On
the Greek Isle of Santorini in the South Aegean Sea,
there
are two ways to move necessary supplies and mer-
chandise
from the docks up to the towns which are most
tenuously
perched alongside and atop the 800-foot high
cliffs
of the horseshoe caldera: Either drive by motor ve-
hicle
along the steep, circuitous, and ofttimes hazardous
roads
form sea level up the dizzying climb to the intend-
ed
destination, which can waste a good deal of time. Op-
tion
two would be to strap goods, or perhaps side-saddle
a
paying passenger to a well-adapted and sure-footed
donkey,
and then plod up a vertical rocky trail much
more
directly to your destination. The latter is a tried
and
true method which has been employed successfully
for
millennia.
I
could spend hours observing the comings and goings
of
these pack-animals and their dedicated handlers. Both
are
precision masters of their profession, and are driven
by
muscle memory each and every step of the way. In-
deed,
they make quite an efficient and admirable team.
Day
after day, without major disruptions or visible signs
of
disgust or complaint, master and beast haul their cargo
with
unrelenting determination, trip after trip seven days
a
week.
Usually
at the same time everyday, a bag of oats or some
other
grain is strapped behind the ears and over the don-
key’s
muzzle—It’s lunch time and a well-deserved respite
from
their labors. The handler sits straddled atop his hoofed
comrade
in commerce as he looks out, ruminating pensively
over
the emerald-blue, sun-kissed Aegean Sea. I feel privi-
leged
to witness this simple yet subtly powerful scene, this
living
and breathing, on-going snapshot of history. I sit in
humility
and awe as century after century spread out seam-
lessly
before me.
Chris
Hanch 2-1-17
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