I was 5 years old. He was walking ahead of me. I was staring at his back bent and his hands were one on the top of the other. I clearly remember them: big, bony and strong. I was sure of what he had in his mouth: a pipe. And, I was imitating him, but with a straw. My sister was behind me. It was summertime and we were in the “gelso rosso” garden.
He taught me about respect for the land, patience, and respect. Then I understand why, without that land, I feel like I am missing a piece. I didn’t know that I was learning and he didn’t know he was teaching me.
WHO WAS HE? HE WAS MY UNCLE. FOR THE RECORD, HE WAS MY MOTHER’S UNCLE, BUT FOR ME HE WAS LIKE A GRANDFATHER. HE WAS A TRUE MASTER.
Since those summers, many years have passed. I studied, I travelled and then I came back where I started. As we have Africa blues, maybe there is Murgia blues. Murgia is my home, with its gentle and yellow hills, where sun strikes hard and you can see the sea far away and Gargano promontory, on clear days. And then there are olive trees. They have been standing there for centuries, chasing light and desperately seeking for water.
I take care of the land which I belong to, combining the desire to experience past and present.
I was 5 years old. He was walking ahead of me. I was staring at his back bent and his hands were one on the top of the other. I clearly remember them: big, bony and strong. I was sure of what he had in his mouth: a pipe. And, I was imitating him, but with a straw. My sister was behind me. It was summertime and we were in the “gelso rosso” garden.
He taught me about respect for the land, patience, and respect. Then I understand why, without that land, I feel like I am missing a piece. I didn’t know that I was learning and he didn’t know he was teaching me.
WHO WAS HE? HE WAS MY UNCLE.
FOR THE RECORD, HE WAS MY MOTHER’S UNCLE, BUT FOR ME HE WAS LIKE A GRANDFATHER. HE WAS A TRUE MASTER.
Since those summers, many years have passed. I studied, I travelled and then I came back where I started. As we have Africa blues, maybe there is Murgia blues. Murgia is my home, with its gentle and yellow hills, where sun strikes hard and you can see the sea far away and Gargano promontory, on clear days. And then there are olive trees. They have been standing there for centuries, chasing light and desperately seeking for water.
I take care of the land which I belong to, combining the desire to experience past and present.
