By Nicola Rizzi
“I went into the woods because I wanted to live wisely [...] and not to discover that I had never lived”.
In harmony with the American philosopher Henry David Thoreau, but with different motives, I went up to the Pian dei Cavalli on the 27th May with the intention of staying there for the following 2 months. Virus, Phase-3 and social distancing were the pretexts to move to the now-renovated mountain hut that my grandparents and father used to occupy occasionally, along with the shepherds during the cattle’s summer sojourn in the pastures. I am alone, within the silence but alongside marmot friends, where until the mid-1980’s there had been a small mountain community which had inhabited all the now mostly-abandoned structures.
Happily the road had not quite made it here!
Leaving the car at the onset of the Frondaglio pastures with rucksack on my back bearing supplies for the first two weeks, I head along the path that leads to Zoccana (2006m, C30). The snow remains and the hut is cold and I don’t spread the mattress out under the sunshine as my teacher Valentino, old-style Tojana, will demonstrate within the month, but my joy is palpable. Trepidation about the virus has been left 2000m below, and the gaze moves over Valchiavenna and the surrounding peaks. And no interruptions from neighbouring buildings!
The goats arrive in a couple of weeks. In their hundreds. They will clamber up onto the roofs of structures and gather around the fountain. Marmots on lookout duties will whistle the approach of a rare hiker or the presence of eagles taking advantage of air currents to circle.
The weeks go by, spent in reading, meditation and manual labour. The heart pulses quicker within Nature. If during the day the eye drinks in the distant horizons and mountain landscapes, in the evening it loses itself in the depths of the star-spangled heavens. I had brought a telescope with me and am delighted I decided to carry that extra 15kg. Jupiter, Saturn, Mars, the comet Neowise and the Moon itself. Huge!
Shooting stars in clusters, a spectacle that no UCI can match. A month passes. There’s now a rhythm to the day: wood-chopping, repairing the parts of the baita that require attention after the winter months, and leisurely strolls to lago Bianco and Baldiscio. The drystone walls that cut through the pastures dividing Frondaglio and Tojana leave a lasting impression for the creative efforts and industry involved in their construction. Days pass and the snow is relegated to the highest peaks now. Certain flowers wither whilst others begin to bloom, colours are ever-changing and nature illustrates the interdependence of everything. A hugely powerful cycle but one invisible in the metropolis. Silent, vital and clearly putting Man back in his place.
The horses arrive and the cows are grazing on vast expanses of buttercups which will endow their milk with a yellow hue. The apprehension concerning lack of bar, restaurant or aperitif simply didn’t materialise, absorbed within the daily and sublime spectacle of unspoiled Nature. I am the simple yet privileged observer of a majestic Valchiavenna, which amply satisfies both eye and heart.
But today is 27th July and I must return to what is commonly known as civilisation.
