Résidences croisées: Le récit de Theron

Theron a gardé les yaks pendant mon voyage au Tibet oriental en septembre. Je suis touchée de lire son récit ci-joint et ce que le lieu lui a enseigné et fait vivre, car j'ai toujours imaginé et rêvé que ce chalet, la montagne qui l'entoure et les yaks qui y vivent puissent être source d'inspiration et transformation pour d'autres également. Que d'autres puissent apprende d'eux aussi, comme moi j'ai pu le faire. En lisant Theron je sens qu'il a vécu quelque chose de précieux et profond. J'en suis ravie.

Three Weeks of Yak: Reflections from the Alpage.

The mountain air hit my lungs as I stepped off the bus and I felt the past 30 sleepless hours of travel disappear from my body as I took in my surroundings. There they were, the Swiss Alps, the pictures I’d looked at in preparation for this trip did not do them justice. I was here, at their feet, dwarfed by the towering green, grey, and white giants around me. Yet, despite their vastness, I felt right at home. Home for me has always been mountains. I grew up with rolling Green Mountains of Vermont as my playground - only to replace them with the abrupt peaks of the Wasatch and Uintas around Salt Lake City. Seeing this new family of mountains that would be home for the next month calmed the anxieties that had been pinballing around my head for the last 5000 miles. I may not know the language or any of the people in this small town, but I knew mountains and I knew yaks. Ultimately, that is what I was here for. 

My first week went smoothly, largely thanks to my dad who already had two weeks under his belt and showed me the ropes. It was pure bliss as we fell into our routine -: drink coffee together, look to the alpage across the Evolene valley to find the yak herd, walk the dog, pile in the truck to head up to the herd, hike to wherever the herd felt like being that day and move them if they needed moving, and be in their presence for as long as felt right, then return home for afternoon cards, wine, and food. For me, it is hard to think of a better way to spend a day. True, some days we would just see the herd from the house and then go hike nearby or explore a new area. 

But the best days were the days up at the pasture. 

That first week flew by and before I knew it (or at least could wrap my head around it), my dad was heading back home - leaving the fate of 1 dog, 12 yaks, 2 cats, and a beautiful mountain chalet in my 23-year-old hands. Nervous is an understatement for how I felt driving home from the bus station. This would be the longest time I would have been alone in my whole short life thus far. And it really couldn’t get more alone than this. I felt those anxieties from the plane return on this drive back, and this time, I felt they wouldn’t be so easily silenced. And yet, that next evening, they were gone. I had woken up that morning, and did all I’d known in this place; my routine. I was able to keep it essentially the same. However, the dog walks got longer, the reading time got longer, and gin rummy was replaced with solitaire at the dining table. 

That routine continued in earnest for the next two weeks, and, all of a sudden, I flew out the next day. That was it. This trip was over. This big adventure that had been in my head in one capacity or another all summer was done. I had done it! The animals had survived, the house remained standing, and I was still around and able to write this. Although, as I sit writing this, I realize that I am not the same me that left for Switzerland those weeks prior. Of course I had changed slightly as a person, we change everyday. But how had I changed, and what had catalyzed that change? These were the questions I asked myself that final evening as I lay, wrapped in a sleeping bag, under the stars in the field above the house I had called home for the past 3 weeks. This outside time had become part of my evening routine. To come up here and lay on this hillside under the stars, greeted by the familiar patterns I knew from countless hours of this growing up. 

As I continued to ask myself these questions, I was able to distill my experience in the past 3 weeks down to three key themes that stuck with me and changed my perception of the world around me. These three themes (in no particular order) are simplicity, community, and trust. 

Simplicity edged itself into many aspects of life in Les Hauderes - starting mainly with myself. One small backpack with a few articles of clothing, my Kindle, a journal, and a deck of cards were all I had with me. And yet, I never felt the need for more. Simplicity was the norm here. My routine was simple, the chalet was simple, life was just more simple. The routine essentially boiled down to: feed myself, feed the animals, make sure the animals are alive, feed myself again, go to bed. That was what absolutely needed to happen everyday. Ultimately, that is not that many things. Because of this, I was able to take more time for everything I was doing and appreciate it more. 

For me, it can be easy to rush through life and lose appreciation for the things I am doing. It’s so easy to watch TV while you cook dinner, or listen to a podcast while hiking through a beautiful mountain, or just rush from task to task because you’ve planned too many things to do that day. I had fallen into a rhythm of that this summer with my busier schedule. By taking it back to a simple, straightforward daily routine, I remembered that just cooking dinner or just going for a walk is a joy in itself. I will concede that it was easy to appreciate that the food was fresher than anything I could easily get back home, or the walk was some of the most beautiful nature on this planet, or the top of the hike involved sitting with a herd of beautiful yaks. However, finding appreciation and joy in every little thing is something I felt throughout those 3 weeks and something I find myself doing more and more as I return to a busier life. 

Community, to me, is one of the most important aspects of life. As an extrovert from a small town, I recognize how important it is to have a group of people around you to support you. Going into this trip, one of my biggest fears was that I would be truly alone. However, this did not pan out. Thanks largely to Rosula, I was welcomed into this small community that she had gathered around these yaks. Although we had only met over WhatsApp prior to my arrival, I knew that if I needed any support, they were there for me. And there were times I did. Through those times, I got to know Oli, Marouan, and Shanu very well. And in them, I found friends. Ultimately, I realized that no matter where you are in the world, you can always find community. Even, in this case, when there is a bit of a language barrier, community still permeates through the right groups. 

Trust is a large part of building community and something which made my brief foray into the world of yak herding as enjoyable and easy as it was. First and foremost, I trusted myself. Sure, I had doubts on the journey over. I hadn’t worked with yaks in 10+ years. I didn’t speak the language. I’d never been there before. These were all valid concerns. However, I had committed to doing this because I thought I could. Thus, I had to trust myself. Trust that I could do this. I truly did trust myself. On the rare occasion that there was a problem, I trusted that I could deal with it. Whenever I felt anxiety about being alone, I trusted in myself that I would be okay and get through it. I do not think I would have been able to get through this experience without first trusting that I could get through it. 

The next trust was trust in the community. As I had previously mentioned, I was lucky enough to be surrounded by some incredible people during my time there. And, I also learned quickly that life operates a little differently. Mainly, when someone says they are going to do something, or be somewhere at sometime, they do it. I am so used to making extensive plans and confirming a million times. However, when I was working with them, it was slightly different. If I had planned to meet someone at 4 pm on the following Monday, I would arrive at 4pm on Monday, trusting that they would be there. Sure enough, they always were. Or take the entire reason I was there in the first place. Rosula trusted me to care for her home and herd. We had never met before. Her trust in me allowed me to have this experience and contributed to my own self trust and belief that I could indeed survive this ordeal. 

And finally, there was trust in the yaks. As mentioned, I would spot the yaks across the valley with binoculars every morning. However, there were some mornings where they were not visible. Was this cause for alarm? It definitely could be. With limited fencing and a wide open alpage to roam on, the yaks truly could be anywhere. Yet, I was never too worried. I trusted those yaks. They had been there much longer than me. They knew where they had to be and what they had to do. I just had to trust them and I did. As a result, I found them with relative ease on those days where they weren’t visible from the house and, sure enough, they were where they were supposed to be every time. 

As I boarded that first train toward Geneva, I was hit with a deep sadness. This place was special, those people were special, those animals were special. Although I was only there for 3 weeks, the impact that it had on me was immense and for the better. However, in the minds of those yaks, I was just another person who came and visited them every few days. Their lives were even simpler than mine was: live in a beautiful place, have an abundant source of food around you, and be surrounded with a close community. One day, I hope to live that way.