Cow dung, manure, compost, muck, fertilizer, droppings—and my favorite—cow pie. This is what my friend Marysia warned we would be facing if we braved La Desalpe festival in St. Cergue … cow dirt galore!
Once a year, the cows (and their herdsmen) dress up and march down from their summer home in the mountains to their winter resting spot at lower altitudes. The cows spend the summer grazing in Alpine pastures and then make the journey to their fall pastures at warmer temperatures. These cows have the life! Summering at a scenic home in the Alps and then retreating to warmer winter digs … who wouldn’t like that? But, I’m not actually sure what happens to them in the winter. Gulp. It could be curtains for the cows. I try not to think about it.
Brad and I set out to see the cows in all their glory with our feet clad in muck-proof boots and Addi safely tucked in a snug backpack. We caught the “little red train”—seriously, that’s what it is called—up to St. Cergue early on a Saturday morning. The train (red indeed) took its time winding through vineyards, fields ready to be harvested, and quaint mountain towns, before arriving at the small St. Cergue train station nestled in the Jura Mountains.
The Swiss sun greeted us as we stepped on to the platform. We were herded along with the crowd—our own cow experience—to the festival that was already in full swing. Booths selling Swiss paraphernalia, from cowbells to the festival’s own wine, lined the street.
We arrived just in time to see a small ensemble of Alpine horn players—you know, the ones in the Ricola commercials—stride by in traditional dress followed by teams of Bernese Mountain Dogs. Jackpot! Horn players (Riiii-cooooo-laaaaaaa! Bummmmmmmmmm!) and Bernese Mountain Dogs in their own parade? And, let me remind you that our dog, Tycho—the only member of the family with a Swiss passport—is a Bernese Mountain Dog. There were about twenty “Tychos” prancing around a cul-de-sac in festive gear. Our own Tycho was sitting festive-gearless at home, denied of his moment of pomp.
The Bernese Mountain Dogs were in teams of two and pulled mini carts. Traditionally, these dogs hauled cheese carts in the Alps. I figured Tycho’s lineage of hauling cheese must be the reason he has such a strong affinity for the stuff. He won’t touch his kibble without it being served “au gratin.” But, alas, I digress.
Another cow parade descended upon the crowd roughly every fifteen to twenty minutes. Their melodic cowbells (about the size of a large pumpkin) can be heard long before you can see the enormous parade marchers. The heard is lead by a horse-drawn carriage that carries the calves born over the summer. Decorated with garlands of flowers and pine, these babies snuggle together on their bed of hay. Seriously cute.
Then the big adult cows parade by. I’ve never seen cows up close and impersonal—and these beasts are huge! I mean huge! They have a bit of crazy in their big brown eyes too, so you know you don’t want to get in their path. The clanging of the bells and the clop of hooves would have done it for me, but these cows go that extra ceremonious mile to don head dresses. Yes … head dresses. The cows are adorned with what looks like the top two feet of a pine tree. The trees are decorated with bright flowers and bob happily on the heads of the cows. Think cabaret—cow style.
The first dozen beauties carry their pine trees proudly. The rest of the herd either just has a bell or, in the case of my favorite herd, has little retro Jackie O flower-pill-box-looking-things resting between their horns. Talk about stylin’ bovines!
I for one could not get enough. The cows, the Bernese Mountain Dog parade, and the herdsmen dressed in traditional costume. Did I mention them? The humans in the parade were decked out in Bredzon. The ensemble consists of a black jacket with puffy-sleeves, embroidery, and gold buttons worn over a white shirt. And if seeing grown men in puffy sleeves weren’t enough, they have matching black embroidered hats, belts, and leather “man purses” toped off the outfit. I want to say that the men wore knickers, but I would be lying to myself and to you. I strongly believe that all traditional costumes should include knickers. Should be a law. I can say that many of the old-timers had obliged my romantic notions of costume with serious beards and walking sticks. This helped relieve the nuisance of the missing knickers.
