Читать книгу Wanderlust: A Mountain Pasture in the Swiss Alps - Katharina Afflerbach - Страница 5

It's quarter past five in the morning. I wake up to Markus quietly closing the bedroom door. I count his steps to the floor hatch – there are five – and listen to the familiar melody: the creaking as the hatch opens, the dull blow as it meets the roof beam. The footsteps on the steps down are first clear, then more distant, and finally only a hint. Markus is about to bring the cows into the barn for milking, and I can stay in bed for another ten minutes. Straight away, silence returns, a deep, great silence, to which the bells of the animals on the pastures bring a perpetual serenade. Today there is no rain on my roof window, and the wind is gentle, quiet.

Eight minutes to go. I lie flat on my back. My limbs are heavy and stiff; my last yoga class was many weeks ago. Everything hurts a little, some things hurt a little more. But it's no big deal. The pain satisfies me, reminding me how my body worked yesterday, and the day before yesterday.

Six minutes to go. I'm nice and warm, and I'm not dreaming. The fact that I have to get up right away is a gift. I look forward to Rex, my faithful companion who will visit me while milking in the barn; to the brown goat who seems to love my morning massages; and to the chamois who will stretch out his neck for me to scratch. I'll turn off the alarm before it rings. With half- closed eyes I put on the stable clothes and feel my way down the stairs. My feet know the way and lead me after the last step to the left, through the room into the bathroom. Ice-cold water startles my eyes open. I'm awake.

Barely two minutes later I step into the night- which will be over soon - out and under the full starry canopy. On my right the mountain range stands black, straight ahead the sleeping valley opens. The sun does not yet send its first rays, and I can drink in the stars on the way to the stable. It's a privilege. All by myself I can enjoy this heavenly splendor, look after the animals entrusted to me and contribute to my family's livelihood - and all against this magnificent backdrop, outside in nature and in the freshest air. In my heart I whisper, Thank you.

A few days later. During the night, I wake more than once. Recently, the thunderstorms have made our cabin tremble. From the mountains, the rolls of thunder reverberated twice as violently, echoing. Only the cabin roof separated me from the weather. Now the rain is pelting down my skylight again and again, and I think about how I have to go outside right away. I hear the wind blowing around the house, lashing the beams. There's no avoiding it: I need to do the milking now. In the unheated parlor I put on the rain gear and arm myself internally. I slip into the cold rubber boots only in the stable, where the wind is already whipping towards me. When I set up the milking machines outside the cabin, I lower my head so the rain hat won’t fly away. From the corner of my eye, I can see there's nothing to see anyway. Black fog envelops the Alp. I grab the milking machines and I press on through the rain. Why am I doing this to myself? I wonder on the way to the stable. And who had the stupid idea of coming here in the first place? Other people lie out on the beach, sipping from coconuts, or just twiddle their thumbs at home. What about me? I'll get wet in the mountains somewhere at night sleeping time.

The goats greet my poor dripping form with a loud hello, and being bleating for their breakfast. Lovingly, I greet one after the other and warm myself in the still warm stable. Everything will be okay. Everything's going to be fine now. I’m glad I got up.