If I Ever See A Sheep Again…
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 @ daveNY37
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I’ll know how to herd ‘em! That’s right. I’ve worked years to climb the corporate ladder, invested my blood, sweat, and tears…and I have come to this point. I can herd sheep. By the end of my week on that tiny farm near Selfoss, I could confidently walk into a crowded barn full of those fluffy buggers, and get them to go where I wanted. Not only that, but I could hop in and out of the ram-pen without fear that they would slam into my butt whenever I turned around. I know the difference between hay and straw, and I know where to put it. I developed a killer stall-mucking technique. I’ll be back in the States one day, and I can throw all that on my resume’. Executive bonus, here I come.
Seriously though, this was tough work. God bless farmers, for real. I’ll never take for granted the beef or veggies on my plate. This was a small farm and there was a lot of work to do. I can’t imagine a bigger operation. The hardest part was mucking this one section of the barn. It was on an upper level where a bunch of sheep would hang out constantly. We had to herd them out, then scoop, scrape, shovel, (or use my secret technique) all their….’isht down into a, well…hole full of more ‘isht. Then we had to hop into that hole, and shovel all that ‘isht into another hole that went outside…into you guessed it, more ‘isht. So many one-liners come to mind right now. But I’ll leave that up to my friends and family. Thank goodness Kjartan provided us with these great work boots and overalls. Any regular work clothes I brought would have been toasted by that job. You know what though? It was all good. I had great company while doing it, and again it made me appreciate what I had going on back home in terms of employment. I’ll never take that for granted again when I get back. There is something to be said for that kind of manual labor. I’ve done stuff similar to that in the past, but not continuously over the course of a week. It leaves you with a great sense of accomplishment. Then when you throw in the fact that it helped this tiny Icelandic family out, it made it all the more rewarding.
Dorothee and Company were great hosts back in the farmhouse. Every meal involved anyone who was home, gathered around the table. The biggest meal was usually dinner, although we had some good sized breakfasts as well. As the week went on, I could tell that we were all getting more comfortable with each other because the conversations came easier. Kjartan had started out as a man of few words, but by our last night he had even opened up a bit, but might have been due to the meal we had that night…
That is a perfect segue into the food we ate that week. Man, did we get fed well! Breakfast always consisted of milk, cheese, bread, and then something else. I could gush about the milk for the rest of this blog. I can’t put my finger on why it was so good, but it was so rich and creamy, like it was fresh from the cow herself. Cheese was always on the table in the morning, which was new for me. It had this unique slicer, which took a few tries to get used too. It seemed to be a Monterey Jack type of taste, which for me is one of my favorites. The bread was usually a homemade sourdough, but occasionally they had some other kinds which were just as good. One morning they had this pastry which was delicious. It seemed to be half donut/half bread. Dinners were usually a mix of stuff. We had this great Thai-ish noodle mix. It had all kinds of good stuff in it. We also had a great fish stew-ish dish.
The last dinner however, that was a doozie that I’ll never forget. Dorothy said she had a surprise for us, and she was right. We had come in from taking care of the sheep that evening (dinner usually started after 7:30 or later), and were distracted with getting the sheep-stink off. As usual, Sunna came running down the hall to tell us that dinner was ready. Linnea, Steve, and I came out to the table and were greeted with quite an interesting sight. After working with sheep all week, now we got to eat them. Many different parts of them were set out for us on the table. But there were also some other mystery substances as well. Here’s how it went down: Dorothee said she’d only tell us what each thing was after we had a bit of it. I was in Iceland and who knows when I’d be back so I was going for it. Plus, this was all old school, traditional Icelandic food. I didn’t want to pass that up and also be an unappreciative guest. I convinced Linnea and Steve that we should do this as a team. So we each got a reasonable slice or piece of each, and lined-up our glasses of water to wash it down in case of emergency. Up first, poisonous and rotten shark (it was actually the best tasting of all the stuff), second was whale blubber (melts in your mouth!), third…blood sausage (from the sheep, it was the worst), fourth…sausage made from various sheep parts (passable), fifth…sheep’s head, and last but not least…sheep testicles. In spite of how gross it was to know I had just eaten that last one, the blood sausage was definitely the worst. Just thinking about it as I type, that gag-reflex almost kicks-in. There was a bright spot though. The mashed potatoes with nutmeg were absolutely great. I have to admit, that watching Steve eat all this stuff was hilarious. I saw the look on his face when we came around the corner and saw the food on the table. Priceless. It was almost as if he detached from his body and went to this other place. He was in this trance-like zone man, speaking broken sentence-fragments through the whole process. I guess he had to do what he had to do to swallow sheep parts…
So as you can see, I had quite my fill of sheep over my week in Iceland. I believe I’ll have a bias against wool-products for the rest of my life.
Comments (10)
Fantastic pics, i gotta go there sday. Great reads. If BBQ was an option, I’m thinking blood sausage wouldn’t happen. Peanuts? I’ll need an explanation. Great times. Be safe DNY37.
Wow it sounds like that was quite an experience. I had cow tongue once. It tasted kinda like liver, but if you put enough ketchup on you can eat almost anything. Where to next?
DAVE! hope all is well – hear you’ve passed through Paris & on to Lisbon? isht? is that Icelandic for dirt or something? Pick up any colorful phrases while you were in Iceland?
sleep tight
I had blood pudding in Ireland. Def wasn’t my fave.
Truly off the beaten path!! Felt like I was right there with you-I could easily picture your farm chores and your work with the sheep. However, your traditional Icelandic dinner was something I’d rather not see!
Hey, Dave! I’ve read all your entries and have left comments on most. Spent some time this morning getting caught up. Extremely cold here- Can’t wait to follow the rest of your journey!
Becca – My blogs are a wee-bit behind, but after Iceland we hit Paris and now I’m in Portugal!
Doug – ‘isht is my translation of a similar four letter word… Hallo’ Svo gott ad hitta pig!
Angie – Thanks for reading!!
Dave- thanks to my sister, your auntie angela for sending me this address -enjoying your adventure- think I’ll stick to lamb chops only though- stay safe- Grace
Dave – Love reading about your adventures! Keep them coming! God Bless!
Geoff insists that when we make it to Ireland I have to try the blood pudding…I suppose I’ll have to considering, like you said, it’s traditional!