Initiation Blues

It’s 4.15 … AM. It’s dark. It’s early. Boy, is it early. A half moon shimmers across the inky green of the high pastures. From our height of 1450 metres, it’s just possible to make out the grey face of the Steineres Meer, the craggy Rock Sea Mountains across the valley. Despite the hour it is all very lovely. Smells fresh too.

Views are one thing -- but for a girl, of course, it’s all about the clothes. Indeed, the best part of my new life is getting to wear my brand new blue rubber boots, imported from that fashion capital Lone Pine, California (pop. 300 where the local feed store clothes each and every one of them). I clump out bravely into the gloom with Mr H – we’re off to fetch the cows from the surrounding pasture, one of the primary duties of a Sennerin. There are 18 of the darlings to tend – all mixed up in big bovine puzzle with dozens of others belonging to three other farmers who share the alm. Ours, I learn, sport fancy blue racing stripes down their backsides for ease of recognition. Matches my boots. Go Blues.

Ok. You may be able to spot them, but that doesn’t mean you can catch them. The Blue Team is impressively quick on their feet and must have been training with Austrian ski team all winter. Quite without warning, we are dashing about like angry parents chasing three year olds. It’s bedlam. Where’s the coffee?

Despite the naughtiness of a few, most respond to the most impressive and professional moo-sounds that Mr H is making. And more good news: the ones that don’t behave we get to whack with a big stick! One cow with a statement-making nose ring makes me chase her around the hut (twice) which was a very amusing pre-breakfast activity. Ha ha. Don’t know her name yet but already have got her pegged as a problem case.