Agrarian nation: can Iceland become the first all-organic country?

E: The Environmental Magazine, Dec, 1994 by Jim Motavalli

From mid-May to mid-August, there is almost continuous daylight in Iceland, which gives the tiny (39,000 square miles) country a short but intense growing season. Iceland touches the Arctic Circle at its northern tip, and the cold limits the range of crops, though cabbage, cauliflower and potatoes thrive, and tomatoes and cucumbers manage well in greenhouses heated by Iceland's huge reserve of geothermal energy.

Crop production is, however, dwarfed by Iceland's large sheep and cattle herds. The country's rugged cows and hardy sheep are virtually unchanged genetically from the Vikings' first imports in the ninth century. All the animals graze on Iceland's rich grasslands; there are no intensive animal confinement systems in the country.

Indeed, farming has endured almost unchanged in Iceland for hundreds of years, with very little use of artificial fertilizers, hormones or antibiotics. But it's about to get even greener. Iceland, population 262,000, is going organic, and not just little corners of it, but the whole country, some 5,000 farmers. By the year 2000, organic farming will be more than federally recommended--it will almost certainly be the law.

The roots of national organic farming are now embraced by most segments of the population, including the country's female president, Vigdis Finnbogadottir, the farmers' union and members of Parliament, and were planted by Baldvin Jonsson, a consultant to the Icelandic government. In September of 1993, Jonsson visited the United States and discussed the idea with Thomas Harding, president of the Germany-based International Federation of Organic Agricultural Movements (IFOAM). "He was very encouraging," said Jonsson, "and it grew from there. The fact that we've never used hormones or antibiotics anyway gives us a great advantage. We can use existing American and European organic standards; we don't have to rediscover the wheel. Most Icelanders are very keen on this plan."

For Iceland's shepherds and cattlemen to go organic, they will have to provide organic grain and hay, a minor stumbling block because some artificial fertilizer is now used in hay making. According to Olafur Dyrmundsson, an advisory officer with the Agricultural Society of Iceland, "It's very difficult to grow animal feed without fertilizer here in Iceland, but we are studying new, hardier strains, and also ways to produce natural fertilizers from the by-products of the fishing and slaughterhouse industries." (The fishing industry, Iceland's largest and the source of 80 percent of its exports, is not part of the organic experiment, because fish harvested from the sea are exposed to a wide variety of pollution sources. Controlled fish farming experiments, mostly with salmon, have failed.)

As the world's first organic country, Iceland would be able to develop an export market for its organic meat, and Dyrmundsson says the Society is studying the newly enacted U.S. federal organic standards and those in place in Japan to ensure that Icelandic meat would be in compliance. Iceland's own rules will probably be an amalgam of current standards in the U.S. and Europe.

Icelandic organic farming is already growing dramatically. Last August there were only five all-organic farms in the country, but at least five more were then making plans to go organic. In 1993, the farmers formed the Society for Environmental Protection and Organic Agriculture (VOR in Icelandic), now with a membership of 15 farmers, that is working to create a guidebook of practices for Iceland's farmers to follow. Iceland's agricultural colleges for the first time last spring included organic courses in their curricula.

If Iceland's farmers hadn't discovered the marketing possibilities inherent in organic agriculture, they'd have had to do something. Icelandic lamb, beef and milk were being over-produced, leading to a punishing quota system, and over-grazing was destroying Iceland's delicate upland vegetation, resulting in rapid soil erosion.

Before sheep arrived nearly 12 centuries ago, two thirds of Iceland's surface was covered with trees (only one percent of the original woods remain), shrubs and grasslands, but the trees were chopped down for firewood and the grass succumbed to the settlers' animals. In the 19th century, farmers began to experience desertification, so, beginning around 1910, Icelanders launched an energetic replanting and reforesting campaign. The effort has been partly successful, but the new vegetation must constantly defend itself against the depredations of some 700,000 sheep (more than twice the human population).

Even worse, the major Icelandic textile company, Alafoss, went bankrupt in 1991, the victim of the increased popularity of man-made and cotton knits. Some farmers were talking about abolishing sheep farming altogether.

Since the early 80s, Icelandic farmers have foundered, experimenting with salmon hatcheries, fox and mink ranches and the raising of Angora rabbits. Only the latter scheme continues. Organic production--and the worldwide recognition it can bring--may hold the promise of an Earth-friendly, self-supporting agricultural system that will sustain Icelandic farming into the 21st century.