Here life still moves to the rhythms of nature. Life moves more slowly, following the yearly cycle, changing only if the climate does, happening over centuries. There’s the world of water, starting with the streams of the Argentina, once ruled by eels. Then there are the vegetable gardens and terraced olive groves. The steep slopes have been tamed by man, who still has to climb up and work the land. When Grace Mary Crowfoot was here, there were still fields of wheat and other cereals, and cultivated chestnut forests. Her explorations were carried out in a Mediterranean world scented with lentisco and heather, whose wood is excellent for making pipes. There are red-fruited strawberry trees and the yellow flowers of broom in June. The woods are thick with holly and oak. Then there are grassy meadows for haymaking and pasture. The atmosphere is alive with dozens of bird species that observe everything, day and night. Blackbirds, blackcaps, woodpeckers, cuckoos and, higher up, golden eagles, short-toed eagles and buzzards. Today there are also griffon vultures. The lonely moon accompanies the flight of barn owls, little owls and shops owls. You can hear them on summer nights. At night martens and weasels try to get into hen houses; the fox roams. If you think the badger is clumsy, you’re wrong: he moves fast. Grace would have seen red squirrels dashing up trees, but not roe deer or wild boar. At that time they had disappeared from the area; now they are back in great numbers. Fewer crops, more woodlands, more animals. And it’s the same with wolves. They’re not easy to see, but you can hear them. In the early 20th century they were gone, now they’re back. Lastly, don’t be afraid of the reptiles. There are snakes, and they slither quickly away. The Riccioli snake (southern smooth snake) is very rare, and at higher altitudes there’s the western Montpellier snake, friend of the shepherd as it guards the cheese and eats the mice that abound here. A world that’s ever changing, although it appears to be evergreen.