A snake came to my water trough… and other surprises.
One thing I’ve never fully understood is why, when we escape from our daily routines, life is suddenly full of surprises. That being the case, our year in the Pyrenees should have provided more than its fair share of the unexpected. And so it has. In particular, discovering the treasure trove of Aragon, the province of Spain on the other side of the mountain, has turned out to be a adventure that, frankly, we didn’t see coming. As everyone knows, who has the most rudimentary knowledge of geography, the Pyrenees define the boundary between France and Spain. To the South, as to the North, the mountains give way to fertile silt plains where pastoral activities are replaced by arable farming. On the French side we would probably be passing through fields of maze. There would be dairy cattle, exploitations of kiwi fruit and maybe some cereals. But here, as we turn North from Huesca, heading towards the hills of the Sierra de Guara, we traverse a fertile landscape that the ancients would, no doubt, have seen as a cornucopia. The newly-acquired Yeti, with me, Kathy, and Alf on board, head towards a collection of giant rock pillars that look like the gates to a mythical world worthy of Tolkein. But first, we must pass through an agricultural zone where, in mid-July, the wheat harvest is already stowed away. Only straw needs to be baled up as bedding for the animals. And it’s here, without warning, we come across our first surprise. There is something strange in the wheat fields. I drive the car up on to the verge and, before I have time to engage the hand brake Kathy and Alf are spilling out, cameras at the ready. I am just behind. In fact, the buff shapes that we’d seen scattered over the field are vultures. At the approach of the two photographers, they lumber away, struggling to get their bloated bodies airborne. It is obvious they have gorged on something and, scanning the field, I think I recognise the remains of a deer. But I’m wrong as, moving closer, we discover the clapped out cadaver of a wild boar. It is as though its bristling, muscular body has been abruptly deflated by Vultures struggling to get airborne some powerful puncture; for all that remains are the skin and the bones and the coarse hair. Such is the brutality, but also the tidy perfection of Nature. Beyond the wheat fields, our journey takes us through almond groves, olive groves and vineyards. What luck there should be an abundance of everything needed for a good life: bread, wine, olives