And so it happened. No looking, no seeking, just observing, and noticing at the right moment, that a quirky little house was for sale, which happened to have an amazingly-huge garden space (for Brighton). Towards the end of five months later, we moved au fond de la vallée. Now we have come to our little maison des vacances for a break!
One of the things I’ve wanted to do for some time since knowing France, was to see a Transhumance of farm animals going to their summer pastures, or coming back. Here, having missed the Estive, the moving of the cows in Eyne last weekend, today we have accompanied la transhumance des ovins, from their homes in Sahorre and Casteil to the slopes of the Llipodère valley, in the Conflent. Two flocks of sheep, three different types: the locally-bred brebis Rouge de Roussillon (the browny skinned ones) and the Blanche de Massif Central, with a few Bizet. The three bergers, young men who take it in turns to live up in the pasture with the sheep, brought their wives, children, even babies, and their dogs to help, and as a first time for them they made it a public event, mentioned in the local paper. At 06.15 we arrived with others at the Col de Jou above Vernet les Bains, to meet the troupes on their way from their home villages. The dawn was just coming through the trees as the sun rose above the peaks of the Pyrenees, and then a carillon of tinkling bells swept into the Col, around scrawny sheeps’ necks. The Refuge at Marialles was their first target, the creamy swarm flowing up the narrow sentier or footpath, and about 20 of us following on.
10am saw the troupeaux leave for the trek to their summer home. Many of the walkers went on too, buoyed by a beautiful sunny day and the prospect of a grillade (no doubt of lamb) at the destination. We did not faire la continuation, my feet and a sleepless night (waiting for the alarm!) having done for us as much as the very steep slope and uncertain footpath, tumbling stones, scree and shifting sand of the sentier, which was also a bit of the GR10, the national footpath network for walkers.
I asked the shepherd how well the sheep knew their second home, and where their boundaries were up on that velvety slope. Yes, they knew where to stop, where to go, some had been up there for many years, and their lambs would come to know it too. Hefting, it’s called in the north of England, the fell sheep knowing exactly what the boundary is, passing it to lambs almost genetically, so much so that when the Foot and Mouth epidemic of 2003 (?) culled them, there was a fear that it would take many generations for the knowledge to be passed down again. He knew what I meant, but couldn’t think of the word in French. Maybe it’s just so much more a part of French culture that the homing instinct is seen as natural and not to be remarked upon. After all, the French themselves are just about to do the same thing – le chassé-croissé – the movement of juillistes et aoutiens, holidaymakers travelling from north to south, and then home again, crossing on the weekend in the middle!