Iceland review - 2015, Side 54

52 ICELAND REVIEW
this and the couple have been feeding their
lambs angelica ever since.
They started by transporting the lambs
to one of the Akureyjar, a group of small
uninhabited islands in Breiðafjörður, by
boat in the summer. Angelica, which is
native to Iceland, grows abundantly on the
island so the couple could be sure they were
getting plenty of it. But the process turned
out to be too much work. “It’s a lot of trou-
ble,” Guðmundur comments. “It’s ok to
take the sheep out to the island, but getting
them back is what’s difficult. They’re of
course much bigger after the summer and
[in the autumn] there is a lot more wind,
the waves are larger. Plus, they don’t want
to leave,” he continues.
Instead, they collected angelica seed from
the island, part of which they own, and
sowed it on a section of their farm. “Even
though it’s an unbelievable weed—it’s very
bossy—it’s still difficult to grow,” Halla
says. Three years later it was ready to feed
to the animals. It isn’t possible to feed the
sheep angelica year-round as the plants
need time to grow—they reach up to two
meters (6.5 feet) high, Guðmundur adds.
“They have to be left in peace in the spring
so that they can grow big enough. This
place would be covered in angelica if it
wasn’t for the sheep.” Several days before
the lambs are slaughtered they are placed
in a fenced-off area to feast on the herb.
This, Halla says, is enough to give the meat
a distinctly unique taste, a taste which is
also influenced by the wild thyme and other
Icelandic herbs growing in the area, as well
as seaweed. “We try to fence them off, pre-
vent them from going down to the shore,
because sometimes they get stuck when the
tide comes in, but they always find a way
down there! They love the salty taste of the
seaweed,” Guðmundur says with a smile.
After slaughtering, the meat is hung for
several days to increase tenderness instead
of being packed right away.
GOING AGAINST THE TIDE
Halla grew up at Ytri-Fagridalur but moved
to Reykjavík when she finished school. She
spent seven years in the capital, working as
a salesperson before returning to the coun-
tryside. “I wasn’t going to live on the farm
but I came home for an extended period
when my mother was sick and one day I just
decided that I wanted to move back here.”
Halla and Guðmundur bought the farm in
2001 and have lived there ever since. Their
three children grew up on the farm but
have since moved; two live in Reykjavík and
one in Akranes in West Iceland, an hour’s
drive from the capital.
While Halla and Guðmundur are the
only farmers in Iceland to market their
lamb as hvannarlamb, or ‘angelica lamb,’
they’re part of a small group of 11 organic
lamb producers in Iceland. “There are
450,000 sheep in Iceland but only 2,500 of
them are organic,” Halla states. Of those,
500 belong to her and Guðmundur. It is
often said that Icelandic lamb is more or
less organic—even if it isn’t certified—
because sheep roam freely on unfarmed
land, often in the mountains or on highland
plateaus, during the summer. However,
Halla argues that this doesn’t show the
entire picture because of the fodder and the
fertilizer used on hayfields on many farms
for winter feed.
Halla feels strongly that organic lamb
should be the norm, with non-organic
meat specially labeled instead of the other
way round. For her, it’s about a clean envi-
ronment and providing a good life for her
animals, she says. “The welfare of the ani-
mals is number one for us. To be certified
organic means that the sheep have more
room and we don’t use chemical fertilizer
or genetically-modified fodder,” she says.
According to Halla, the couple had want-
ed to start organic production in 2003
but at the time the only certified organ-
ic slaughterhouse in Iceland, located in
“The welfare of the animals is number one for us. To be certified organic
means that the sheep have more room and we don’t use chemical
fertilizer or genetically-modified fodder.” – Halla Sigríður Steinólfsdóttir
The lambs love the salty taste of seaweed.