Put Up a Parking Lot

We were surprised to see yellow signs all over our mountain, even in the most hidden and isolated forest. The signs were reminding people that they have to pay for mushrooms or berries picked in the zone. There was a lot of effort, and a lot of money, put into the sign project, and it’s a joke to everyone I’ve spoken to.
Down by the river, as well, a new sign appeared the other day, also yellow, stating that the river is a spot only open to residents of the area.
I know it’s childish of me, but signs like this make me want to pick as many mushrooms and berries as I possibly can, and bring as many of my foreign friends and relatives to have loud parties at the river. We go to the river occasionally – it’s wonderful – there is a narrow waterfall, a cliff to climb, rocks to sunbathe upon, and the supply of skipping stones never seems to decrease.
There is another river, closer to our house, that you get to by going down the path to the left, following the trail past the abandoned villages, until you get to the old midwife’s house, then you keep going down until you hear the river, keep on going, past the fallen tree, until you are in the valley and there is the most beautiful little mountain river, wading size, but with pools you can bathe in if you can stand the cold.
Our guest picked cherries the other day: he found a cherry tree that was full of red cherries. I didn’t have time to make a pie or jam, and no one wanted to eat them so they turned mushy and went into the compost. He was upset at the waste but I showed him the trees all up and down the road, full of cherries. The myrtle berry bushes are full. The raspberries are finished, left to the worms. The blackberries are ripening, but there’s no way I can make jam with all the blackberries on the mountain.
We found some Chanterelles the other day and ate them fried in olive oil. But we haven’t found any Porcini yet, it’s a strange season this year. The old-timers don’t know why – even in their secret spots they are not finding the usual amount. But it’s not because of the signs. Nature has its mysteries that we can’t understand. It may be because of all the spring rain, or the lack of early summer rain, or the heat in June, the cold spell in July … we can put up signs, parking lots, and tollbooths, but no one can tell the mushrooms where to grow.

Frutti di Bosco

I winter in a cold and unfriendly climate. Some love to ski and skate, and walk the wintry streets. I enjoy a bit of cross-country skiing, but my African infancy taught me the pleasures of a nice hot sun, preferably above body heat. Which pushes me to southern and equatorial climes. But, as I said, I winter in a cold spot and that is where I can make enough money to summer in the sun.

As I work and struggle with the winter, I watch my cold-weather friends and I see there is a definite sense of scarcity. The Rat Race is a northern concept, and the affluence of the northern societies is born from and gives birth to this sense. After all, if there really is enough to go round, we don't have to claim anything as ours. I find myself subscribing to the scarcity theory, when I don't feel I have enough work for a month, I blame my colleagues' greed and worry that I will lose clients to less qualified folk. We all rush around, in the cold, to get and spend more and more, to fill our days with goods and things.

I summer in a paradise, fertile, green, affluent in a different way. We live alongside wild boar, deer, badgers, snakes, scorpions, mice, and all sorts of creepy crawly creatures. Birds sing in the morning and evening. A predatory bird and his family fly and call overhead. We spent the first few years in tents and now have a cozy house that echoes Middle Earth. It is not everyone's idea of a villa in Tuscany.

But here I learn about scarcity. I reflect on my life as a farmer, when we were raising children, poultry, grapes, and grains. Feeding our family from the earth was our priority, and we managed to do it with a great sense of satisfaction. Here in the middle of nowhere, on a mountain top, I can wander down the road and pick wild berries, or not, as the whim suits. There are mushrooms growing in the woods, some will kill me, others are delicacies. An egg is produced every so often from one of my hens. Nature doesn't care if I eat or not. There is definitely enough to go round, but we humans continue to build mazes and fences to feed our rats. Let them free!