The sun is already sharp against the terraced slopes, the scent of thyme and rosemary rising from the rocky ground. Dry wind whistles through esparto grass, and somewhere in the distance is the soft clang of goat bells. A partridge erupts from the scrub. No roads. No fields. No fences. Just the land, as it might be without centuries of plowing, grazing or concrete. We often imagine “pristine” nature as a wilderness untouched by people, but rarely do we picture ourselves in it. And yet, places like this have been shaped by humans for millennia through traditional practices and knowledge. The difference now is that we have become separate from the needs of the land. The knowledge that was once passed down from centuries about knowing when to burn, when to rest the land, and when to intervene

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