At 89 years of age, Crispín Arregui Mendiolagaray continues to tend his flock in the hamlet of Arria, in Berriz. The last member of a historic family of transhumant shepherds, he represents a living link to a world that is disappearing. Sitting in the shed where he keeps his white-faced Latxa sheep, Crispín introduces himself with a joke: “I was born on July 18, 1936; I'm a person with extraordinary pay”. For him, happiness doesn't require much: “Having my family and my sheep in good shape... I don't need much else”.
A childhood spent in the pastures
Crispín began his life as a shepherd at the age of eight, when his role was to “be the dog”: running up and down all day with wet feet. The days began with milking and ended in a mountain hut, where they slept like charcoal burners. The food was simple and authentic: sheep's milk, talo, beans with bacon, and homemade chorizo. “The best thing was my uncle Máximo's chocolate and rice pudding,” he recalls to 7Canibales. At night, without fear, he would cross woods and paths to fetch water from the spring, guided only by habit and the stories told by the elders.
Hard life, ingenuity, and freedom
Raised in the hamlet of Betzuen, Crispín belonged to a large family: 18 brothers and cousins, all raised among woods, rocks, and pastures. His father worked wherever he could find employment, while his mother looked after the children and the flock. After just one year of school, at the age of 16, he went to work as a farmhand. He returned home with 2,000 pesetas and a dried cod: the wages for a year of hard work. Yet he never lost his smile or his sense of humor. He never had a cell phone, television, credit card, or watch: his life remained rooted in the rhythm of the mountains.
Transhumance: an epic that no longer exists
The Arregui family practiced traditional transhumance, a route that led from Betzuen to the pastures of Mutriku, passing through Durango, Trabakua, Markina, and Ondarroa. “I was 16 when I did it for the first time,” he recalls. A horse carried food and tools, while his father brought up the rear with a mare and a cart. They slept in the caseríos along the way, staying as boarders. Today, Crispín complains, “it would be impossible”: the mountains are overgrown with vegetation and the old pastoral routes have been closed.
A shepherd, a salesman, a man of connections
In addition to being a shepherd, Crispín was a skilled cheese maker who was sought after at rural fairs. “I've always been a great salesman,” he says. His experience also led him to collaborate with Artzain Eskola and the Ardiekin sheep insemination center, which was interested in the quality of his sheep. Every Wednesday, he still brings milk, eggs, and nuts to friends like Mikel Bustinza, a chef with deep local roots.
A 61-year love story
Always by his side is Justa, his wife of 61 years. He met her on St. John's Day, accompanied her to the hermitage, and from there began a story that has never stopped. “There are no words to repay her”, he says with emotion. “Never a reproach, always ready to help.” Together they have built a life of work, pastures, family, and traditions kept alive with pride.
