This morning I rode with F., my scientific host, and M., a young ecologist who does work with satellite imagery, to the town of Broto in the Tena Valley, just outside Ordessa National Park. (Note, because this is a blog accessible to the public, I will mostly refrain from identifying people by name.) F. and M. are helping to organize a meeting that is taking place in a few weeks for a large international project, the theme of which is closely related to my own research interest in resilience of pastoral social-ecological systems. Research team members will be coming from three other countries and one other continent to take part in the excursion and meeting and they were scouting locations for meeting rooms, lunch and coffee breaks along the way—making sure the rooms were large enough to accommodate 30 participants, warm enough to sit for several hours on a potentially chilly October morning, etc. As we drove up and back, F. regaled me with information—too much to absorb—on the history, geography, and management of the area. Accustomed to working with foreigners, he speaks very clearly and slowly, and is patient with my vocabulary questions, but it is just too much to take in at once.
One of the most interesting tidbits for me related to the pattern of human population expansion and contraction and the subsequent changes in land use and landscape cover. According to F., the human population in the Pyrenees increased dramatically during the Moorish invasion of Iberia in the 8th century, when people fled from the plains to take refuge in the more rugged and remote mountain areas. The population grew rapidly to the point that hunting, gathering, and rudimentary agriculture could no longer sustain it and more intensive forms of cultivation and animal husbandry were developed. As we drove up the narrow and very windy road through the Valle de Tena, F. pointed out the terraced lands on the steep hill slopes, now mostly obscured by the shrubs and forests that have overgrown them. All of these were at one time cropped with wheat and later potatoes, then, more recently, cultivation was abandoned and the terraces were colonized by grasses and harvested for hay or grazed. In the most recent era of rural depopulation, since the 1960s, many of these terraces have been abandoned entirely and the shrubs and forests have again taken over. We saw occasional cleared patches in the brush or forested slopes, places where a few conscientious landowners or the very few remaining pastoralists have maintained the meadows for grazing or haying.
Our first stop was a bar where F. and M. are considering holding the morning coffee break for the field tour. They wanted to see if it was large enough for 30 to stand or sit comfortably while sipping their “cortados” (small coffees). At the bar we fortuitously encountered one of F.’s friends and collaborators, a local veterinarian and livestock owner, A. F. later told us that A. has cattle, goats and horses and is seeking to use his mares to breed mules. What would the mules be used for? I asked. Apparently there is a new regulation that provides some type of incentive, a discounted price or priority access, to people who log using drought animals instead of tractors/skidders. The mule-drawn equipment is lighter and causes less damage to the soil. In addition, it is a way to maintain a traditional skill and practice.
Our next stop (after a narrow tunnel through the mountain with a mysterious and ill-timed traffic light at either end—timed so that vehicles driving in towards each other from opposite directions both seemed to have the green light at the same time instead of one green and one read) was the village of Linas de Broto. Unlike the larger town of Biescas that we drove through on the way there, Linas de Broto has been restored but remains relatively intact and “autentico” in F.’s words. Biescas, in contrast, is quickly expanding with many new apartment buildings on its fringes, albeit most of them tastefully constructed of stone veneer to match the traditional architecture. In Linas de Broto, we stopped at the Mayor’s house to get the keys to the town hall (Ayuntamiento) and discuss the use of a meeting room for the field tour. The remodeled and comfortable town assembly chambers were a bit on the small side for a group that might be as large as 30, so we moved on to the old school house. The single school room was much more spacious, though unheated, and today was filled with many church pews, in the process of being re-varnished and polished in preparation for the Broto village fiesta at the end of September. The view out the large windows was pleasant and we agreed that this would be a good meeting room if it were warm enough and we could transport the comfortable chairs from the town hall to the school.
The short walk from the Ayuntamiento to the school took us down an old cobble stone street past the well-kept but seemingly ancient traditional stone-faced houses of the village. I noticed that several of the wooden doors had a fir branch (needles now dried and brown with age) stuck in the wrought iron grate of the door. What did these branches signify? I asked. Ah, they keep with witches and bad spirits away. Pointing at the chimneys on these old buildings, F. explained that these round chimneys with pointed roofs on top are typical of this region and not found elsewhere. The pointed stone on the chimney top also serves to ward off the “brujas” (witches). Another roof had a pointy stone at one end, apart from the chimney, for good measure. Many of the village houses, built in the old style where animals were kept below and the people lived above, included small gardens behind high stone walls, where pear and apple trees and vegetables were growing. A man strolled past us with a large handful of fresh leeks. On one building the second story was a hay loft with an open door. I look forward to visiting Broto again in on a coming weekend for the fall livestock fair (“feria de ganado”).
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