Autumn in Piemonte No. 5

Eight degrees at 8:30am and glitteringly sunny. But there's something in the air. People are feeling colder for some reason, judging by the number of people who told me this morning how very cold it is (though it's not). Perhaps it's the snow crowning the peaks all around making people feel shivery...

Slick, wet leaves and prickly chestnut husks on the sentiero up to Carmine.

A booby-trap for bambini.

Quote of the week No. 30: Today in 1989

Ten degrees at midday. Cold, damp, misty. Occasional gentle rainshowers.

"The Wall ... will still exist in 50, even in 100 years."

I guess Erich Honecker, when he pronounced these words on January 19, 1989 was either bluffing or hadn't reckoned with the "many small people who in many small places [did] many small things [and altered] the face of the world" (for source, see here).

Or, to be totally cynical, the surge of people across the Wall in those heady days may not so much have been down to fear of the Stasi or politcal idealism, but more to do with the pulling power of Coca Cola and electronic goods.

Cynicism aside...

On November 9 1989, I was sleeping fairly rough on the floor of a Bangkok guesthouse. This was not my first taste of Asia (I had already the previous year been in Hong Kong and Macao researching a book), but the months that followed took me on a great adventure inspired in part by the more idealistic elements of what was happening back in the heart of Europe. And I returned home in time to see the German reunification celebrations.

A different person. A different Europe. A different world.

So where were you when the Berlin Wall fell?

Autumn in Piemonte No. 4

Rainy, and damp-in-the-bones cold. The snow lies now on even the nearest hilltops. In Carmine, there are several chimneys smoking - it's good to see our friends here so far out of the summer season.

Autumn sunrise over Lago Maggiore.

Autumn in Piemonte No. 3

A magnificent warm-in-the-sun morning. A lovely breakfast-in-the-churchyard morning. A wonderful ... oh dear, mackerel sky morning. An overcast and cold afternoon. A rainy evening.

Three sisters, Verbania Pallanza.

Firewood

Eight degrees at eight-thirty. Weather much as yesterday with the addition of puddles from last night's rain.

"Chop all this into matchsticks by morning, miller's daughter, and you shall be queen."

Where's Rumplestiltskin when you need him?

Remember, remember

Chilly and damp. Overcast.

Remember, remember

The fifth of November

Gunpowder, treason and plot

I see no reason

Why gunpowder and treason

Ever should be forgot.

No vast autumn bonfires here tonight. No magical boxes of Standard Fireworks, all red and purple from Maddens' locked glass cabinet and hidden until now in the garage. No Catherine wheels or Roman candles, no rockets in milk bottles, no volcanoes. No Uncle Geoff and his mates lighting blue touch paper with their cigarettes. No hotdogs or potatoes in their jackets.

No scarecrows in dolls' prams outside the church hall. No "Penny for the Guy".

No frosty night crackling with the smell of gunpowder. No frozen little fingers, woolly hats. No Christmas-coming-soon.

My children don't know this English autumn rite. Don't know the story of Guy Fawkes, Robert Catesby and Father Garnet, of the desperate plot they hatched not far from where I was born. Haven't stared, goggle-eyed, when learning of their gruesome end.

I wonder if they will have room in their lives for two histories?

A minute for Madeleine/Dedica un minuto per Madeleine

Nine degrees at 8:30am. Every leaf, every twig, every shaggy dog, every child's hat, every cat's ear, every piode, every petal. Everything is dripping. And in the hills not so far above us, it's not dripping but snowing.

Please take one minute of your day today to watch this video...
Per favore dedica un minuto oggi per guardare questo video...






Learn about the work of CEOP, the Child Exploitation and Online Protection Centre.

Autumn in Piemonte No. 2

A magnificent day! We started with 7° at 8:30 and by 12:30, the temperature had soared to 26°. Dry. Azure skies. Changing colours all around.

First snowfall on the nearest of the Swiss Alps, 14th October.

Seen from Cannobio

The first snow quickly melted away in the sunshine. But today, any peak worth its salt round about is again tipped white.

All Souls

All Souls has turned out grey, misty and dribbling mournful rain.

The children are sick. The cats are sick. The chickens are moulting and definitely look sick. Oh yes, and Mama is sick. And we're now into our fourth week of continuous sickness, and I've counted at least five separate bugs.

When you're considering motherhood, why does no-one ever tell you about autumn term at kindergarten?

Autumn in Piemonte No. 1

This All Saints is grey, overcast and damp, with the early-morning shots of the Sunday hunters muffled by the mist.

Clouds shredded on the teeth of the mountains.

Valle Cannobina, seen from Cannobio.

The Carmine Caption-Writing Contest

Another warm and sunny autumn day outside, but indoors we're looking pretty war-ravaged after a night of scuola sickness, kindergarten cough and five-year-old fever.

"That stupid cat'll never notice me behind this clover..."

Alternative captions in the comments box, pur-lease! Go on, give us a laugh!

Motherhood means... No. 18

It must be the phase of the moon, or perhaps the changing weather, but somehow this week, I'm beseiged and beset by little ones looking for love. Cats, kits, chicks, and kids have all sidled up to me in the last few days looking for some seriouser than usual hugs...

...and it came to me this morning that motherhood means being okay with the fact that the term "Love Machine" now means something different to what it meant in the mid-70s...

Saying it with flowers

A misty start to Wednesday. Ten degrees at 8:30am. A sunny outdoor lunchtime followed, ominously, by an overcast afternoon.

Every day, Cannobio's kindergarten kids are greeted by one special friend, who inscribes her welcome - salve - with flowers.

Can anyone tell me the name of the sculptor?

Quote of the week No. 29 : Affair of the heart

Fourteen degrees at 8:30am. Blue skies and a gentle breeze.

After yesterday's fifth birthday celebrations (in which a horde of pint-sized pirates descended on Cannobio's Oratorio in search of treasure, chocolate cake and mischief), I walked back up the hill by starlight, hand-in-hand with my first-born at the precise anniversary of his birth. And I truly felt the resonance of this sentiment :

Making the decision to have a child - it's momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking outside your body.

Elizabeth Stone (1801-1883) English writer and historian.

My autumn rose

Wednesday's rain brought slightly warmer weather. Yesterday, two little ducks at legs eleven. Warm enough to continue eating lunch outdoors in the blessed sunshine.

A rose for my little big guy. Happy birthday, darling.

Nature making art No. 3 : pomegranates

One of the things I love about Carmine Superiore is that every so often someone slips quietly through our narrow front door and leaves a little gift.

And I don't mean a cat looking for a quiet corner in which to do its private business...

On the old wooden bench - itself a gift - I have found great wheels of heavy dark bread from Franconia, a bottle of Pinot Noir from Bavaria, cheese from Hinterrhein, just beyond the San Bernardino tunnel, and fizz from Alsace. There have been walnuts fresh from F's tree and khakis from E's. Heaps of ripe plums and bags of bitter salad. And many times I have found magically-appearing Swiss chocolate for the children.

On Sunday, there were pomegranates. And the ghost of Vermeer shuffled his feet in a shadowy corner.

Autumn mist

Nine degrees and holding at 8:30am. The early mist finally resolved into rain, and by nightfall had resolved into mists again, threading through the woods and clinging to the chiesa like phantoms. All Souls is just around the corner.

Fiera degli allevatori

A less chilly 9° this morning at 8.30am. Probably something to do with the overcast skies. The mist over the lake today alternately concealed and revealed great flocks of tiny birds skimming and swirling their way south.

As a child living in leafy Warwickshire, a highlight of the school summer term was always The Royal Show, a livestock show that attracted the most beautiful cattle and horses from all over the UK, a plethora of rural craftsmen, and displays of equine and other country skills.

Oh yes, and the Royal Family.

As a teenager, The Royal Show stopped being a fun day out of the classroom and became a source of income, as I was there summer after summer in black pencil skirt, white blouse and sensible shoes, eagerly supplementing my pocket money by doling out fizz to blue-bloods.

Sadly, after 160 shows, The Royal Show is no more. A sign of the times, I guess, that the English no longer find it profitable to celebrate rural life, and the Royals are too busy pretending not to be royal to have time to swan around in open carriages and watch their nearest and dearest win the show jumping (again). I'm sad especially that the children from the nearby cities have lost such a grand opportunity to learn about what goes on beyond the suburbs. And that local people have lost a valuable source of seasonal work.

Sunday : To Traffiume, and Cannobio's fourth annual livestock fair. We saw piebald horses and and fed the Thelwell ponies. We saw some lovely cows and fell in love with a herd of beautiful black-faced Suffolks. We made the acquaintance of the tallest and most regal mule ever, and the tiniest of goats, no bigger than a Carmine cat, but smelling just as strong as its full-size cousins.

We tasted local cheese, local wine, local salami and, from the ladies of the Valle Cannobina in their traditional heavy pleated skirts and shawls, some delicious slivers of traditional torta.

Blokes in big boots stood around in knots, growling impenetrable dialect at each other. The women ditto, some minus the big boots. The children threaded their way through the crowds from one fold to another with hands full of the greenery most likely to give their chosen recipient-animal colic. The mayor, various members of the comunal giunta, and local vets ditto. All minus the greenery.

And of course, no autumn celebration in Piemonte is complete without the volunteers of the Croce Rossa building a big fire and roasting large quantities of chestnuts, and the chaps from the local band oom-paahing away somewhere nearby.

It was a great day out for children and adults alike, and I for one hope that it grows and attracts more breeders and particularly more local producers and artisans year on year.

And who needs the blue-bloods anyway?