My Favourite Farm

Man, the thought of having a wall of basalt and a cinder cone in my backyard, I tell you, nothing could be better.
.

If you don’t drive too quickly and get off Highway 1, you’ll find it. It’s a poor, poor farm, but, as Gunnar said, poverty is wealth, because everything the land gives comes straight from faith, as a gift, and gifts are not to be laughed away.

The Ogress’s Stair

Just west of Hengifoss, there is an ogress’s stairway, leading to the high country and off to Myvatnsveit.

She is not absent from it. Every ledge on the mountain has a name. Each is a separate sheep pasture. Talk about trusting ancient forces with one’s sheep (the “hidden people” just seems wrong, given how visible she is), or what.

The Troll of Njardvik

 

Amazingly, he has no story and no name. I think this is because he’s a pretty friendly guy overall, although during my week beneath him, I couldn’t help but wonder just how much his scree slope had moved onto farmland over the last 1100 years, and how many hundred metres the sea had eaten away the fields to the right.