Audrey Insch 

Las Alpujarras

Starting from Capileira, we followed a mule track past the cherry blossom. High above, and covered in snow, was Mulhacen, at 3482m the highest mountain in the Sierra Nevada. We descended to Rio Poqueira. A herd of goats was moving down a precipitous slope with sure-footed brilliance. Above the river we paused at an old threshing floor. The hillside above held a large flock of Samuel Palmer sheep, dappled in sun and shade, who followed their leader around - the most experienced with a bell - to a constant ring of being.
  
  


Starting from Capileira, we followed a mule track past the cherry blossom. High above, and covered in snow, was Mulhacen, at 3482m the highest mountain in the Sierra Nevada. We descended to Rio Poqueira. A herd of goats was moving down a precipitous slope with sure-footed brilliance. Above the river we paused at an old threshing floor. The hillside above held a large flock of Samuel Palmer sheep, dappled in sun and shade, who followed their leader around - the most experienced with a bell - to a constant ring of being.

A little puppy dog suddenly rushed up to welcome us in hope of food. We heard the bleating of lambs. Eventually the shepherd appeared, a tall, blue-eyed Spaniard. He smiled at our concern about the lambs before going into an old stone building to emerge with two black ones - twins that were born the night before.

Astonished, we asked more. Having drunk as much of the ewe's first milk as they could manage, the lambs had apparently ingested their required amount of antibodies and could be left while the mother renewed her strength with more grazing. Every night all the sheep had to be shut in because the heavy dews made the pasture too acid for safety. The sheep would blow up if they breakfasted. There were two larger dogs to help the shepherd, along with the apprentice tumbler. They stayed with the sheep all day as the terrain was so dangerous.

In the valley we moved through exuberant birdsong, red poppies, blue bergamot, yellow shiny buttercups, the scent of thyme and new growth, flowers bursting out everywhere to earn their summer siesta.

In Orgiva we found the human experience of togetherness: a fiesta. At exactly noon, fireworks deafened outside, while the inside of the church vibrated to the loudest brass and drums possible. The crucifixion was lowered from its place behind the altar to the chancel steps by men in their working clothes. The next day, at exactly 6pm, it emerged upright on a wooden platform, carried by men in black suits, followed by an image of the Virgin adorned in beauty. Ears trembled with explosions and bands. At midnight fireworks filled the skies.

 

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