July 1

​There has been a break in my daily routine. A big party is planned by the camp.

Traditionally the party marks the midpoint of the summer grazing. In fact, my friend explains that the most experienced herders will stay on after the departure of the families. They will stay until the first snows come. The horses are able to continue to graze in the snow, but they need to be brought down before the deep winter drifts begin to form and predators come down from the highest mountains. The pastures need time to recover.
 
I help my friend with the preparations. Expeditions have to be made back below the treeline to gather wood for the fires. Mares’ milk goes through the fermentation process. The embroidery on old blouses has to be re-sewn.

​Those with performing skills bring out their viols and mouth harps. I have not heard them since my childhood. Their sounds bring back an earlier world of make-belief and shamans.
 
I have to admit I am not much use to my friend except as a pair of eyes on her boys. It rains on the night. But it does not matter. We all have a good time.