I’ve lived most of my life on the plains of the world, in fact I was born in Illinois … a fairly flat land with miles and miles of corn. There were a few exceptions; in Italy I’d lived in the Colli Albani .. the Alban Hills just south of Rome, in my youth, Anchorage, Alaska under a mountain but I don’t know its name and in Eritrea I lived on that wonderful plateau that houses the city of Asmara.
Basically, I wasn’t born a “mountain-woman”. I have no traditions behind me to use as a reason for my particular affection of these mountains, except if I make them up, which I do from time to time for the benefit of those who love to analyze everything. And if you’ll notice in the preceding lines I wrote “these mountains” because it’s not that I’m in love with just any group of mountains.
So why am I so much in love with these mountains. I really couldn’t honestly tell you.
We came often to visit friends in Trento, where my husband had lived and worked before he retired and returned to Tuscany. Sometimes we’d exchange houses with a group of his old friends, we lived in Grosseto in Tuscany near the sea. But each time we’d leave these mountains and drive into the flat lands of the Po Valley, I felt like I was leaving home and would feel sad for several days. The last time, in 1993, I broke down and cried at the site of the plains.
So we decided to buy a house in Trentino. Thanks to a good friend, we found the house where we now live, in the Sarca Valley on Lake Garda at the end of the Lake Valley. The mountains which surrounds our Sarca Valley aren’t the huge Dolomites they’re no more than foot hills in comparison. But they cradle our little community between them in the east and west like a loving mother.
I can’t tell you why I love this place, it’s no more beautiful than other places I’ve lived. Her people aren’t extraordinary. I can’t tell you why I feel so at home here. All I can tell you is that when I leave Trentino to visit the south and then return, the mountains seem to whisper their welcome and a tear of joy has been known to roll down my cheek. I breath in the green of her trees and feast my eyes on her peaks and crags and I know I’m home at last.
cradled by mountains
nestles the Sarca Valley –
kissed by Lake Garda
(c) G.s.k. ’14
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