transient /tranziәnt/ □ adj. lasting only for a short time; impermanent □ n. 1. A person who is staying or working in a place for a short time only 2. a momentary variation in current, voltage, or frequency
We slowed down and stopped across the road from the Shepherd’s house. The gates were open, so we approached until just inside and called a friendly “Ola! Bom dia!”
There was no movement. Their car wasn’t there. Neither were the dogs.
Odd, we thought.
They regularly visited their son in the city for a day or two, but the dogs were always there. Something felt wrong.
When we found the makeshift wire gate at the entrance to our property open, we felt a strange discomfort. Where were they? And where were the sheep?
The Electrician’s pickup was parked at the house when we got there, and suddenly the open gate made sense. Before long we forgot all about it as we were thrown into the emotional turmoil we’ve come to expect every time we arrive on the land after an absence of a couple of months. The process of coming to terms with what had been done or not done in our absence, and the amount of work that awaits us usually only lasts the remaining hours of the day, but those hours mostly feel like we have taken a big gulp of clear liquid expecting it to be water, just to find it was actually moonshine.
Later that evening, when we managed to reign in our emotions to a mild panic, the conversation again drifted to the absence of the sheep and the Shepherd.
That was when Michael said: “I hope nothing happened to them.”
And just like that we were plagued by uncertainty and worry. Our thoughts turned into wild horses galloping into various directions, we managed to reign them in.
Two days later we could hear the tinkling of bells in the distance. Our ears and moods perked up instantly. It must be the Shepherd and his sheep.
Moments later we heard. “Ha! Ho! Hey!”
That didn’t sound right.
The Shepherd never called out to his sheep with a booming voice.
We kept working as the sound of sheep bells and calling came closer and closer. At last the sheep came into view, and as we squinted into the distance we could make out the figure of a man definitely not walking with the gait of old age. Then two dogs appeared in the picture, and as they noticed us the trio turned into our direction.
“It is the Rogue Farmer.” I said to Michael.
Our hearts fell into our stomachs with and audible thud.
The first day we met the Rogue Farmer was also the first day we met the Shepherd’s Wife. On a hot July morning in 2018, the day after we arrived on the land, we heard the drone of a tractor close to the house. We walked out to see someone ploughing up the land next to us. When he noticed us, he came over to greet and introduce himself. And so one of those laboured conversations, which we are getting better at, ensued. He told us that he is taking care of the land for the owner, but when Michael asked who the owner was, he was vague, and just said that he/she lived in Lisbon.
As the piece of land the Rogue Farmer was standing on is a piece of land we are interested in buying, we’ve done our homework and know in whose name it is registered. Let’s just say for now that it is complicated. For the purpose of this story though it was clear to us that what the Rogue Farmer was telling us was not exactly the truth.
When we had done stumbling through an uncomfortable conversation with no common language, the Rogue Farmer returned to his tractor, and we to our chores.
Not long after we heard the voice of a woman.
Michael stepped out of the barn to witness an intriguing interaction. It was clear that she was not happy to see him on the land. Her voice and tone were neither friendly nor conversational. And as a final insult she turned her back on him while he was still talking to round up the sheep that were grazing amidst our olive trees.
When I stepped out of the house she turned to me, opened her arms, and with a twinkle in her eyes gave me one of the most generous hugs I’ve ever received. She introduced herself as the Shepherd’s Wife, and later that same day she returned with farm fresh eggs and a sheep’s milk cheese.
“Bom dia!” The Rogue Farmer called out as he and his three dogs walked towards us.
After we wrestled with a handful of Portuguese words to exchange pleasantries, the Rogue Farmer asked us if he could graze his sheep on our land. We were not only taken by surprise, but found the request very odd. “The Shepherd grazes his flock on our land.” We replied. A fact he knows very well.
That was when we learned that the Shepherd and his Wife no longer live on their land.
We felt an instant and immense loss. A bit like being told that a loved one just died.
“How can this be?” Michael later said to me. “I dreamt of the day I could speak Portuguese to have real conversations with him. And now they’re gone.”
The Shepherd and his flock made our small piece of land feel like a real farm. They were wonderful neighbours. Generous and kind despite our inability to string even one coherent sentence together in Portuguese. He knew exactly who was coming and going in the area. A comforting thought as our little house is taking shape.
We suddenly felt vulnerable.
The next day the Electrician confirmed that The Shepherd and his Wife moved to the city where their son lives. He also mentioned that he still sometimes come to the land. At least that is what Michael thought he said, so when, a couple of days later the Shepherd appeared seemingly out of nowhere, we were overjoyed. From the Electrician he learned when we would be on the land, and so he made sure to drop by to greet us.
Over the last nine years, living in the UAE, we have learned the true meaning of the word ‘transient’. Of course we know that things can never stay the same, but I think we have also become a bit more fragile in the presence of so much constant change around us. We also know that change is neither good nor bad, but inevitable, and as our life, at the moment, is so tightly wrapped in a wave of change I find myself completely off-balance.
And so we mourn what we consider an enormous loss.
* * * * *
If you have always dreamt of owning a property in rural Portugal, and want lovely neighbours (us of course), you can always buy the Shepherd’s land . . .
Aug/Sept 2019 visit
Written by: Jolandi
Ahhh! Your story is never dull and never over. What a lovely invitation at the end. 🙂 I wish you that good surprises outdo the bad ones.
Thank you, Manja. We stubbornly trust and believe that in the long run good surprises will always outnumber the bad ones. At least we have the Shepherd’s phone number, so we will definitely try to contact him in the future to at least meet up for a coffee in the city. At this point in time our lack of Portuguese is very frustrating, as I find that learning a language when not surrounded by it is almost impossible. – Jolandi
How sad that the Shepherd and his wife had to move to the city! I am always disappointed when I revisit somewhere I used to know well and there are changes; usually for the worse! I hope the rogue farmer doesn’t cause you problems.
So true, Clare, and that is how the rural parts of Portugal are getting depopulated, as the old people move off the land or die, and the young ones have no desire to live on the land. That said, it seems that there are a couple of very enterprising young Portuguese in the area, but for the most part it is foreigners like us who are buying up the land. Luckily the Portuguese are very welcoming towards us, as, although an old (and very hard) way of life is being lost, this new influx at least bolsters the economy of the area somewhat. – Jolandi
I never like seeing a neighbor move, if only because one never knows who will fill the vacant home. The loss of your friendly neighbors is sad, though I admit I was more dismayed that the Rogue Farmer may decide to move onto your farm in your absence. He sounds like the sort to take advantage of a landowner’s not being at home all the time. Maybe you should consider hiring a housesitter, preferably one with a big dog and an atttiude!
That is exactly what the Rogue Farmer seems to do, Hangaku. There are so many small pieces of land who belong to people who never visit them, and he seems to make full use of that fact, sowing wheat and then grazing his sheep there. We could of course be completely wrong, and although we don’t think he has any evil intentions, he has definitely lied to us before, which now makes us a bit suspicious and wary. We also value our privacy, and we don’t exactly want anyone around who is overly nosy. Once the building work is done, and we have our habitation licence, the plan is for me to go live there while Michael continues working in the UAE for a while longer. – Jolandi
Never a dull moment in this adventure of yours. Perhaps, in time, the Rogue Farmer will actually become a friend; and I guess the shepherd’s family were becoming concerned to leave them in relative isolation.
By the way, in Australia (and probably Sth Africa too), one never leaves gates open on properties. It’s a kind of inbred ballet to stop the car, open the gate, drive through, stop, shut the gate. Might be a nice bit of Portugese to learn, in order to ask the electrician to do the same. If you do sub-let a grazing paddock, you won’t be popular if your contractors let the sheep or goats roam away.
Of course, in Portugal, life may be much more laissez-faire. 🙂
Indeed, Gwen. I guess we should be grateful that there never is a dull moment, as it at least gives me something to write about. 😉 The gate is actually really a very makeshift affair that the Shepherd put up to keep his sheep in, and although it is from where we access our property, the road that cuts through it, is actually an access road for three more people who have land on the other side of us (who don’t live there permanently I should add). So although the Shepherd had a gate there, from what we understand one needs the permission of the municipality to actually put up a gate. Complicated. I should write a blog post on that and some of the other oddities. On the other hand, we don’t want to sub-let our land to grazing. We simply welcomed the Shepherd to continue to do so, as he had an arrangement with the previous owner, and in return he kept an eye on our land for us. A very beneficial one for both parties we thought. – Jolandi
My heart fell with yours. Good neighbors are golden, and even though the Rogue Farmer may not end up being your neighbor or even being a problem of any sort, the loss of the good guys is hard to take. Keeping fingers crossed that someone wonderful buys the property and keeps the wandering farmer at bay!
I agree with you, Lexie. It is so hard to find good neighbours, and it is rather ironic that although we considered them neighbours, their land actually doesn’t even touch ours. Yet they were close enough for that and were the best neighbours we could have asked for. Hence our extreme sense of loss. We are definitely looking forward to the day we have working Portuguese, as so much of our interactions are pure guesswork, which is not quite the way one rule out misunderstandings or make friends. And yes, we hope some lovely people will buy their land.
I totally understand your sense of loss. Good neighbours can be hard to come by. At least you must be glad they’re well.
True. And yes, it was quite a relief to know that they are well.
Hello Jolandi,
Oh this is a bittersweet development indeed. As has already been said, it is very sad to see neighbors go, especially if you had a genuine rapport with them. And we can also relate to the apprehension regarding neighbors – you never know who will move in next. Keeping fingers crossed that the new landowners will be pleasant folks, and of course wishing you and Michael continued health. As always, thank you so much for sharing some of your adventure with us.
Best,
Takami
As always, we are so grateful for your continued support, Takami. Bittersweet is such a good word to use, as it really describes what life is like. And in the end it is how we engage with change that either makes it easy or difficult for us, and not the change itself, which is something we keep reminding ourselves of. – Jolandi
Sorry to learn about your loss, and the alteration of your dream, but at least your dream still exists.
Thanks, Tanja. Sometimes change is harder than other times, but like you say, our dream still exists, and we are planning to stay in touch with the Shepherd as we always go to the city he now lives for shopping. And there is always time for a coffee.
Oh, this story is relatable. I hope that things work out in a good way (maybe have even worked out already).
Yes, it is always sad to lose a good neighbour, Crystal. Only time will tell what neighbours we will gain.