The people of Iceland in the 1860s were running out of sheep, money and land.  The epidemic that annihilated 200,000 sheep added to trade restrictions from Holland and a shortage of land, tripled their desperation. Facing famine, Icelanders crossed the frigid seas for Manitoba, then a wild, uncharted vast nothingness.

It’s true that Manitoba was not a first-choice pick for immigration  – many opted for Brazil (“many” meaning 40).  But transportation difficulties made this option impossible and the second wave of immigrants had to go elsewhere. Beckoned by the enthusiastic letters of one young Danish émigré who found success as a store clerk in Wisconsin, they boarded a ship to the States.  Onboard, a concerned Scottish missionary said to one of the men that he should consider Canada instead.  Eager for opportunity, the 23 year-old Sigtryggur Jónassen did just that and led his five fellow Icelanders to Ontario instead.

They tried to settle several places there but met with unkind conditions. After a few agricultural stops and starts, and a growing group of hungry immigrants escaping from the erupting volcano (literally, not metaphorically), Jónassen was elected to see if he could find paradise further west.  And he did, on Lake Winnipeg.

He and his comrades chose a spot on the western shore just out of range of the grasshopper plague.  Tall, lush grass, fish galore and a neighboring forest were sure to provide for a successful community.  Reporting back to Ontario that they’d founded New Iceland, the settlers welcomed a steamer full of hogs and Icelanders in Manitoba in late 1875.

Jónassen, now the official leader, was a visionary on all accounts. He formed the first town council and established the first newspaper called Framfari (Progress), which was handwritten and read door-to-door. He later set up a press in his cabin to distribute news to the growing community.

As with every new settlement, there were hardships, both physical and sentimental.  Smallpox hit and with it, nostalgia for Icelandic livestock.  One woman confessed that she’d “never be able to love a foreign cow.”  But optimism and hard work prevailed, and the Icelanders in Manitoba grew into a robust population of over 100,000 strong, with an affinity for strong coffee and a predilection for chess.