Cliffhanger Part Deux - This ain't no lady hike: Bjargstykki hluta tvö - Þetta er ekki engin kona ganga

Alright - I'm back!

Sorry it's been so long. I'd like to tell you all that I've been furiously farming away here - but I haven't lied to you yet. I'm not about to start now. After my incredible two day career of sheep farming, those little guys went up to the mountains and I became nearly unemployed. Well, some of them are still loitering around here a little. But most are gone. Actually, one of my favorite things is going for a nice long run and bumping into the stragglers. They 're always in this blind panic whenever they see a human (probably because they have frequent and recurrent nightmares about getting haircuts). So if they catch me coming down that ol' dusty trail, instead of heading to the mountains, they bolt down the road. I've had sheep sprinting in front of me on runs for up to ten minutes at a time. What is apparently obvious to me and not obvious to them, is that my interest is in the road and they could easily address the situation by running to the mountains. There's no one around, so I've even yelled at them, "For the love of God! If you would just get off the road you would see that I'm not chasing you! Run to the hills!" They must speak Icelandic. And they must not listen to Iron Maiden.

So the times here have been great, of course. Doin a little of this:

and a little of that:

maybe a little of this:

and a little too much of that:

But having a great experience everyday, for sure.

****

There is one thing that I've noticed about taking myself out of "reality" and moving to a sheep farm (statement based on the theory that reality is relative): It has really given me time to be much more introspective than I think I've ever been. I am so much more aware of myself, my feelings, my life.... in such a different way. Being in 'reality' day after day is like living in a matrix. I feel like there has been so much more to distract me at home that I've found it almost uncomfortable to be just me out here for so long. How can I explain this properly? It's like, everyday I have ordinary life things that easily overcast some of the more subtle parts of me. For example, if I have a bad day in Winnipeg, I can easily chalk it up to work or weather. Whatever is convenient. Here it's not so easy to do that. When I am feeling a little off on this farm, I am the only one to look to for explanation. Like getting caught red-handed, I am here and there is nothing arbitrary to blame certain feelings on. So, like a liar without an excuse, I have had to do a lot of thinking about myself. And my life. And my heart. It has not been easy....

Sorry, deep thought. I promise that I'll weave this loose thread back into my blog entry in just a little bit. More on that later....

How 'bout some hot action?!

Cliffhanger Part Deux - This ain't no lady hike: Bjargstykki hluta tvö - Þetta er ekki engin kona ganga
I had just gotten home from a two day holiday out and about with friends to see concerts, etc. It was a slam dunk, but I found myself running a little short on sleep. I arrived back to the farm at around 11pm on Friday and was greeted at the door by Sigrun. She told me she missed me and gave me a great big hug. I had missed her too. Although it had been so wonderful to be in the company of friends who speak english fluently, part of me was happy to be home. Home on the range.

As I'm putting some of my things away, we are chatting a little. Our conversation is not quite as easy as when I had left. She explains that the two days that I had gone for have left her out of practice. The age ol' saying of "if you don't use it, you lose it" enters in my mind, as I wonder if I too have lost ground. She points out the kitchen window (as I yawn - genuinely from exhaustion) "Oh you are soooo tired! Do you see this mountain? Do you want to climb it?" Faster than a knee-jerk reaction, I abruptly say, "No! Nei takk! I don't think that I feel like climbing any mountains. Yes, I am very tired." We are still looking out the window and she's still going on about climbing this mountain and I'm thinking to myself, "Yes. A very clever joke. That mountain is twice as big as the last one. It has snow all over it. People don't go there. And also definitely not mountain goats. They know better."

I wake up in the morning and find Sigrun in the kitchen. We enjoy a cup of coffee over some conversation and she brings up this mountain again. I humour her with laughter and once again voice my disapproval at the idea. She suddenly gets up from the table and finds some kind of little book. She opens it up and shows me a page and is pointing at something in Icelandic that's happening tomorrow. Oh my God! So that's why you kept 'joking' to me about climbing a mountain. That wasn't a joke, was it? Good lord.... you are asking me to climb a mountain. But I already did that..... it got checked off my bucket list!

We look at the ad for a while. It's for an Icelandic mountain-climbing club of some sort. I notice that there are a few dates and different excursions that are mentioned. Beside the dates, there are small pictures of hiking boots. One date has got one hiking boot beside it. Tomorrow's trek has got three hiking boots beside it. I ask her what it means, these hiking boots. She tells me that they are based on distance. I feel skeptical because I am not 100% confident that we are not mistaking 'distance' for 'aggressiveness' or 'intensity'. After all, we don't always communicate with the most superb accuracy. She then tells me that the hiking boot scale extends to five. Three hiking boots out of a possible five hiking boots. That makes me feel marginally better, but a three out of five to a member of an Icelandic mountain-climbing club and a three out of five to a prairie city slicker may lack congruency.

I think about the possibility of saying no.

And then I think of the possibility of saying yes.

And then suddenly, I am thinking about my Viking Rules and that I wanted to come out here and learn things about life. The problem with 'learning things' is that you can only really say that you have successfully learned something when you genuinely apply it to your future. Learning is not about timely observation and failure to apply. Now, audience, you will recall from Cliffhanger Part One, that I took a couple of big ideas down from the top of that mountain. One of them was:

-Climb mountains - especially when you think that you can't

So, my big mouth has once again done me in. I couldn't in good conscience let this opportunity go. But I was once again terrified..... I need my lady hikers!!!

But I decide to say yes. I have attempted and completed everything that has made me uncomfortable to date. I already have one mountain under my belt (somewhat). So, I say yes and I make myself three wonderful sandwiches. I go to bed.... and I barely sleep.

I get up in the morning and get geared up. Gudmunder has found me hiking boots that will suffice, as he feels my running shoes (that worked like a charm on the last mountain hike) will not be suitable. I feel like this may be overdoing it - because I hate how hiking boots look (even though that's a really shallow thing to admit out loud). But what on earth do I know about climbing mountains? He shows me a photo album from 30 years ago when he climbed this mountain. He is excited that I'm going and I'm pleased to make him excited. Both of them are actually really excited for me. But I - I am terrified. Again.

There is a group that congregates in front of our farm house, as we are the last one on the road before the raw mountain landscape begins. I meet the guide and his wife (who both speak english - bonus) and by the time we are all ready to go, there are 38 of us:

and one dog:

This little guy actually made me believe in myself more than I was capable of self-motivating. If this little rascal was about to climb that scary mountain, surely I could manage it. Somehow...

After some sort of Icelandic pep talk, as far as I know anyway, we all get into people's various SUVs. It's about a 10 minute ride of highly aggressive off-road conditions to get to the starting point. Some vehicles couldn't even get all the way there. Once all arrived at base camp 0, we gather for another group huddle. I can't understand a word of what's going on until, one by one, people in the group are sounding off their name and where they are from, which I can always pick out. Everyone is Icelandic and so as it approaches me, I consider attempting to join them and introduce myself in Icelandic. At the last minute, I quickly decide against it, predicting that it will be funnier to blow everyone out of the water with a massive:

HI! I'm Sarah and I'm from CANADA!!!

I actually got a round of applause for that one. The only other person in the group that wasn't Icelandic was a dude from Germany. He got a round of applause as well. But not as good as mine. Canada - 1 Germany - 0.

Three, two, one......and we're off

Probably my biggest fear heading into the climb is that I would be the super slow inexperienced lady hiker that would perpetually hold everyone up. I was comforted by the fact that I was somewhat holding the middle ground. I didn't want to seem antisocial, but no one really talks during hikes because it's too hard. So, I threw my ear buds in and my horns up and started givn'r titties. 

And we climbed...

and climbed...

up....

and up...

Thankfully, the group took breaks which allowed the stragglers to catch up. I was only a semi-straggler; middle of the pack. I've never been so proud to be mediocre in my lifetime. I will admit that I had very strong feelings of turning back. Part of the problem is that before I left home, Sigrun made me believe that I would be cold and my layers might not cut it. Oddly enough, it was by far the most beautiful weather that I have seen out here. The tour guide even remarked that in his 30 years of climbing this mountain, he had never seen anything like it. So, at one point during the hike, I was concerned that I was overheating and at risk for heat exhaustion (might be in NANDA - for my nursing audience). I was too proud to stop and forfeit my middle ranking. So, like a proud, proud ass, I sweated my way through the first 'heat' (a little more sports humour, for those who have been missing those types of jokes). Inside my head was a constant internal struggle. But all I could do was keep my feet moving and try to think positively. And listen to music. I have to partly attribute my successes in not giving up to shuffle. It was doin me right :). 

On our first break we stop and the tour guide busts out this book and starts speaking in Icelandic. I gladly take this opportunity to take off about two layers and hose myself down with some drinking water before I have a vagal episode. I tune back into the monologue and hear that he is reading off names. I was unsure of the context, but smiled to myself at the thought that he might be taking this moment to quickly review the groups genealogical connections - which is so classically Icelandic. Let's meet, drink coffee (or in this case hike a mountain), and then review many leather bound books that detail our family lineage back to the dawn of time and determine how a random collection of people are related. This is one of the reasons that I know that I'm Icelandic. I love it. I am just a hopeless fool for Icelandic genealogy.  After completion of his speech, everyone starts packing up to go. I ask him as I pass by what exactly it was that he was saying. He tells me that he was reading from a book that had all of the names of the people that originally hiked this very mountain 30 years ago. One of those names was Gudmunder's and his father, who was 68 at the time that he conquered the mountain. Another piece of motivation suddenly comes out of the wood work - this mountain is tradition. I suddenly understand why it was so important to Sigrun and Gudmunder that I do this. And in this moment it becomes very important to me too.

And we continue on...

and on...

and on...

And then something really strange happened to me. I started to think about Dad. I've come to dread this in a way because it's been happening to me all the time out here. You'd think that traveling to another country and pursuing a different life experience would take you far away from everything that you know, including grief. That's what I thought, anyway. But it's a lie. A fallacy of unimaginable magnitude because it is precisely the opposite. I went to Reykjavik and was cornered by grief even though I was surrounded by new friends, fun, and life. So I wrote about it in an attempt to get it out of me. But it didn't leave.  It followed me. It followed me but gained some sort of momentum and has been difficult to overcome. Now I find myself climbing this mountain and I am so far away from the ground that I feel like I must be leaving the earth. I am exhausted and unsure of myself and feeling full of sadness. I start to wonder if he can see me, as I climb higher and higher. Like maybe now I can find him because I am closer and closer to heaven with every step. 

I begin to imagine that he is on the top of this mountain. That if I could just get up there, no matter how hard it is, that he would be waiting for me. If I could make it beyond all of these rocks, I would find him at the top and he would jump up and say hey! And I would run to him and find myself in an embrace that took me more than seven years to find my way back to. I know it sounds so crazy, but my heart kept telling me that I have looked everywhere else imaginable to find him and come to terms with his death. I have been a fool and a failure and never able to close this chapter of my life. My heart is too weak to move on and I have been disillusioned by this mirage that tells me that I might find him somewhere, if I continue to search. So here I am on a mountain in northern Iceland and I am climbing this glare rock face with such fervor, believing that the answer to this conundrum awaits me at the summit.

I reach the top and realize my fears. He is not here either. I have come all the way up to heaven, but I still cannot find him. I sit down defeated and eat one of my sandwiches. If I can't find him here and he does not live at home, will I be cursed to roam like this forever? When will this hell be over? When will it be that I awake and go through one entire day where I am not struck down with sorrow? Because I have now climbed an incredible mountain; I feel like I can touch the sun and there is no place on earth that is more beautiful than this. And he isn't here either. I lay back on the snow and take a deep breath and make my heart quiet enough that I can say a little prayer.

"Hi Dad - it's me. I climbed a mountain to find you. Can you see me here? Can you hear me? Does this make you proud? I wish I could find you. I just want to see you once more but you are always hidden. Why can't I find you?"

As I take this moment to myself, an Icelandic woman stops and sits down next to me. Not realizing that I was deep in existential thought, she starts small talking to me about Canada and this and that. I sit up and politely engage in conversation with her. Before I know it the group is gathering, perhaps for another genealogical monologue. I reluctantly rise, not wanting to leave my hard earned platform to lament to my father's ghost. 

As I stand there, I am reflecting and I come to a realization. Perhaps it sounds much like my former conclusion that I just need to get comfortable with finding him in my heart instead of the physical form that I had become accustomed to. The thing is that it's hard to become comfortable and satisfied with that. His presence in my life was previously defined and quantified by his physical form. I could touch, feel, and see him, so I knew that he was real. But as soon as he was gone, I was left to question if he was still in existence. Where did he go? Had the matter of his soul disintegrated with his body? It has taken me more than seven years to work this out. But on the top of this mountain, I came face to face with the uncertainty that has plagued me for so long. I would like to say here that I have become comfortable with   his death and I found some kind of zen-like moment in the universe. But I didn't. What I found is that I can't continue to feel haunted. I cannot proceed with my life and terrorize myself with the horror that it is a possibility that he has vanished from existence and I have been a disappointment to him.  I have been trapped living my life feeling only the tragedy because it easily overwhelms the love that I have for him. 

As I thought about this, I started to cast down this invisible baggage that I have been carrying for an extraordinary amount of time. Piece by piece. I stood quietly and allowed hardened and bitter layers from my heart fall on the snow-covered mountain top. I tried to let my heart feel brave enough to shine brightly. I worked so hard at feeling okay, maybe even bold enough to say that he might be up here with me...and maybe I can feel his pride.

And the sun was shining on that mountain top and all of the clouds were gone.

"I miss you and I love you. I wish you were here and for the first time in a long time, I feel like you are."

Suddenly, I am beaming. I look around me and realize that I am on top of a mountain. I feel proud of myself for arriving at the summit. For the first time in a long time, I am not embarrassed by my constant contemplation of grief. Maybe I have been always plagued and introspective about it, because I hadn't figured it out. I have been looking at reconciliation like a destination, a goal. A mental, emotional, and spiritual place in time that would mean ease and certainty. Perhaps I will always be sad. But maybe that doesn't mean that I have failed. And if that is true, it could also be true that I have accomplished something. Like trying to prove that God exists, I have been trying to assure myself that I have a relationship with someone that is gone. It is a quest of faith and what I have finally come to realize is that it is worth the hard work. It is important to write blogs away from your friends that are laughing and quietly whisper to your father from you heart on top of mountains. It is the work that is necessary in order to continue what I think will be a life-long relationship with him. 

I am prepared to work hard and sometimes feel sad. I have not reconciled with his death, but I have reconciled with myself that this will be my life's work. 

I begin to rejoice and rejoin the present. I am on top of a mountain in Iceland and I need not feel guilty or discouraged that it made me think about him. I will no longer allow that to create a barrier that prevents me from being present in moments. It should make me happy. Because I am brave and resilient. I have chosen never again allow myself to feel numb or search for the empty promise of "moving on". Today, I decide to be happy and hopeful.

So the celebration begins and I capture a picture for my Amma. Gimli was here!

I look around at my fellow hikers that are exploring the mountain top and I join them. I find my small furry friend, who of course has made it to the top. What I failed to tell you at the chronologically appropriate time, was that during the two hour portion that we were climbing (like hands and god damn feet, pulling yourself up vertically), this little dumpling was running up and down. Up and down. Spraying rocks everywhere as he frantically herded all of us and made sure that the pack was together. I think that Cesar Milan would have really liked him. He was a working dog. In my head, I nicknamed him 'Snoopy Stallone', my little cliffhangin' buddy. 

And I thought he was mighty fine! Obviously, Freddie would have done a much better job, but that's okay. This guy was pretty good.

So I made it. Right to the top of Flöguselshnjúkur's mighty 1306 meters. It felt great. I missed my lady hikers because I know that they would have been right beside me. Probably even a little ahead of me for most of the hike. I stood there are sent them some love from my heart. 

And charged forward to explore the vast mountain top:

When I was feeling extra brave, I would try to look down:

I could even see my farm house from heaven (16x zoom):

I was truly on top of the world. I loved every second of it:

And the best part of it was that the only thing that I had to worry about was getting down the mountain. I'm no physicist, but clearly down is easier than up. I was looking like a flying slam dunk.

Or so it thought.....

Heading into the descent, I knew for sure that we weren't going down the same way we came. That would have been god damn impossible. So there was obvioulsy some other easier way. I assure you, I wasn't under the impression that there was some kind of exit ramp to this mountain. But going down was probably as hard as going up. If not harder....

Despite the many challenges that revealed themselves during the journey down, I also found some fun. My favorite part was the snow running. There were sections that lasted for an hour where we'd be on snow that I would have given a firm black diamond rating, had I been on a snowboard. It was the path of least resistance compared to the rocks. You had to run - or at least I did (because my horns were WAAAY up) - big bounding leaps forward where I would jet one straight leg out and jam my heel into the snow as I cast my weight backwards. One misstep and you could turn yourself into a classic cartoon snow ball :) I don't think that I'll ever forget listening to the Boss' "Born to Run" on full volume running down the snow covered mountain side. I was going  so fast, I found myself wishing that I had googles. It was truly exhilarating.

Pictures never do it justice. This was a tame section. I wouldn't have dared taken my camera out on the full tilt running sections.

We traveled down from the  snow....

and back to the green:

At this point, I am enjoying myself less and less as an old snowboarding injury is haunting me with every step. But what can you do? I just kept going and going....

After a long and difficult journey down, I cross the finish line. Astonished at myself, I take another look at the place that I had come from:

After arriving home from my adventure, I think to myself that I would rate this mountain climb as a six hiking boots out of a possible five hiking boots. I head to the bathroom, have a 10 hiking boot bath, and feel happy from the inside. Success. 

What do I have to say for myself this time, perhaps you are asking. I think that this mountain climb has been my most important of lessons. Leading up to this day, I had found that I was feeling anxious, sad, or just a little off. You know how you can feel when you're just not sure that life is working out or that you are doing the right things? That's how I was feeling. A little lost. A little hopeless. Being out on the sheep farm brought those feeling right out to the forefront and I couldn't brush them off they way that I had become accustomed to at home. They followed me everywhere and I wasn't able to explain them away as easily as I normally would. It wasn't until I started to get to the top of that mountain that I realized why I had been feeling so terrible. I wasn't really in touch with myself. For years, I've been coming to terms with the death of my father. Each time that I realized something new about myself or mended damage that I'd caused to my life as a result of the grieving process, I felt like I'd arrived at a place where there was closure. But it was always false. 

I finally had to climb a mountain in northern Iceland to discover the truth about life. I will feel sad. I will make mistakes. I will have sorrow. I might feel alone. All of these things are inevitabilities in life, for all of us. In fact, living life in the absence of these things is empty. It shows disconnection and apathy. I know that you are all probably nodding your heads to this right now. Obviously, everyone has to take the good with the bad. The thing is, there's more to it. Not only do you have to be able to feel these things, you need to be able to acknowledge their presence and, most importantly, accept them. Feel okay about a life without perfection. Allow yourself to feel tragedy. And perhaps the most crucial of all, give up on correcting things in life that you can't change. The past, mistakes, deaths, ugly feelings.... I have only now realized that I had spent so much time trying to reconcile with an event, that I had forgotten to reconcile with my heart. With myself. I have been on an empty quest to find this holy grail - a place where I could feel okay about Dad dying and where peace awaited me. There is no such place. I needed to find peace in myself. And I will forever have to discover and rediscover this peace. It will be work. It will never be done. But it is important to remember that the bad times will eventually be met by the good. And hard work pays off. Especially climbing mountains.

To all of my friends and family - I love you so much and carried you with me to the top and back down again. 

        Sarah

Sarah's Additional Viking Rules:

-Seek the truth

-Know your heart

-Purchase hiking boots

               

Like Sheep to the Barber - Eins og kindur til rakari

Oh gawd..... How do I even start....

How 'bout where I left off?

So I wake up in the morning after a slam dunk of a sleep. That little bed I have is a hit, let me tell ya. Sigrun is asking me to come downstairs. The weather isn't good, but "we're going to try to work" she tells me. I'm starting to realize that I can't even pretend that I'm not the biggest damn city slicker that these folks have ever seen. I stand in front of my closet in a quiet panic. Pick the right clothes. Pick the right clothes. Ummm.... What do modern day farmin' gals wear to shear sheep? Layers. That's a good start.

I bundle myself to the best of my abilities and head downstairs for another awkward meal at the table. I think that it was mostly me that was creating the awkwardness, as I have never farmed, been near sheep, or had to do these things combined with a group of farmers that don't speak english. I was so nervous I could barely hold my coffee cup to my mouth without slopping it everywhere. How on earth am I going to pull this off? Yikes!

So I get geared up and me and Sigrun head down in the truck. I hop out of the truck to find about six other people. Three other Icelandic sheep farmers and three of their grandchildren (none of whom speak english). Oh yes, and an enormous audience of sheep. They go at the sheep in packs of about 20 or so. 20 adults. The babies are sort of a package deal.

My new patients. So at this point I'm beyond nervous. I am prompted by the farmers to get into the pen. I awkwardly hurl myself over the gate. It's been a long ass time since I've worn rubber boots, let alone climbed things in them.

It's funny how stupid you can feel when you don't speak the same language as everyone else and you're learning to do something new. Especially, when you're the new kid on the block. I felt really strange and not very bright. There were a few moments that I felt like I might start to cry. I also started to fantasize about going home or at least back to reunite with my Snorris. I was at another cross roads. But Sigrun was by my side the entire time. I had told her the day before that our Icelandic teacher always said "Flott!" (excellent) when we had done something right and that it always made me feel very good. She must have remembered that, because she kept saying things like "you are sooo flott!". Those little words made me feel like I could dive in and just do my best. And so I did.....

and so the fun begins...

So, let me break this down for inquiring minds. I had nooooo idea what to expect. Personally, I had an image of sheep docilely standing while electric trimmers gave them the buzz cut of their dreams. I was a little surprised to find that it's not like that. They do have clippers,  but that involves them all being in the barn or "sheep house" and that's a huge fiasco to coordinate. So the process is to wrangle one of these bad boys up, force him to the fence, and then tie their head/horns in such a way that they can't escape. Sounds like a slam dunk, right?

After accomplishing the near impossible, the real work begins. This is a picture of Gudmunder making the first cut. First, he assesses to make sure that the sheep feels healthy and is well built enough that removing it's wool won't risk illness for the critter. You do this by pulling up on the hide, to see if it feels loose like a baggy t-shirt or "Icelandc sweater", if you will. Then, he would start a cut from the rump area and up the back, seperating it into two pieces. From there, we would both 'go at it' with scissors that looked like you needed a tetanus shot just to hold them. It's a shearin' frenzy until you bring it on home...

Lather, rinse, repeat. Until they're all done. All of the guys in the pen anyway. Once you have both halves off, they get tossed into the wool "receptacle". Please see example A:

A few observations about clipping sheep:

-They do not like getting haircuts

-You can't count on them staying still

-They don't understand that the more they buck/ram their heads into the fence, the worse their new hairdo looks

-Shearing is harder than it looks

-There's a lot more poop attached to their wool than you might think

Ways that shearing sheep reminds me of nursing:

-There are always more sheep than farmers

-The noise is constant (replace bells with sheep noises)

-You can't avoid poop

-Sheep don't always appreciate the high quality care that they are getting

-Ergonomics is not a main focus of farming (I will never complain about the body mechanics at my work again)

Now the funny thing about shearing, is that it's not always a slam dunk. For example, some of them just can't be clipped. For others, they can only be half-clipped. We'll refer to these guys as the "hair dos" of the group. Some of them might just have their 'collar' or whatever trimmed off and the rest remains like some kind of crazy vest:

It looks like a cape or something. How bout another example. 

Here's the sheep mullet:

Business in the body, party at the ass. 

There's so many more fashionable sheep dos that are hot this season, but I couldn't get them all. I was trying not to look like the city slicker paparazzi on my first day on the job. You'll just have to trust me. My faves were the ones that looked like little wool shorts. Hahahaha. So funny.

I was shearing a lot with Gudmunder. He can't speak english at all, but was busting out these pretty good one liners after each sheep was finished. It was very impressive. Imagine an Icelandic farmer saying any of the following to a sheep as they give em a smack on the rump and send them on their way:

-Goodbye

-Thank-you

-Thank-you and Goodbye

-Goodbye my love

-Thank-you very much

-See you next time

We've also been into learning cheers. Skol is cheers in Icelandic. But Gudmunder wanted to know more, so we've been working on that. I've taught him cheers and salud, so he was using those to say good bye to the sheep as well. He's an ace.  

Now, back to work....

Sometimes the sheep require manicures and pedicures so that they're 'trail ready'.

The strange thing is that this sheep pen is a damn fiasco of sheep frantically racing around. It's a mix between trying to organize themselves and not get too close to the hairstylists that surrounded them. A riot at it's finest, I'd say. So during the panic, babies obviously get split from their mums. The lambs actually sounds like they're calling "maaAAAAAAaam" and racing around. Some of them even try to get a bird's eye view:

Awwwww!! The baby!!! 

But before the reuniting process can begin, the babies need to receive some antibiotics to make sure that they will stay healthy. This involves chasing these little rascals around the pen, snatching them up and them getting a dose of liquid medication from a little pump. After the baby receives a dose, it's marked with a sort-of green bingo dabber. This allows the farmers (and me) to know who has not been "processed", I guess. 

Once all of the babies that are scrambling around have green dots on their head, its time for them to hit the ol' dusty trail out to the mountains. Before they can release these sheep out into the world with their new looks, they need to allow them to get organized and for the mums and babies to find each other. First, everybody gets let out of the barber shop:

Then they need to sort themselves out near the gate that leads them to their summer lodging. They're released in smaller family units out to the mountains. They can't go all at once or all of the work that they just did to get everybody figured out would have been for nothing. It's funny because once one or two families get through the gate, all of the other sheep want to try to bolt with them. All of the farmers yell at them and wave their canes in the air so that the sheep get spooked and run the other way. I couldn't help but notice that when people scream at sheep in Icelandic, it sounds an awful lot like german.

Then its time for them, one by one, to work that big ol catwalk back into the mountains. They're on the loose until the round up in September. See you little buddies! Don't do anything that I wouldn't do!

So what do I have to say for myself this time? Sheep farming taught me some lessons that are a little more on the practical side. I think that for starters, I learned that grabbing the "sheep" by the horns (a little farm humour) is the right plan of attack in shearing and in life. I couldn't help but notice, that the more I rolled up my sleeves and tried my best, the easier things were getting. That kind of attitude and action is something that's noticed by others. I think that it helped me to feel like I was part of the group, more than a new person on the periphery. I couldn't change the fact that I was a total city slicker. What I could control is that I was going to be the most balls-out sheep shearing city slicker that they'd ever seen. I was giving 110% every second that I was out there. 

The other important lesson that I think I took away from this situation, is that being too sensitive is always a set back. Being an english speaking gal who had never worked a farm in a group of Icelandic farmers was definitely not an ideal educational situation. I didn't want that to stop me from getting a full experience. There were a few times when Sigrun, who is essentially my personal translator, wasn't around. I refused to let that stop me from putting my rubber boots back on and making things happen. At times, it was a little tough because if I was doing something wrong, I'd hear someone scream "SARAH!!!!!" and wave their arms up and down like crazy. OR scream "SARAH!!!!NO!!!!". Once you get past the initial embarrassment of the whatever mistake you've made, you get comfortable with this type of feedback. I started to realize that I take non-verbal feedback really personally and so I was getting a bit upset. Once I realized this about myself, I could finally relax a little. I just needed to loosen up and quit being so uptight. 

So, I'll sign off for now. I'm sure I'll have many more adventures to tell you about soon. All the sheep are in the mountain right now gettin fat and wooly. I keep asking what other work there is to do around the ol' sheep mill when they're not here. The only I get is "yes". I've given up on the question at this point. I'll just keep taking things one sheep farm day at a time. 

Good night sheep.

Good night farm.

Good night moon.

Good night snorris. 

Good night family.

Good night friends.

           With much love,

               Sarah

Sarah's Additional Viking Rules:

-Stay still for haircuts

-When cutting wood: measure twice, cut once

-When shearing sheep: Measure once, cut fast

-Get in where you fit in

-Always grab sheep (and life) by the horns