Silvestre- something that grows naturally without being planted or maintained

Yesterday I was invited on an excursion with a group of 12 of the teachers from La Purisima. We met at noon in the school parking lot and carpooled up into the Serra de Na Burgesa. 12 women, fit into 3 European cars is quite a to-do in and of itself, throw in the hairpin mountain roads heavily populated by road cyclists and you have the makings of something akin to a comedy routine.

The day was overcast with high clouds and a steady haze which made my attempts at landscape photography painfully inutil but once I let go of that endeavour I was free to just enjoy it all through my own eyes. While some of the women were a bit put out that we could not see quite so clearly, I rather enjoyed the effects the haze had, and not just because I am a white girl who sunburns easily. From the mountain roads we looked out over the city of Palma and out into the Sea where the water faded into the haze faded into the clouds, creating a continuity betwee water and sky which I found fitting and lovely. We walked along a wide dirt road for an hour or so, out to a lookout over the city. We stopped and watched the sailboats in the distance and I could see native pride manifesting itself across the faces of so many of these women whose families have called this place home forn generations.

The organizer of the expedition and general fearless leader (pictured far right in the photo above), who used her walking sticks with some amount of authority allowed me to amble along with her, hearing her stories and learning from her. Some words of note were, first of all, that Mallorca does not have tides. As we are sitting in a sea, with only a tiny outlet to the ocean, the moon's pull is not as significant. I had never considered this. Lesson learned. Secondly, we had a discussion as to the personality of the Mallorquins and I thought it particularly poignant when she told me, "First I am Mallorquin, second I am a Spaniard." She is another of those who have a long history on these islands and again I was struck with just how blessed I am to have encountered and been allowed to join this group of women. i truly am and I thank God every day for allowing me this insight to such a proud culture. Their maintenance and pride in their own language is, I think, a mighty testament to this. Like when I was hiking in Wales and witnessed a grandfather teaching his 6 year old grandson Gaelic. I am struck by these tight knit communities, maintaining their traditions and culture in such a mighty way as language.

To those who have not had the fortune to work with a herd of cattle nor who have had the opportunity to witness their dynamics, please understand that the following is not meant as any sort of derogation to the women:
Often times as we walked along the women were chattering amoungst themselves in Catalan and I could understand precious little of what was being said. As such I spent most of my energy observing the movement and attitude of the whole of the group and I was struck by how similar they were to the cattle I worked with on Gay's ranch. A large collection of only women, moving along. Gathering into small groups and chatting for some time as we continued on the same course. Stopping and waiting for one another, regrouping and then separating back into small groups, the components of each cluster changing each time. Hearing their community voice was striking and amusing. The hum of constant conversation, some rising above others, sometimes lulling, sometimes stopping altogether as we just walked and enjoyed the scenery. Hearing the swell of general protest when we encountered difficult terrain and the sounding of an alarm when one of the number fell or dropped behind. The happy sounds as well settled down to lunch, the after lunch murmur as some of us napped and others discussed amoung themselves. The general group mentality made me miss the cattle and, I felt gave me an insight that might help me better understand the animals if I ever have my own herd. It was an interesting insight.

At about 2:30 our now narrow trail came to an end at a crest atop which sat a ruined stone edifice. No roof, three walls and filled with rubble, but with benches all around the outside and a fantastic view. We had reached Mirador de n'Alzamora, built in 1931. We sat with our backs to the building, looking out over the Mallorcan landscape. To the left a deep valley wandered back into the mountains. The opposite wall was scattered with trees, accented by veins of sheer white rock cliff. The cliffs and ridges dropped into a low valley populated by olive tree farms, patches of cleared dirt, waiting for next year's harvest and every here and there a villa or farm house. Beyond this the sea sparkled in some spots under the odd patch of clear skies. Other spots were a steady murky while still others were disrupted by so many small peaks and swells, roiled by the wind or perhaps some current that only the sea itself and some knowledgeable fishermen knew about. then again, off to the right, the land rose again into those irregular hills and mountains that make this island so different from other places I have been rose up, rounding back to where we sat and ate and lived and felt peace and happiness and the general wellbeing of sharing such an experience with others.

The immediate order of business for us was to get lunch laid out. Everyone began diving into their packs to produce any of a variety of meats, cheeses, breads, crackers, cakes, pastries, etc. Everything was laid out on a blanket which we had spread out between us all. A number of the women fell to cutting up meat or slathering tomato juice across pieces of bread. I was so pleased to see this sharing mentality before the "get me some" attitude I had gotten used to hiking with the young boys at Philmont or eating on the glacier. After everything had been divvied up, we all set too, and it was delicious. It turns out that for these women, lunch is a 2 hour affair, involving a lot of sitting and talking time, many a chance for a nap on warm stones and even some time for me to slip away and explore. I saw a little group of mountain goats, one black, one brown, and one white, playing and eating and exploring out on points that I could only wish to have the ability to climb to.

Once we had had our fill of food and napped and chatted, as if on some silent cue, everyone began cleaning up and packing things away and off we went again. We walked back by a different, shorter trail and everyone began picking bouquets of fruits and flowers to bring home. By the time we reached the cars and began fitting our things into them I would say we had almost twice the amount of stuff as we had had when we took off. It was funny to see these tiny trunks packed with so much greenery. Todas nos despedimos with many kisses and hugs and the general consensus that we would would have something grand to share when we see each other again in classes on Monday.

A very good Saturday.