Iceland review - 2015, Page 72

70 ICELAND REVIEW
really sad.” In June 2013, he relocated to
Þykkvibær after the Ministry of agriculture
reallocated the land—“the rent is cheap,”
he says—to start afresh.
When Júlíus started out more than 35
years ago, the pure landrace was at a risk
of extinction. That is no longer the case.
Their exact number is unknown but he
guesses 4,000-5,000. The appearance of
each hen is unique, he says. “I’m always dis-
covering new colors.” Today he has around
50 subscribers or ‘foster parents’ and the
hens produce a combined 200 eggs per day.
prospective subscribers are sent photos of
15 to 20 hens from which to choose.
Standing in the center of the chicken
pen with the hens constantly moving and
pecking at our shoelaces it’s a wonder how
he ever got them to sit still. “They’re the
worst models. Sometimes I put them out in
the sun, get them still and take the photo—
and it comes back with no head! They’re
constantly jumping around,” Júlíus says as
the photographer attempts to take their
portraits. With plenty of room to move,
there’s little reason for them to stay still.
“The hens are let out every day, unless it’s
raining, but in the snow it’s fine. The pen
is always open. The hens also have 24-hour
access to food—they are fed organic fodder,
there’s no GMO corn here—and water,”
Júlíus explains.
people are also welcome to visit the farm
and choose a hen themselves—as well as
a name—check on them whenever they
like or even rent them. “If they’re thinking
about maybe having hens but aren’t sure if
it’s for them, they can borrow them for a
few weeks or months and see how it goes.
… Often people end up keeping them,
while others borrow their foster hens dur-
ing the summer when they tend to spend
a lot of time at their summerhouses. They
come back each year and say, ‘I’m here to
pick up Gulla’ or this or that hen. I really
want people to take part in preserving the
stock,” Júlíus says.
PaSSion for PoUltry
Things are going well for Júlíus these days.
He currently has around 230-300 hens and
35 roosters, and there are plans to expand
the chicken shed, which was once used to
house cows but had been out of use since
2006. While the heritage breed is his first
love, he has a passion for all things poultry;
his birds include quails, Chinese silkies and
american bantams, which are separated
from the settlement hens to prevent cross-
breeding. So passionate is Júlíus that he’s
toying with the idea of opening a bird park
to educate people about the different spe-
cies of poultry. Speaking of different breeds,
Júlíus is highly critical of what he consid-
ers overly strict regulations in importing
different species to Iceland. “you’re not
allowed to import any hens or eggs, even
with all the paperwork and certification,
but people will sometimes do anything and
have obviously smuggled in eggs. They’re
like the mafia, the people controlling the
agriculture industry here in Iceland. It’s
really difficult as well as expensive to get
your products on the market. and if I want
to get my eggs certified organic, it’s a dif-
ficult process and costs a fortune.”
one Potato, tWo PotatoeS
The majority of Þykkvibær’s inhabitants
make a living from potato farming, as they
have for decades. In the past, most made
their money from the fishing industry,
traveling to nearby harbors (Þykkvibær
is without its own) but that changed over
time. The usually good weather—the ideal
amount of humidity and frost that arrives
late—the sandy soil and the surrounding
infrastructure is what makes the village
ideal for potato farming. Recently, two
windmills were erected in the village and
now power the potato processing factory
and Roberto’s coolers, as well as houses
across town.
around 1970, the number of cows started
to drop while potato farming increased,
Sigurbjartur pálsson at the farm Skarð
tells us when we visit his potato stor-
age warehouse further down the road.
Sigurbjartur grew up on a nearby farm
but later moved to the southeast of the
country where he met his future wife. In
1982, at age 22, he moved back to follow
in his parents’ footsteps. “It’s something
I thought I’d never do!” he insists. Back
then there were around 35 farmers in the
village but today they are down to ten, he
tells us. Þykkvibær’s population has been
on the decline and is less than half what
it was two decades ago. “The farmers are
getting older and older and not many of the
younger generation want to continue their
work, but the quantity of potatoes being
produced actually hasn’t dropped much
over the years. The weather conditions
have sometimes been difficult, though.”
Iceland’s 2013 potato harvest was only half
of its usual yield of around 12,000 tons due
to a cold summer and excessive rainfall,
and 2014 was also difficult. “If there’s too
much rainfall, the fertilizer washes away,”
he elaborates. Sigurbjartur has in the past
voiced his concern about the difficulties
farmers face, including the consequences
of potato production costs exceeding the
market price. “If potatoes are sold for 60
krónur [per kilo] year after year but it costs
70 krónur to produce them, this can only
end in one way,” he told RÚV in November
2012.
according to the Icelandic association
of Horticulture producers, potatoes com-
pose roughly two-thirds of Iceland’s veg-
etable output and around 60 percent of
the yield is produced in Þykkvibær. “We
try to produce enough potatoes in Iceland
for domestic use but usually we can only
produce around 80 percent of what is
consumed,” Sigurbjartur says. He harvests
between 300 and 600 tons each autumn
on his 30-hectare (74-acre) farm. The local
potato processing plant manufactures a
variety of products, including potato salad,
gratin and chips. “Everything in Þykkvibær
is about potatoes,” he says with a laugh,
adding: “Except of course at Roberto’s and
Júlíus’.” *
trAVeL
“If they’re thinking
about having hens they
can borrow them and
see how it goes. ... I
really want people to
take part in preserving
the stock.”
Júlíus Már Baldurssson.
b