Knowing My History: Part 2

On Identity

I have lived in many different places, including: Kelowna BC, Lethbridge AB, Saskatoon SK, and Peterborough ON, to name a few but not in chronological order. Somehow I had never set foot in the province of Manitoba until I was 22 when I traveled to Winnipeg and Gimli for the first time. 

I went because I wanted to attend the famous Islendingadagurinn or Iceland Days festival that happens during the August long weekend in Gimli. I have Guttormsson cousins with cottages who welcomed me for a whole week, happy to show me around, attending all the activities even though they had been enjoying them for many years and not all parts of the festival were novel for them anymore.

I first learned about the Fjallkona and saw her traditional costume while in Gimli. I also learned that my great-grandmother had been the Fjallkona at the Islendingadagurinn one year. I also saw choirs and dancers from Iceland performing on the centre stage, and ate Icelandic treats in the food pavilion. For the first time I tasted kleinur, pönnukökur, and skyr in its original unsweetened and unflavoured form.

Now that I live just outside of Toronto, I attend events all the time where Icelandic treats and savoury foods are available. But in Gimli, I was treated to a new culinary experience I had not expected. Growing up in the Okanagan my mother and I were members of the Icelandic Canadian Club of BC but we lived too far away to attend many events in Vancouver. Also in Gimli, at the local chain grocery store my cousin bought hardfiskur (dried fish) and hankikjöt (smoked lamb) for me to try. Brennivín was also available at the local Liquor Store, but I did not try it then.

The exposure to the culture of my ancestors infused a renewed sense of pride within me. Throughout my adolescent years, being of Icelandic heritage was still important to me, but I had stopped bragging about the poet. Nobody around me had heard of Guttormur J. Guttormsson and as far as I knew, there were no more books of his except maybe on dusty shelves somewhere in Gimli. As a teenager I wanted to be the right amount different so as not to completely stand out but not fit in with in-crowd. Like most at that age, I was figuring out who I was and did not want the influence of my parents overshadowing my own definition of myself.

Then, in my twenties, I went to study at Trent University and took a summer course, Introduction to Indigenous Studies. To my shame, I learned that I had completed grade school without learning anything substantial about the history of Canada in regards to the treatment of our First Nations. It was in that course that I was encouraged to learn about my own roots, to learn my own history as the descendant of immigrants, and to learn the treaties that made my life possible today. 

These new questions increased my interest and determination to find out everything possible about my Icelandic family. I wanted this history to understand my current identity as a Canadian.

I had been to Gimli, my next stop was Iceland.