We also did two excursions as part of the summer school – a must, I would say, considering where we were. The mountains and valleys just would not be ignored.
The first excursion was a hike up to a shepherd on the mountain. In the beginning, it was hot, sunny, bright, and we walked up the slope through groves of pine and larch. The breaks were stunning, with nothing between us and the faraway mountain tops turning blue in the afternoon mist.
Once we reached the top of the mountain, above the treeline, the wind took hold of our clothes and it suddenly got quite chilly. There, in the slump between two peaks, stood the shepherd’s cottage, low in the golden grass. Crouching, as if the wind otherwise would sweep it off the mountain.
And we met one of the shepherds. He lives up on the mountain in the summers, herding his 1700 head of sheep from mountain top to mountain top. The sheep are herded by four dogs that always stay with them, even when the shepherd isn’t there, but still the wolves kill a lot of the sheep. It is a contested issue here, the wolf. There weren’t any for a long time, but over the last decades, they have returned over the mountains from Italy. This year has also been uncommonly dry, so there is not much for the sheep to eat. Life of a shepherd is not easy.
Walking down through the lichen-covered pine trees, I felt an urge to sing. There is something about landscapes that bring that out in me – the sea, forests, plains, mountains. This time I couldn’t, though. My cold had finally subsided, but in its wake, I had lost my voice. It is painful, not being able to sing to the mountain.
Katja Malmborg 