- Location
- Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk
I alluded last week to having cause to travel, and it was for this reason. After my midsummer sojourn to the South Tyrolean alps, helping drive cows up onto the mountains, I was invited to return for ‘Almabtrieb’. This is the big regional celebration as the cows are collectively walked back down from their summer pastures on the mountains, to the little farms clinging to the lower slopes of the valley. A translation might read ‘drives from mountain’. Each area has its own version, but it’s a big deal across the whole region, and an invitation to take part was a very real privilege to a hill farming monkey like me.
After 24 hours solid of travel, I had to be on parade first thing at the ‘hut’ where the ‘herder’ is based through the summer. You’ll recall, he’s hired by a collective of farmers in the valley to milk such cows as need milking- through a stout built wooden cow shed beside the hut- and generally tend the stock for the summer months. The hut also serves as a way station for hikers walking from peak to peak, selling beer and basic meals. Typically there might be a staff of 3-5 on an ‘alm’, the business all rolled together and managed by the annually appointed ‘alm master’. The word Alm itself seems to cover the hut, the hill, and the whole operation. The culture is deeply ingrained, and rightly so.
A crew of half a dozen local lads hep the herder fetch in the cattle, swapping the modest bell hanging from the neck of each – which have given the mountain slopes such a melodic beauty- for a huge great decorative bell, often with wide painted and tooled leather straps –lined with badger fur I was delighted to note-, great brass buckles, and garlands of flowers. It’s fairly chaotic, with cattle processed in groups of 4-5 through the wobbliest 12’ square pen you ever saw, each manhandled by a couple of lads. It took all morning to bedeck all of the 120 or so cattle. Not all of the cows like the idea of carrying the huge bells, and one or two who really throw wobblers were allowed lighter duties.
The lads- and lasses- either start off wearing traditional ‘lederhosen’, check shirts and conical felt hats, or don them before setting off down the mountain. I note that the lederhosen now feature pockets to accommodate smartphones and bundles of the zip ties to attach garlands etc. I especially like this practical fusion of old and new. The procession sets off with the milch cows and the herders leading the way. The route winds its way down from the sparse larch groves of the alm, into the dense forests on the mountain sides, along roads cut into the slope. Emerging from the forest into the lush green pastures and steep roofed farmsteads lower down, crowds line the route, welcoming the beasts home. The cattle are shepherded into a small paddock in the village, where the work of removing all the decorations again, and sorting out each farmer’s handful of cows begins. Crowds mill, beer is consumed, food eaten off trestles, as the herders – and some English twit- go about their work. There is a huge buzz of bonhomie about the crowd, embracing and celebrating their vibrant tradition, beautiful landscape, and deep rooted culture. And why not? It’s something to treasure, beyond price in my opinion. To say I was honoured, and flattered to the point of embarrassment to be allowed to get under the skin of such a thing hardly says enough. As the work was completed, and day fell to evening, so the beer flowed, more steaming food and increasing rounds of schnapps appeared. An accordionist and a fella with a tuba played, thighs were slapped and backs clapped as the celebration went on.
I was trying to make comparison, and I suppose Widecombe Fair comes to mind, with the crowds of onlookers watching the locals earnestly showing their stock, or maybe the old days of Bampton Fair, where everyone mucks in to sort the drifts of ponies brought into town.
Over there, the rising wolf and bear numbers are threatening the herders work – and stock had been lost again locally this summer. In South Tyrol at least the local government are clear about which is more important. Likewise, the inward creep of homogenised, branded corporate commerce and globalisation knocks at the door. I hope with all my heart that it can be protected.
Next week, maybe we’ll peek further into my travels.
-------------------------
Anton's articles are syndicated exclusively by TFF by kind permission of the author and WMN.
Anton also writes regularly for the Dartmoor Magazine
He has published two books; the second "The Complete Bullocks" is still in print
http://www.anton-coaker.co.uk/book.htm
After 24 hours solid of travel, I had to be on parade first thing at the ‘hut’ where the ‘herder’ is based through the summer. You’ll recall, he’s hired by a collective of farmers in the valley to milk such cows as need milking- through a stout built wooden cow shed beside the hut- and generally tend the stock for the summer months. The hut also serves as a way station for hikers walking from peak to peak, selling beer and basic meals. Typically there might be a staff of 3-5 on an ‘alm’, the business all rolled together and managed by the annually appointed ‘alm master’. The word Alm itself seems to cover the hut, the hill, and the whole operation. The culture is deeply ingrained, and rightly so.
A crew of half a dozen local lads hep the herder fetch in the cattle, swapping the modest bell hanging from the neck of each – which have given the mountain slopes such a melodic beauty- for a huge great decorative bell, often with wide painted and tooled leather straps –lined with badger fur I was delighted to note-, great brass buckles, and garlands of flowers. It’s fairly chaotic, with cattle processed in groups of 4-5 through the wobbliest 12’ square pen you ever saw, each manhandled by a couple of lads. It took all morning to bedeck all of the 120 or so cattle. Not all of the cows like the idea of carrying the huge bells, and one or two who really throw wobblers were allowed lighter duties.
The lads- and lasses- either start off wearing traditional ‘lederhosen’, check shirts and conical felt hats, or don them before setting off down the mountain. I note that the lederhosen now feature pockets to accommodate smartphones and bundles of the zip ties to attach garlands etc. I especially like this practical fusion of old and new. The procession sets off with the milch cows and the herders leading the way. The route winds its way down from the sparse larch groves of the alm, into the dense forests on the mountain sides, along roads cut into the slope. Emerging from the forest into the lush green pastures and steep roofed farmsteads lower down, crowds line the route, welcoming the beasts home. The cattle are shepherded into a small paddock in the village, where the work of removing all the decorations again, and sorting out each farmer’s handful of cows begins. Crowds mill, beer is consumed, food eaten off trestles, as the herders – and some English twit- go about their work. There is a huge buzz of bonhomie about the crowd, embracing and celebrating their vibrant tradition, beautiful landscape, and deep rooted culture. And why not? It’s something to treasure, beyond price in my opinion. To say I was honoured, and flattered to the point of embarrassment to be allowed to get under the skin of such a thing hardly says enough. As the work was completed, and day fell to evening, so the beer flowed, more steaming food and increasing rounds of schnapps appeared. An accordionist and a fella with a tuba played, thighs were slapped and backs clapped as the celebration went on.
I was trying to make comparison, and I suppose Widecombe Fair comes to mind, with the crowds of onlookers watching the locals earnestly showing their stock, or maybe the old days of Bampton Fair, where everyone mucks in to sort the drifts of ponies brought into town.
Over there, the rising wolf and bear numbers are threatening the herders work – and stock had been lost again locally this summer. In South Tyrol at least the local government are clear about which is more important. Likewise, the inward creep of homogenised, branded corporate commerce and globalisation knocks at the door. I hope with all my heart that it can be protected.
Next week, maybe we’ll peek further into my travels.
-------------------------
Anton's articles are syndicated exclusively by TFF by kind permission of the author and WMN.
Anton also writes regularly for the Dartmoor Magazine
He has published two books; the second "The Complete Bullocks" is still in print
http://www.anton-coaker.co.uk/book.htm
