There have been in our family since it arrived in New Iceland, three drownings. Alfred and Herbert Bristow, sons of Fredrikka Gottskalksdottir and William Bristow, drowned with three other young people when they were returning on a sailboat from a berry picking expedition. My father, in an old tradition, was named after them. My brother drowned when his front end loader went off the side of a barge into the Mackenzie River.

These drownings, while tragic, were part of an old tradition. Can we call it that? When something is done repeatedly over a very long time?

To drown was the fate of many men in Iceland. According to Richard Burton, in Iceland there was an