So, it has been some time since my last entry in this blog, so let me bring you up to date.
Last monday we got the suprising message that on thursday there will be snow. Cue: lots of stress and work, ensuring our cows are all in the lower planes of our mountains, herding the last few down from the mountain tops and taking down the electrical fences, because once theres snow up there its very nearly suicidal to climb around and try to take down those - provided they‘re not ruined by the snow. Some might point out that its September, and yes, it is unusual in my small country to have snow in September, but up in the mountains there can be snow nearly all year round. We had -in the past- snow in August, in June and about every other month besides Juli.
But having snow in the end of season, especially so close to the date of herding everything down to the valley is considered a bad omen for good reasons - cows easily break legs or necks in the snow and ice and they have trouble finding food and water.
Since we also have a lot of pregnant ladies with their due date quite near, there is also the danger of them going into labour early, and a cow foal is almost always dedicated to death if birthed in these conditions. In fact, aside from a few lucky ones which were found in time, nearly all early births die within a few hours- either being abandoned by their mother, too underdeveloped or to weak to stand and drink. Fortunately, such early births are quite unusual, but we still make it a point to look after every becoming mother at least every day, so we can spot signs of labour early on and inform their owner, so that they can arrange for transport and a vet. However, there are still occasions where one slips through the cracks.
Due to the weather changing we also had to search for and herd a group of cows in quite heavy fog while everything was wet - which isn't fun at all if you are constantly trying to listen for cow bells and minding your own steps at the same time, so that you don't find yourself in an early grave. It is however exhilarating - nothing teaches the value of life so well as a situation where you can't be sure of your continued survival if you ever misstep.
We eventually got them down, but I also wish to explain one universal truth of herding cows: You go with them. Cows are stronger than humans, and also far better off in the rocky terrain. And you can do as you wish, if a cow doesn't want to go where you want to go, it won't. So instead of going down the mountain on a cow trail, we slided down nearly sheer meadows with thorns, knee-high wet grass, cow shit, mud and trees, right after the cows through occasionally nearly quagmire conditions. Fortunately, they are old, so they already know where to go when we are herding them, and simply choose to take another route, but didn't end up somewhere completely different from our destination. Nonetheless - I had wet and dirty trousers up to my ass and just as wet shoes.
After that it was only a matter of herding all 120 cows down to our lower hut, although only is a little bit of an understatement - it took five additional persons and three hours. But as far as herding cows goes, that's as good as it can get.
On Thursday morning I made my way down to what I've dubbed "The Flatlands". Since our little mountain hut was taken over by my partner in crime for the summer, I was free to go. The Flatlands are where I usually live, learn and work, and while they have their beauty, I already miss the mountains and the peace they bring. The Flatlands are boring, predictable to an extend. And the way there takes about 7-8 hours per train, so sitting with an class full of overexcited 12-year-olds for that long did not spark joy.
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