Walking
through the wood-paneled halls of an ancient viking longhouse (or, at
least, the exact replica of one), I feel as though I can see its
inhabitants going about their daily lives as they would have so many
hundreds of years ago. An old man stoking the fire in the middle of
the great hall, smoke curling above him to hang idly in the rafters.
Young children watching their mothers or fathers at work in the dairy
room, churning milk to produce skyr, a thick yogurt that wouldn't go
bad for several months. Strong, weathered farmers dozing on the
benches that lined the main room after a hard day's work.
Looking
back on the experience, a number of thoughts flow through my mind.
The foremost of these thoughts brings with it a twinge of sadness.
Back in those times, around the dawn of the 2nd
Millennium, Icelandic settlers could live off of the land in a way
that would be difficult or impossible now. Somewhere between
twenty-five and forty percent of Iceland's land area was covered by
forests in those days, as opposed to about one percent of the land
area today. The forests allowed pioneer Icelanders to build and heat
their homes, as well as providing building material for tools, boats,
and other essentials. Besides this, the forests stabilized the land.
After several centuries of deforestation (much of it to clear
cropland), almost all of Iceland's forests were gone, and vast tracts
of land began turning into uninhabitable deserts. Dust storms became
a huge problem, especially in the wake of volcanic eruptions which
deposited large amounts of loose ash. If ancient settlers landed on
Iceland's shores today, they would have found a much less inviting
environment, and they may not have decided to stay. Thankfully, in
the past few decades, amazing advances have been made in the
reforestation of Iceland, and the island is on a slow but steady
track to recovery. I've had a chance to participate in this
reforestation through the Hekla Forest Project, in which I got to
collect and plant birch seeds along with the rest of the CELL group.
I hope to also become involved a bit closer to (Icelandic) home,
through the organic forestry right here in Sólheimar.
The forestry plants thousands and thousands of trees, most of which
are sold to the Icelandic government, but which farmers or homeowners
can also buy.
Imagining
how the ancient Icelanders lived, and specifically seeing how their
dwelling was constructed, made me think about how I'm going to live
someday. I enjoyed the feel of the turf house, and a large part of me
wanted to run out and build one of my own. In retrospect, I wonder
whether this is actually such a ridiculous notion. The materials
involved – primarily turf, wood, and stone – aren't particularly
expensive, and I could probably get most of them myself if I owned
enough land. The design of the house was simple, and I'm sure that I
could find detailed instructions on how to construct the building if
I looked in the right places. The turf house was comfortable and
functional, and with some additions as well as some tweaking of the
design (I'd want internet, at least minimal electricity, and running
water), it would be possible to turn it into a practical modern
house. Besides being relatively low-cost, a turf house would have a
very low environmental impact. No toxic materials, no metal, no
concrete. It could be put up without the aid of trucks bringing in
materials, and when its lifespan ends, it could just sink right back
into the earth. With the addition of a wind turbine or solar panels
to provide clean power and some on-land farming to provide food, a
turf house could be a great step towards living sustainably. I've
been interested in alternative housing ever since I first read The
Boxcar Children
as a small child, so turf houses and similar structures are something
that I will be looking into more closely both over the course of this semester and over the next few years of my life.
My
final thought spurred by the viking longhouse is related to
community. Several families of ancient Icelanders lived in each
longhouse, so group interaction had to have been a huge part of their
daily lives. To the average Western person, I'm sure that it would
seem like a nightmare to have to live in essentially the same room as
several dozen other people of all ages, especially during the
extra-long Icelandic winters when trips outside were probably rare.
And I'm sure that, at times, it was
a nightmare for the early Icelanders to do that. However, part of me
wonders if they were happier for it overall. So much of human
well-being is based on interaction with other people, and in today's
world, we are often cut off from other people. We live in
free-standing houses, often with only one or two people per house,
and only very rarely with non-related people in the same house. Many
times, we don't even get to know our immediate neighbors that well.
We drive alone to our jobs, sit alone at our desks, and watch TV
alone at home once work is done. Is this a healthy society? Though we
may avoid many conflicts or uncomfortable situations that we would
have to face when living in closer proximity to others, I think that
we may find our base human needs better fulfilled. Of course,
everything in moderation: a viking longhouse represents an extreme
end of the scale where privacy is almost non-existent, and some
degree of privacy is also needed for a healthy, happy life. I think
that it would be wise for our society to start seriously looking at
the kind of communities it is building, and
then to figure out whether this kind of community is the kind that it
actually wants to be building.
I
feel blessed that I have the opportunity to explore topics like these
this semester. It's an amazing feeling to not only be surrounded by
people who are asking the same questions as you, but to have a
curriculum that focuses on these questions. I can already tell that
this will be one of the most significant semesters of my life.
-
Connor Mulcahy
