The first day of tree planting came. Dark gray clouds hung over the valley. Coarse rain drops fell from the sky. It was just a slow "warm-up" day.
The ground was hard, and rocky outcrops were protruding through the thin soil. Every little hummock of green grass available was now planted with a tiny larch, Larix, or spruce, Picea. Kick the pottiputki (a tool that helps to plant tree plugs) into the ground, hope you do not hit a rock, slice the ground open, pull one tree out of the tray that is attached to the harness you wear, drop it down the tube, make another incision next to the tree, pinch a little handful of fertilizer and pour the small beads of fertilizer down the tube, heel the tree well in, do a few paces ahead and repeat.. Often we looked back to see where we have been, but it would be impossible to spot the soft, light green needles of larix amongst the fresh spring leaves of dwarf birch, Betula nana and occasional new blades of grass. If it was raining, fertilizing was impossible, as the beads would stick to the inside of the wet tube . In that case you cannot put another tree through the pottiputki as the fertilizer would burn roots and potentially kill the little sapling. The rain made tree planting slower, in some cases halted the process completely. However, as the weather improved and days went on, we got quicker. We managed to get used to working with pottiputki and find our own rhythm.
Numerous mornings started out gray and gloomy, but the sky cleared and the sun appeared as we were ready for bed. There were times we wished that we did not plant during the day and got soaked, but rather waited until the evening and planted well into the night, because, as we knew, it did not get dark at night! A reason why you can see farmers in Iceland cutting their grass at 2 o'clock in the morning!
Our new fury friend, a border collie crossed with an Icelandic sheep dog, often joined us for tree planting. On the days it was drizzling, he would sit right beside me, cry and look very miserable. Although we were only a few hundred metres from the house and it was within our sight, he refused to leave by himself. He always looked up to me with a sorrowful look in his eyes, almost like asking - Is it time to go home?? Sometimes we would make a lot of noise out on the hillside! Jamie and I would start howling and the dog would cry along.
Hardly a day went by without us baking something. Often the house was filled with a sweet smell of Latvian buns and cakes. The smoked meat pies, in Latvian called pīrādziņi, and crumble cake, drumstalkūka, were the favourites among Icelanders. Baking is something we both enjoy and miss when on the road. Back in Scotland we used to baked cakes or cookies at home, however by the day three we would have had enough of eating the same thing. Therefore, we enjoyed our new Icelandic family, as there were plenty of people to eat whatever we baked!
Along with all the Latvian baking we shared with our hosts, they made sure we got to try the best of the Icelandic cuisine. Although we were not there for the right season to try the adorable little sea bird called puffin, Fratercula arctica, (unfortunately for us, luckily for puffins), we did try smoked lamb, caramel potatoes, Icelandic haggis, waffles with syrup and cheese and other odd things. I remember well that one day when Halla took us to Holmavik to show us around the town. We visited her friend who makes a very delicious blueberry juice and jam. We had a chance to take a sip of this palatable locally sourced drink. Another of her friends said we have to try one of the Icelandic delicacies.. It turned out to be something we would try only once in a lifetime and never touch it again! I only bit a shy, tiny piece of it, and looked at Jamie. He put the whole cube in his mouth in one go. The same moment it touched his tongue, Jamie's facial expressions suggested that it was something very unpleasant to taste. He rushed out of the little portacabin we were in, and spat out everything he had in his mouth! I was not going to swallow my bit either and kindly gave the remaining piece back. Halla and her friend had a good giggle watching us trying this delicacy. Icelanders would eat the raw, cold and uncooked shark a piece after a piece like chocolates, and pass it around.
We much preferred, the annual "happy days" festival in Holmavik. Our favourite part was the local cake competition. Almost every local resident would bake a cake to compete for the "happiest looking" cake award, after which, everyone was welcome to join in for the tasting feast. Any cake you desired was put on your plate. So we ended up with this heap of mixed cakes that hardly fitted on our plates. We definitely felt happy..
