I don’t have a TV, so I’m not very caught up on the latest prime-time; but I have been watching a heck of a lot of sheep.
Tisovec has a pretty good reputation for its sheep cheese, which probably has something do with the large volume of those animals that spend their days grazing on the surrounding lush hillsides. I’m not sure how many flocks there are in total, or how any sort of deviation or distinction between them works out. I don’t know if these are private flocks, if there is a king-pin sheep boss in town, or if the shepherds ever have turf battles or skirmishes—right now I can only speculate, which you can see I’ve done quite a bit.
For me running into a flock of sheep is a real novelty, or at least a free-range, mobile flock complete with a real live shepherd. When I have seen them in the past they were usually unsupervised and contained by some kind of fence. In the hills of Tisovec barbed wire or really any sort of property demarcation device doesn’t seem to exist, especially when it comes to grazing animals. That’s where the shepherd comes in. The first time I saw one of these men casually accompanying upwards of 80 sheep (I have yet to see a shepherdess) it felt so pastoral! While I’ve seen plenty since then and am no longer surprised by sightings, these occurrences have by no means become common-place to me. If anything I contemplate the role of the shepherd even more now.
I’m working at what is pretty much the equivalent of a college preparatory high school, which means virtually all of the students are expected to continue on to University. Many of them appear so disenchanted by school though that I wonder how they expect to live through at least four more years of it—when I ask them what they want to study or even where (for some of these students applications are due in a couple months…) “I don’t know” is the most common reply. I used to think that this blasé approach to education and I mean—I guess life—was a strictly American thing, but I guess it too has gone global. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for higher education; but I’m for it when there is a clear and present motivation. What’s this rush to fork over a pile of cash and half your waking life to the classroom if it is not your bag? Why haven’t more students told me they want to watch sheep?
What exactly are the pre-requisites for becoming a shepherd? What kind of foreknowledge or education is required, and what does the job entail? Do you have to “know somebody” to get into the industry (which isn’t that hard for Slovaks…) or do you have to be born into it—practically learn how to walk with the spring lambs? From what I’ve observed, these men work either solo or in tandem with one or two trusty dogs. It appears that the day is spent just walking from one place to another, in no predetermined or specified route, just managing the continuously fluid mass that is a flock of sheep. I often glance out windows during passing periods and throughout the day to check their progress. As I said the unit is never entirely stationary—a few sheep here and a couple there mosey around even if the others momentarily pause, ever-so-slightly changing the whole configuration of the flock—but the progress of the whole group seems so slow, so random, and not like it will produce any real results. The shepherd seems able to intuit the group tendency (or maybe he is directing it?) which I am sure is a skill picked up from spending countless hours with the flock. It’s amazing how much ground they cover between sightings, like watching a time lapse of a plant grow or something. One of the shepherds is even on crutches but he manages to get over hill-and-dale with his flock just fine.
A whole day spent alone can feel like a long time. I wonder how these solitary agents pass the hours day in, day out. Either they are exceptional at being rooted in the present time and place (being “where they are”), or they must spend a large part of their existence with their heads in the clouds or focused on next week’s commitments. Are the people who get into shepherding inclined to keep to themselves though? Perhaps they crave solitude and enjoy the time spent away from people, or at least out in valleys and fresh air. Or, maybe they hate it and are just doing it to pay the bills, or just have been doing it so long they know nothing else. And how long does a “shift” last anyways? Maybe they only do it for a few days at a time, so it serves as a sort of break or re-charge session. The men don’t seem to be outfitted with an overwhelming stock of supplies, so is shepherding just a daytime gig, or do they spend the night with their flocks as well—do they have established campsites?
This past summer I had a similar job—that is getting from one place to another with a flock in my charge. Granted I was working with a bunch of adolescent humans who were [more or less] aware of the general daily plan and our desired final destination. Our goal was also traversing distances for the sake of the journey and to eventually reach a specific endpoint more than for grazing purposes, though the steady stream of GORP and peanut butter ingested might prove otherwise. I really came to love and value the blatant simplicity of our days and the fulfillment of seeing physical results of success or a job accomplished. I felt more tuned in to my surroundings and “out of my head” than I had in a while. The job gave me a renewed sense of perspective. I wonder if the shepherds here feel the same way.
Like I said in one of my previous entries, my pace-of-life shift and plenty of self-time has prompted me to do some serious thinking about how we spend our time, and how we should spend it. I’m sure my gig from the summer has also influenced this new line of thought, but whatever the source of origin I like it. I think we can learn a lot from observing the seemingly menial task of babysitting sheep, let alone doing something like it. I think that a life (or even a brief hiatus from the usual daily-grind) stripped down to bare-bones goals and interaction with nature is a noble one, and perhaps the best remedy for this trans-continental epidemic of boredom, lack of inspiration and motivation. Of course it is unrealistic to say there should be a mass movement back to archaic trades and professions (next I’ll be telling you we need to resurrect bronze working guilds…) but I do think people need to find some way to physically engage themselves in their environment, and to do work that in some way reaps physical results or directly influences our lives. Like watching sheep. Sheep that make cheese. Cheese that feeds people.
Tisovec has a pretty good reputation for its sheep cheese, which probably has something do with the large volume of those animals that spend their days grazing on the surrounding lush hillsides. I’m not sure how many flocks there are in total, or how any sort of deviation or distinction between them works out. I don’t know if these are private flocks, if there is a king-pin sheep boss in town, or if the shepherds ever have turf battles or skirmishes—right now I can only speculate, which you can see I’ve done quite a bit.
For me running into a flock of sheep is a real novelty, or at least a free-range, mobile flock complete with a real live shepherd. When I have seen them in the past they were usually unsupervised and contained by some kind of fence. In the hills of Tisovec barbed wire or really any sort of property demarcation device doesn’t seem to exist, especially when it comes to grazing animals. That’s where the shepherd comes in. The first time I saw one of these men casually accompanying upwards of 80 sheep (I have yet to see a shepherdess) it felt so pastoral! While I’ve seen plenty since then and am no longer surprised by sightings, these occurrences have by no means become common-place to me. If anything I contemplate the role of the shepherd even more now.
I’m working at what is pretty much the equivalent of a college preparatory high school, which means virtually all of the students are expected to continue on to University. Many of them appear so disenchanted by school though that I wonder how they expect to live through at least four more years of it—when I ask them what they want to study or even where (for some of these students applications are due in a couple months…) “I don’t know” is the most common reply. I used to think that this blasé approach to education and I mean—I guess life—was a strictly American thing, but I guess it too has gone global. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for higher education; but I’m for it when there is a clear and present motivation. What’s this rush to fork over a pile of cash and half your waking life to the classroom if it is not your bag? Why haven’t more students told me they want to watch sheep?
What exactly are the pre-requisites for becoming a shepherd? What kind of foreknowledge or education is required, and what does the job entail? Do you have to “know somebody” to get into the industry (which isn’t that hard for Slovaks…) or do you have to be born into it—practically learn how to walk with the spring lambs? From what I’ve observed, these men work either solo or in tandem with one or two trusty dogs. It appears that the day is spent just walking from one place to another, in no predetermined or specified route, just managing the continuously fluid mass that is a flock of sheep. I often glance out windows during passing periods and throughout the day to check their progress. As I said the unit is never entirely stationary—a few sheep here and a couple there mosey around even if the others momentarily pause, ever-so-slightly changing the whole configuration of the flock—but the progress of the whole group seems so slow, so random, and not like it will produce any real results. The shepherd seems able to intuit the group tendency (or maybe he is directing it?) which I am sure is a skill picked up from spending countless hours with the flock. It’s amazing how much ground they cover between sightings, like watching a time lapse of a plant grow or something. One of the shepherds is even on crutches but he manages to get over hill-and-dale with his flock just fine.
A whole day spent alone can feel like a long time. I wonder how these solitary agents pass the hours day in, day out. Either they are exceptional at being rooted in the present time and place (being “where they are”), or they must spend a large part of their existence with their heads in the clouds or focused on next week’s commitments. Are the people who get into shepherding inclined to keep to themselves though? Perhaps they crave solitude and enjoy the time spent away from people, or at least out in valleys and fresh air. Or, maybe they hate it and are just doing it to pay the bills, or just have been doing it so long they know nothing else. And how long does a “shift” last anyways? Maybe they only do it for a few days at a time, so it serves as a sort of break or re-charge session. The men don’t seem to be outfitted with an overwhelming stock of supplies, so is shepherding just a daytime gig, or do they spend the night with their flocks as well—do they have established campsites?
This past summer I had a similar job—that is getting from one place to another with a flock in my charge. Granted I was working with a bunch of adolescent humans who were [more or less] aware of the general daily plan and our desired final destination. Our goal was also traversing distances for the sake of the journey and to eventually reach a specific endpoint more than for grazing purposes, though the steady stream of GORP and peanut butter ingested might prove otherwise. I really came to love and value the blatant simplicity of our days and the fulfillment of seeing physical results of success or a job accomplished. I felt more tuned in to my surroundings and “out of my head” than I had in a while. The job gave me a renewed sense of perspective. I wonder if the shepherds here feel the same way.
Like I said in one of my previous entries, my pace-of-life shift and plenty of self-time has prompted me to do some serious thinking about how we spend our time, and how we should spend it. I’m sure my gig from the summer has also influenced this new line of thought, but whatever the source of origin I like it. I think we can learn a lot from observing the seemingly menial task of babysitting sheep, let alone doing something like it. I think that a life (or even a brief hiatus from the usual daily-grind) stripped down to bare-bones goals and interaction with nature is a noble one, and perhaps the best remedy for this trans-continental epidemic of boredom, lack of inspiration and motivation. Of course it is unrealistic to say there should be a mass movement back to archaic trades and professions (next I’ll be telling you we need to resurrect bronze working guilds…) but I do think people need to find some way to physically engage themselves in their environment, and to do work that in some way reaps physical results or directly influences our lives. Like watching sheep. Sheep that make cheese. Cheese that feeds people.
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