A CURTAIN OF PURPLE WISTERIA

A CURTAIN OF PURPLE WISTERIA

A curtain of purple Wisteria …

Do you recognize which quote this line belongs to?

The wisteria I am telling you about, however, is not located on an avenue, and for that very reason it struck me very much.

The wisteria I want to tell you about sat along a country lane, expanding in its natural, wild architecture, without being an embellishment to anyone.

I like the idea that it has done well here in Lomellina, a place with characteristics quite different from its homeland.

In China wisteria is called Zǐténg 紫藤 i.e. blue vine, even the German name: Blauregen is inspired by the color.

Wisteria, on the other hand, comes from the Greek glýkis γλύκης meaning sweetness.

Name inspired by scent therefore, rather than color. Curious, isn’t it?

What strikes you most about wisteria?

Personally, I would say the color. In particular I have the memory of the arbor at the mill where my grandparents lived.

And in general what strikes you about flowers: the scent?

What is your favorite flower

What do you associate the thought of flowers with?

I found myself thinking that, just like this wisteria, I would love for other kinds of beauty to take over space, we would need it so much, wouldn’t we?

Maybe mine is tiredness, but sometimes I feel crushed by all the ugliness that surrounds us in our daily lives, after all, little would be enough to improve each other’s lives, and instead the common trend is heading exactly the opposite.

It is said that Wisteria for Japanese culture represents love and longevity, I ask for confirmation from those who are very knowledgeable on the subject, but in the meantime I would like to take it as a wish, adding my personal interpretation of this wisteria: freedom.

Shard by shard we are released from the tyranny of so-called time. A curtain of purple wisteria partially conceals the entrance to a familiar garden… In a wink, a lifetime, we pass through the infinite movements of a silent overture.

THE THREAD OF INFINITY IS TIED TO THE PAW OF EVERY FLYING BIRD

THE THREAD OF INFINITY IS TIED TO THE PAW OF EVERY FLYING BIRD

The thread of infinity is tied to the paw of every flying bird

I find that this sentence by Victor Hugo somehow fits the thoughts that this video by Ugo De Cresi gives:

Do you understand why I get angry when Lomellina, this land of rice paddies and beauty is poisoned

Don’t you seem to really perceive that thread of infinity that is mirrored, like the sky, and leads you to breathe in a better dimension?

That flight of sacred Ibis is a melody of freedom and harmony.

Yet, the Ibises are not at home, indeed, environmentalists consider them an invasive species because they are not native, a bit like the otters.

But how did they get here?

The man brought them to us.

Always we who break the balance …

Paradoxically, they turn out to be extinct in Egypt, where they were depicted as the representation of the god Thot.

According to Treccani, Thot was revered as the god of writing and magic formulas, and obviously I can’t help but think immediately about the magic of books!

What is the book that triggered the magic for you?

What is the book that made you feel at home like an Ibis in Lomellina?

What is the book that made you fly tied to the infinity thread?

RICE FIELDS DON’T RISE FEELINGS

RICE FIELDS DON’T RISE FEELINGS

According to the annual report published by the National Rice Authority, Lomellina and Pavese are confirmed as the area with the greatest extension of rice paddies.

“The checkered sea” as my cousin used to say when we were children… yes, here we are quite far from the sea and therefore we are content to find beauty with alternative visions.

The checkered sea or rice paddies.

Paddy fields but no laughter.

Or, quoting neorealism, bitter rice since the conditions of livability, or should I say mortality, due to high rate of cancers, certainly do not allow smiles.

I don’t get tired of periodically reiterating the high danger of the poisons we live with, because the damage they cause to the body is terrible.

But as Charlie Chaplin taught us, a day without laughter is a day wasted.

So if the smile is still a little difficult, I would say to start at least with rice.

The most typical recipes of Lomellina, to stay on the subject of rice fields… mention among the first risotto with frogs … 

But I would “jump” directly to something else like the simple ris e lac: rice with milk or risotto with black-eyed peas.

Or, better still: why not take a longer jump outside the borders of Lomellina?

The caustic misanthrope proposed a tartare with Nero rice which to describe as delicious is few, and then she also told me about red rice!
I am a mess so on the first try I got the cooking time wrong but … you learn by making a mistake!
Thanks Lu!

Also on Paola’s blog: Primo non sprecare – First don’t waste, which I advise you not to miss, you will find a long series of recipes for cooking rice enriched with valuable advice, and they are one more interesting than the other!

I don’t know if I can choose, and you?

How about: can we dare a Keep Calm version?
Proposals are accepted!

IN LOMELLINA FIELDS

IN LOMELLINA FIELDS

Poppies are nice, they are simple, they are spontaneous, they are impressionists laughing they are light, they are cheerful, they are summer, they are color, they are warmth.

But they also become sad, when they represent the symbol that John Mc Crae chose to remember the victims of war.

At the beginning of the First World War, John McCrae was asked to join 1st Brigade, Canadian Field Artillery as the Medical Officer. In May 1915 during the heaviest fighting of Second Battle of Ypres, McCrae and his dressing station were within site of the Essex Field cemetery. After 17 exhausting days and the death of a comrade, Lieutenant Alexis Helmer, her wrote his immortal poem “In Flanders Fields.”

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Here recited by Leonard Cohen

 

This made me think of Lomellina, its poppies and its victims of a silent massacre, which is not even a war, because basically nobody or almost no one cares.

I have already spoken of silent deaths, of herbicides, of glyphosate, of PM 2.5 and of liveability that are open wounds for me.

So we should not be surprised if once in a while some newspaper launches a news that is a little more taken up, but which in the meantime has already been forgotten in favor of other arguments, including aliens.

And we should not be surprised if an interception only confirms what we already know, that is, that unscrupulous people do not care in the least about the damage caused by the poisons that spill into our territories in the form of “sludge” in order to earn, indeed, they joke about it. .

It is not true that “hurting the environment and the territory is equivalent to not having hurt any physical person.”

Many people will get sick and will have to fight with all their might.

WALKING ON THE VIA FRANCIGENA

WALKING ON THE VIA FRANCIGENA

As often happens, Monica tells me a good story, but this time it is not written in a book: the story of Cindy Nanette and Mina, and it is only at the beginning.

They left Pontarlier in France on September 10th and are planning to arrive in Rome for Christmas.

These days they are in Lomellina: today in particular in Mortara, after having made a stop yesterday in Robbio

I, who was a child, let’s say … a little earlier laughing I immediately thought of Remi, Joli Coeur, Capi and Zerbino, but beyond the poetic image I find the message that embodies leaving now really important.

Since it was declared a Cultural Itinerary, the Via Francigena has taken on a further role in addition to the spiritual one and initiatives connections and contacts have multiplied, thanks also to the web network that offers valid background support.

What struck me, however, is the particular “historical moment”: while everyone closes, while more or less visible barriers arise, Cindy Chopard sets out, relying on the good heart of the people and hospitality.

The idea of reaching the goal for Christmas is not of secondary importance. Curious coincidence: I underlined the 100 days countdown  exactly one month ago.

But as the scenario changes from day to day, perhaps never as now we are all living in the uncertainty of what this Autumn, which is presenting its first colds, and the next Winter will have in store for us.

So everyone has before her/him a sort of journey made up of different steps, to be taken more or less metaphorically, during which we can perhaps follow some other stages of Cindy and her traveling companions.

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