Ryan Dennis

After spending the last six months visiting Icelandic dairy farms, I’ve begun to notice many of the characteristics inherent to the lifestyle. They have coffee before and after every trip to the barn, they own an overly enthusiastic border collie and, without fail, wear blue coveralls called gallis.

Our farm sits in the bottom of a valley. Because of it, we can’t get any reception. When I did have a cell phone, I had to climb to the top of the hill to use it. On winter nights talking to friends, I’d stomp around corn stalks to keep warm. Most conversations ended not because I ran out of things to say, but because my fingers went numb.

As I write this, I am staying with my sixth farm family in Iceland while working on a book project about the island’s dairy farming. The people here have been overwhelmingly gracious. One of my biggest concerns before arriving was figuring out how to charm my way into the houses of people I didn’t know, particularly as a foreigner.

Several months ago, comedian Louis C.K. appeared on Conan O’Brien’s show, explaining why he didn’t like cell phones. He describes driving down the highway when a Bruce Springsteen song came on the radio and evoked memories that made him feel sad and alone.

After milking, we sat down to a plate of lamb, which is fairly common for lunches on Icelandic farms. Systa, the wife, decided not to prepare the slátur they usually eat on Saturdays – which, in simple terms, is sheep blood (or liver) mixed with fat and oats stuffed in the stomach and often let sit in whey for several months.

While in college, someone gave me a computer game called “Civilization.” In the game, the player is leader of a major society that existed at some point in human history. You build up and improve your nation, battling other world powers doing the same.