This led Maria-Jose to tell us that her mother made the cloth from ‘linho’ which is flax, by hand. I was entranced sitting across from this grandmother who in two years time will be a hundred years old and who told us that she used to put the ‘linho’ in the river under the sand for eight days before beating it and then separating the fibres, this process of releasing the fibres from the cellular and woody stem tissue is known as ‘retting’ (English word, the Portuguese translation could be either ‘imergir’ or ‘mergulhar’) or controlled rotting. The separation of the fibres is known as ‘scutching’ (English), in Portuguese the word is ‘espadelar’ the rough fibre or ‘estopa’ (English, tow) would be used for sacks and the fine fibres which would be made into silk thread. Spinning the thread was done on a wheel and as Maria-Joses mother described the process with actions her face was alight. It was a lot of work, “muito trabalho, muito trabalho” but now she was having a lovely rest, quite happy in her chair, her daughter looking after her with such exquisite care and love.

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Woke up with my head full of dreams, the one I most remember that came just before consciousness prodded me awake was of a just born white calf, still covered in the stickiness of the birth canal. The creature lay with its long legs sprawled against a wall of granite rock on the side of a mountain, panting slightly and abandoned. In the dream I was watching and thinking that it would die out here with no mother and father, an eagle would swoop down and eat it or a wolf would sniff out its’ tender young flesh and consume it before it had chance of a life.

As I watched and wondered how I could help an enormous white animal that looked like a huge bull came along and began sniffing the calf, then licking it, rubbing it into life with its tongue. At first I thought it was a bull but felt it was a female and quickly realised it was a bison or buffalo, I observed as the gigantic creature despite her great size, muscles like thick rope rippling under her white hide, lick the little calf so tenderly and determinedly until the little one stirred and stood on his wobbly new legs. The bison began to amble off and I knew that she had adopted the baby who quickly gained her confidence and ran happily alongside the great creature now so full of new life.

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A misty day, the fine clouds hang in the valley and rise a little, swirling around like the smoke from an ancient cauldron. We set off early to walk the boundaries again of Alagoas, wrapped up warmly against the chill in the air which is now ever present even when the sun is bright in the sky.
Jose is ready and waiting, he has become more used to us now and his smile is warmer, Orlando and Carlos are also there, they are both wearing dark glasses today and have maps and equipment, they remind me of the Blues Brothers, they look like they mean business. Jose tells us on the way round that his neighbour is out with his goats especially because he wants to sell us his land. I will tell you a little about Jose, he wears a felt trilby hat, a checked shirt with an old suit jacket, and thick, black trousers which are frayed at the bottom, his boots are sturdy, black and undoubtedly steel capped, I can tell from the way they are more bulbous around the toes. He carries a billhook with a long handle which he periodically uses to clear away a bramble or branch in the way or he leans on the handle, crossing his hands over one another and sometimes resting his chin on his hands.

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