One day while camping in Iceland, I found myself chatting with the campground owner, a friendly, solid-looking man of about sixty. He had the serene bearing of one who has spent his whole life gazing out at the same wide-open country. South Iceland looks a lot like West Texas, only green and wet instead of brown and dry. Similarly, this man reminded me of some Texans I’ve met: people of few words, yet great presence. I jumped at the chance to ask him about Uruz (wild ox/drizzle). I was stumped as to why the Icelandic rune poem calls it herder’s hate. Why would a shepherd hate rain? Another line of the poem says that rain ruins hay, which would be a big problem for a herdsman, but I wondered if there wasn’t more to it. So I asked the campground owner. He looked out over the empty grassland. “Maybe it’s the cold. Here in Iceland, rain usually brings a cold wind, which stresses the sheep.” He looked away again, nodding. Then he smiled. “And who likes to work in the rain?” I thanked him. I think we were both pleased with his answer.
In the desert rain is a rare blessing, while elsewhere it may be an oppressive force. Both can be a problem, and often that’s what Uruz is: a problem, an imbalance, something we must either work around or endure.
Keep keepin’ on, y’all.
J.