Lapis Magazine

Along the Road to Summer Pastures by Isabel Bermejo

A determined group of pioneers revive the ancient practice of droving sheep herds along the old, almost forgotten tracks of Spain. As the merinos return, so do the old songs and stories, and we glimpse the return of a beautiful culture so easily lost to modern technology.

Isabel Bernejo is a mother and a grassroots activist. She has been engaged in local environmental action, together with her husband, for more than twenty-five years. She is a member of Ecoropa. 

"Fundación 2001" is a non-profit foundation aimed at ensuring the continuance of the journey to summer pastures into the next century. The generous donations of a number of individuals and institutions, our "Honorary Shepherds", have allowed us to acquire pastureland and begin to build our own herds. If you wish to support transhumance by becoming an "Honorary Shepherd", please write for information to: Fundación 2001, c/ Marcenado 24, 60 izq., 28002 Madrid, Spain. Tel. 9/ 1 416 58 57, Fax. 9/ 1 415 90 80.

This is the story of Spanish shepherds and their three thousand sheep, who are reclaiming the commons by droving from the south of Spain to the mountains of the north.

Caught in the rush of our Western-style city life, it is hard to imagine that people ever lived according to the rhythm of Nature. Our seasons are marked by the display of fashion's favorite colors in flashy shop windows, by Christmas lights and fanfare, by tables brought out to street terraces in summer, and little more. For most of us, work is evenly organized all the year round, and television in our cozy flats makes up for the long winter evenings of storytelling by the fire, and for street-chatting and neighborly gossip on cool summer nights.

In Spain, a latecomer into industrialized modernity, bits and pieces of Nature's melody are still heard throughout the countryside. An ancient song lingers in the memory of small towns and big cities alike: the music of bells as shepherds led their herds to summer pastures. Two years ago we resolved to revive this ancient song before the tune was lost forever.

Spain is a wondrous country, rich in contrasts and diversity. It is rather like a small continent. Southern Spain is Mediterranean at heart: arid and worn out, an oasis wherever there is water; the northern part is mountainous and green, a landscape closer to our Atlantic neighbors, with a strong character of its own. The natural complementarity of regions has given a very special cadence to the rhythm of life in this rugged little continent: a wandering rhythm now thousands of years old.

Come the long dry season in the Mediterranean, wild herds would leave the southern grasslands and move northwards, to cool mountain pastures, from where they would return only with the first autumn snows. This clever strategy of nature prevented an excessive pressure on the vegetation at times of scarcity, allowing for the regeneration of forests and rich pasturelands; it warded off devastating fires by eliminating hay just before the dry season; and it favored the evolution of Mediterranean ecosystems towards more stable formations. The great migrations played a central role in the dispersal of species, increasing biological diversity both in the Mediterranean lowlands and in the northern highlands, a delicate and marvelous equilibrium worked out by Nature.

Thus, some 10,000 years ago were established the long seasonal migration routes, the same that shepherds used until a few years ago. Early herdsmen were the direct descendants of hunters who had followed wild herds on their migration. They domesticated wild animals, but they were wise enough to choose working with Nature, rather than pretend to control it. Indeed the seasonal movement of herds in Spain has woven a wonderful pattern onto Nature's tapestry.

Domestic herds grazed freely and extensively in common pasturelands, moving at the call of a perennial spring. The shepherds shaped Mediterranean Spain's wooded grasslands, where grazing is traditionally combined with extensive farming and harvesting of the forest. In summer the herds brought life and fertility to high mountain areas. Moreover, this wandering culture has linked together the peoples of Iberia, intertwining the rich traditions of the south and the north. Stone Age monuments charged with simple beauty and mystery alongside the drovers' roads (cañadas) tell of the central role played by droving in ancient times. Along the drovers' roads, scattered farmhouses and villages appeared; and in the crossing points rose cities.

In the golden age of this seasonal movement of herds in the sixteenth century five million head of livestock journeyed twice a year along the intricate network of drovers' paths.

But in the last few decades industrial "efficiency" has displaced Nature's subtle economy, rendering droving ways and traditions redundant. Thousands of hectares of Mediterranean woodlands have been uprooted to make room for pulp-wood monocultures and intensive farming. Dams have flooded the fertile mountain valleys. Highways and urban development have encroached on common pasturelands and drovers' roads. The consequences are already obvious. Two and a half million hectares of shrub and forestland have been destroyed by fire. More than 40% of Spain's surface is suffering from severe soil erosion. The abandonment of rural areas has caused great loss of cultural and natural diversity.

So, after years of "defensive" campaigning to save bits and pieces of our beautiful country, we decided that it was time for an "offensive" strategy. When we started to reopen the drovers' roads only a few friends understood. For most people our project was not only utopian; it was absurd; uneconomic and a waste of time. The old drovers supported our project of reclaiming the network of drovers' roads, which is 124,000 kilometers long, amounting to 400,000 hectares of common pastureland, but they believed that after nearly half a century of abandonment it was impossible to re-establish the route.

As spring 1993 approached, the date we had set for our first journey, it seemed that we might not be able to start. But when a renowned herdsman, Cesáreo Rey, responded to our call not only with encouragement, but offering his best herd of merino sheep and his personal expertise to lead the journey, it seemed too good to be true. A shepherd all his life, Cesáreo turned out to be our greatest ally and inspiration.

With his counsel we prepared the spring route. Out of the ten main drovers' roads running south-north across Spain we had selected the westernmost, closest to Portugal, for our first year of wandering. The route travels along some of Spain's most beautiful and little-known landscapes, where ancient cultural traditions have been kept alive. Summer was late in arriving, which allowed us more time to explore the 400km route we were to cover. The route hadn't been used for more than forty years. Though the drovers' roads are common land, protected by law, in recent years they have been dreadfully neglected. What should have been a 35 meter wide ribbon of rich pasture winding smoothly towards the mountains had been illegally privatized and polished up and invaded by roads and urban development. Another problem was to find shepherds who had some transhumance experience, as the art of handling a large flock en route is not as simple as it would seem.

At last, early June and departure day arrived. The donkeys with our daily supplies, a horse for Cesáreo, our herd of three thousand merino sheep, the dogs, and a hundred stark black, spirited avileña cattle, that escorted us for the first part of the journey, were ready. The first day's walking with the sheep in the country was something to remember forever. Walking was pure joy. The lush green of endless pasturelands was profiled by serene ancient holm-oaks. The caress of a cool breeze laden with the rich fragrance of lavender and citrus was exhilarating. And the music of bells, as our merinos, advancing like a compact wave of living balls of wool, blended into the landscape perfectly.

We woke with the sun, and began moving in the early morning: walking leisurely, at the slow pace of sheep, until midday. A light meal of fruit, salad and local cheese tasted like a banquet just before siesta, in the shade. When the midday heat was over we would walk again, until dusk. And we camped out where night found us, exhausted. There were also tough journeys. Sometimes the path would be totally overgrown by maqui, a jungle impossible to pass, let alone make three thousand stubborn merino sheep get through. On such occasions it was always Cesáreo and his dogs that saved us from being stuck in the scrub. Worst of all, when a road had been built on top of the path, or cut across it without providing an alternative, we had to risk our lives stopping traffic.

In spite of difficulties and delays we made our way. And as we traveled northwards news of our coming went before us. Sometimes a local shepherd would join us on the journey for a little while. Or as we approached a town, an excited group of children would run to meet us, giving the cry, "The merinos are here! The merinos are here!" Traditional costumes and songs were revived, and we joyfully joined the local celebrations, glad to see the droving spirit alive in the heart of old and young alike.

In little more than three weeks we reached our destination, some fresh pastures rented in an idyllic valley in Sanabria. Summer is short in high mountain pastures so we were on our way southwards again by the end of September. The experience acquired in leading our herd gave us confidence. We therefore decided to follow a route a little to the east, the once famous Cañada Real de la Plata, and dare the crossing of Salamanca, a magnificent sixteenth-century city that is today one of the capitals of Castilla. The southwards route took us a little longer than a month, covering 600 kilometers from Porto to Valverde de Mérida, a small town by the Guadiana river where Cesáreo's family house is. Arrival was a great event, with the shepherds leading the herd in a truly triumphal entrance, welcomed by the whole town, the authorities, and a swarm of media people. Cesáreo was exultant, bursting with delight, and already making plans for next year. His parting words to us were, "Next year we will cross Madrid."

And we kept the promise. Our 1994 journey covered the 1,200 kilometers from Valverde de Mérida in the south to Picos de Europa in northern Spain and back. We planned the return route via Calle de Alcalá, an old drovers' path which crosses the city of Madrid. When we contacted the Madrid authorities to inform them of our passage we expected all kinds of difficulty. To our delight the response was very positive, and we were only asked to make the crossing on a weekend.

So on October 16th, on a beautiful Saturday autumn morning, we walked into the heart of Madrid leading our three thousand merinos along Calle Alcalá, usually one of the busiest city streets, in a humble but effective demonstration. For a little while the bleating of merino sheep, the calls of shepherds, and the tinkling of bells claiming ancient pastoral rights silenced the rumbling of traffic.

The whole town of Prioro, home of many shepherds in Léon, had come to Madrid for the occasion; and there were also many friends, who greeted us warmly as we passed. In spite of misgivings the only problems of the crossing through Madrid were garden flowers eaten by the sheep and manure left behind. Indeed, our crossing the city turned into a popular event, in which the town cheerfully took part. Some of the elders were moved to tears, overflowing with emotion, as we stirred memories of a familiar song that had seemed lost forever.