Bordered by the Arctic Circle and guarded by an uncharted ocean, the land of fire and ice became the home of a heroic people seeking a new beginning. Finding refuge on Iceland's inhospitable shores, these early Vikings fought the elements and created a nation. Theirs was a colorful history, a world of pagan gods and heroic deeds, immortalized in epic sagas. Listen to our Icelandic saga, 100 Years of Lopi. It's the story of a handful of people, descendants of the fabled Vikings, who also fought against the odds to fulfill their dream -- to continue a Lopi tradition rooted in Iceland's past.

CONTENTS
A Greeting from the President of Iceland
An Icelandic saga
Lopi's many faces
Iceland's First Knitter
Icelandic handcrafts
And the winners areŠ
A Lopi retrospective
Father, teller, lace knitter
Designer Védís Jónsdóttir
Ancestral Icelandic

LOPI'S MANY FACES

Lopi's many faces A dynamic trio of women has contributed to the success of Ístex, Lopi's manufacturer: designer Védís Jónsdóttir [see page 29], sales manager Thrúdur 'Trudy' Helgadóttir, and pattern writer Gudrídur 'Gudda' Ásgeirsdóttir. Competition winners (2nd, 1st, and 3rd prize, respectively) Steinunn Bergsteinsdóttir, Halldóra Kristín Hjaltadóttir, and Sigurlina Jóhanna Jóhannesdóttir represent the best of Iceland's Lopi knitting heritage [see page 26]. They, and thousands of other knitters like them, are keeping the Lopi tradition alive.

Everyone in Iceland is in agreement that there would not have been a 100th Year Anniversary Celebration at Lopi's birthplace without Gudjón Kristinsson. This down-to-earth man is so plain and unaffected it took Ístex's American visitors two days to realize that their driver/tourist guide was also the company president.

Gudjón's dream of carrying on the venerable Lopi tradition that dates back to 1896, was shared by a trio of exceptional men: spinning plant manager Jón Haraldsson, wool scouring plant manager Jóhann Sigurdsson, and technical manager Viktor Gudbjörnsson. Together they opened the mill doors after Álafoss closed them 1991.

Selfoss sheep farmer Árni Thorvaldsson, wife Sigrún Hlödversdóttir, and their children continue a sheep farming tradition rooted deep in Iceland's past. Their home at the foot of a snow-capped mountain range overlooks a snaking river -- their river, that is -- they're allowed to sell licenses for people to fish on their property.

The late Tom Reynolds "... Recognized Lopi as a unique yarn, a classic, and saw the built-in marketing value of its yoked patterns. But what he loved was the romance of the yarn, the story behind Lopi: the folk-art tradition of the designs, the world's longest-fleeced sheep, and the hardy nature of the climate. That all of this translated into a lustrous, durable yarn that could be quickly knit at a gauge of three-and-a-half stitches to the inch clicked with what was being said fashion-wise at the time in ready-to-wear. "

JCA/Reynolds USA president Alan S. Getz -- Lopi's United States importer -- shares the Reynolds family's love for Iceland. JCA creative director Ethel A. Kennedy left her heart there.

Outnumbering the human population by almost three to one, the Icelandic sheep have been bred for 1,100 years.

ICELANDIC HANDCRAFTS

Even if we hadn't received Gerdur Hjörleifsdóttir's personal invitation to visit her at The Icelandic Handcraft Association store on Hafnarstræti (Harbor Street) the store's extraordinary collection of handcrafts would have drawn us in just as it attracts other tourists to downtown Reykjavík. Bright, beautiful objects, created by Icelandic craftsmen (glassware, candles, pottery) fill the brightly lit first floor. On the second floor, which is set aside for the yarn shop, we found Gerdur in a cathedral-vaulted show room, lit by arched windows that ran lengthwise on both sides of the ceiling. Gerdur gave us a tour of the retail area of handknitted sweaters, vests, hats, and scarves (made by the Association's members) and knitting, embroidery, and needlepoint supplies. Then she invited us to view the Associations' treasurers, rare pieces she normally keeps in the back of the shop, but on this occasion Gerdur has arrayed on a huge table draped with a deep red cloth: mittens, tiny purses, fine spiderweb shawls, lace dresses, shoe inserts? "These are called leppar," she says holding up a pair. "They all have different names, depending on what part of the country they come from." They looked very practical, and I thought they just might put Dr. Scholl's out of business, but I just didn't know how pra"tical. 'They were needed," Gerdur says, 'because shoes used to be made of thinner leather, and sometimes of fishskin. They didn't last long! So if you had to go on a long trip, you had to have so many pairs of shoes. They measured the length of a trip by saying, Œit's a five-pair of shoes journey...'

FATHER, TELLER, LACE KNITTER

For a moment, we thought Gudmundur was pulling an April Fool's joke on us: there were three different names on the bright red and white house on Esjubraut 33, Akranes: Gudmundur Thorvaldsson, Ásdís Vala Oskarsdóttir, and Thorvaldur Arnar Gudmundsson. Three families? We must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. We were looking for the only man knitter we could find in Iceland. Were we about to knock on the wrong door? No, this was the home of Gudmundur and his wife Ásdís and Thorvaldur, their young son. And we were only confused because Icelanders take as their last name their father's first name - adding the Icelandic word for 'son" or 'daughter" to it. Thus, a man's name ends in "-son", a woman's in "-dóttir". Simple, isn't it? Not when you have to look in the phone book - luckily the list is only 250,000 names long.