A Tale Weaver, too

Freda pulled on her pack and followed the two old friends through the docks. They squeezed into the front seat of Mr. Steinnar’s truck, like a tin of sardines. Every time Mr. Steinnar turned the oversized steering wheel, he bumped into Freda.
“Sorry about that. I’m trying my best, but there just isn’t any room.”
“That’s okay. It’s better than sitting in the back.”
“You’re right about that,” said Mr. Steinnar.
Freda heard the wind whipping against the outside of the pickup truck. That alone made her shiver. She was glad she had three thick layers of wool to keep herself warm. She was also glad that she was sandwiched between her father and Mr. Steinnar. That kept her warm, too.
They traveled a short way out into the countryside. Homes dotted the landscape, each one a little farther apart than the last. Freda looked out the window, searching for any turf houses, but she did not see one.
“There’s my home,” said Mr. Steinnar.
“Where?” asked Freda.
“The third one up the hill.”
The turf houses were exactly as Mr. Steinnar had described. Four houses were lined up, side-by-side, tucked into a mound of earth. Only the front walls of the houses poked out from the slow rolling hill. The hill, which also acted as the roof, was covered in thick, green moss.
“I’ve never been inside a turf house before,” exclaimed Freda.
“Here’s your chance,” said Mr. Steinnar.
Freda ran towards the house. As Mr. Steinnar opened the front door, Freda rushed inside.
“It’s nothing like I’d pictured it,” said Freda.
“It’s a little cramped,” said Mr. Steinnar.
“But it’s plenty cozy,” said a voice from the kitchen.
A small woman, with blonde hair and a full figure poked her head around the corner.
“You must be Freda,” greeted the woman. She hugged Freda so tightly that Freda could barely breathe. Still, Freda returned the hug. To Freda, the old lady smelled like fried chicken.
“Freda, this is my wife, Helge.”
“Hello, Mrs. Steinnar.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Freda. I hope you’re hungry.”
“I’m starved. What are we having?”
“Crispy puffin and leek soup.”
Freda gasped.
“What’s wrong?” asked Mrs. Steinnar.
“I can’t eat puffins!”
“Freda,” scolded her father.
“Daddy,” pleaded Freda, “they’re just too cute.”
“Freda, you’ve eaten puffins plenty of times before, but your mother and I just didn’t tell you.”
“I did?”
“We may have told you it was some other type of bird.”
“I’ll see what else we can make for you,” offered Mr. Steinnar.
“We’re your guests, Helge. We’ll eat what you have taken the time and trouble to make.”
Freda worried about dinner as she took her backpack up to the guest room and unpacked. She thought about faking a tummy ache to get out of eating, but she knew that would not work. She washed her hands and went downstairs.
“This chair is reserved especially for you,” offered Mrs. Steinnar.
Freda sat at the end of the table nearest to the fireplace. She faced away from the kitchen, unable to see what Mrs. Steinnar was doing. Meanwhile, her father sat directly across from her while Mr. and Mrs. Steinnar sat across from one another, on either side of Freda.
Everyone folded their hands as Mr. Steinnar began the prayer.
“Come, Lord, and bless these gifts,
of food, family, and friendship,
bestowed by Thee.”

“Amen,” everyone said in unison.
“Short and sweet, just like us Lutherans like it,” said Mr. Steinnar.
Mrs. Steinnar reached for a small platter in the center of the table. It was pre-prepared by Mrs. Steinnar, with a little help from her father. She had de-boned all of the puffin, preparing it just fried chicken. Freda took a bite while everyone watched.
“Well?” said Mrs. Steinnar.
“It’s…good,” replied Freda.
Relieved, everyone began to enjoy dinner together. Freda sipped her leek soup, which warmed her from the inside. The heat from the hearth warmed her backside. It warmed her so much that she had to take off both of her jackets.
“It’s getting very hot in here,” said Freda.
“The good thing about turf houses is they always keep you warm,” said Mr. Steinnar.
“Why do they do that?”
“The dirt packed on top of the roof is like a coat.”
“Why don’t they just make dirt houses?”
“When it rains,” explained Mr. Steinnar, “the water will wash away all the dirt. The roots of grass will keep the dirt in place.”
“Ah,” said Freda as she shook her head knowingly.
“It’s very small, though,” said Freda.
“A long time ago, the people of Iceland lived in great, big longhouses. It was hard to heat those open spaces, so they built turf houses, just like they did in old Norway.”
“They have turf houses in Norway, too?”
“They have them all over Scandinavia,” said Mr. Steinnar.
“It seems like we share everything with the Norwegians,” said Freda.
Mr. Steinnar pulled his hands inward, tucking them beneath his suspenders. He flexed his thumbs backward and off they came with a snap. He leaned back into this chair and grinned for a few moments before leaning towards Freda.
“We come from a long line of noble Vikings, who sailed across the North Sea. Every time I go hunting or fishing, I think about the great hunters and fishers who went before me.”
As he spoke, his voice echoed through the tiny house.
“In fact, I was the one who caught your dinner. I caught it with a mighty net as it flew above me in the sky.”
“Oh, Magnus, quit telling that girl a tall tale,” said Mrs. Steinnar.
“It was a feat of great strength. You are lucky to be eating anything at all.”
“You’re beginning to sound like Snorri himself,” chuckled her father.
“Snorri, the first king of Iceland?”
“Snorri Sturluson wasn’t a king. He was a lawspeaker,” corrected her father.
“What’s a lawspeaker?”
“He’s the man who recited laws whenever there was a question about something.”
“That seems a little silly to me,” said Freda.
“It was a very important thing. In fact, Iceland only had one lawspeaker. There was a group of men called the commonwealth. They assembled at a place called Law Rock.”
“It was an actual rock?”
“It was more like a high ledge, where all the people who gathered could see and hear the lawspeaker. He’d help the assembly make decisions.”
“He was like a judge?”
“The assembly made the judgments. The lawspeaker merely recited the laws.”
“That seems silly again.”
“Snorri Sturluson was probably the most important person in all of Iceland.”
“For standing on a rock and reciting laws?”
“You cannot forget that he was a tale-weaver, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“He wrote the Prose Edda.”
“The story about the giants?”
“The Prose Edda was much more than a story about giants. It was an epic saga about snow giants, and the days of the gods and goddesses, and great wars between ancient kingdoms. Snorri also told Icelanders about their heritage.”
“More stories from Norway?”
“From all of Scandinavia. As Snorri once said, ‘So they put to sea and had Iceland in their mind’s eye.’”
“What does that mean?” asked Freda.
“It means that Iceland was our destiny.”
“All right,” interrupted Mrs. Steinnar, “I think it’s time you better be headed off to bed.
Freda let out a groan.
“She’s right,” added Freda’s father, “we’d better all be getting off to bed. Tomorrow is to be a very long day.”
Freda scampered off to bed, where her father tucked her in and wished her a good night, full of sweet dreams. Freda was her daddy’s girl, who now had a new appreciation of being an Icelander.
The idea of visiting the docks and seeing the Ocean again made Freda very happy and that was quite a sweet dream indeed.