticket holders
will have access to the entire weekend’s
schedule of events.
So what does the future hold for Shigeoka
and for Saga Fest? The main goal is a great first-
year experience, but “the idea is that we find a
way to make this sustainable in the long run,”
says Shigeoka.
Although Shigeoka’s to-do list for the festival
seems endless, he looks forward to seeing his
vision come to life in May. When it comes down
to it, the crux of Saga Fest is simple: “to be in a
space and community where everyone is deeply
committed to the idea of connecting to nature and
to each other in a really vulnerable, beautiful way.”
More information is available at sagafest.is.
A hayfield after a Lake Winnipeg storm
PHOTO: STEFAN JONASSON
What's your story?
Saga Fest
... continued from page 7
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