I started my week hiking up the spine of the Appenine mountains at the Santuaria della Verna on Mount Penna, established by Saint Francis in 1213. It was a good place to start: the forest that Francis loved there has been protected for 800 years. I walked through a cathedral of giant boulders among the columns of ancient beech trees, full of birdsong and soft green light. Magic.
In the succeeding centuries the rest of the Appenine forests didn't fare as well. Timbering and especially charcoal production to fuel the Industrial Age stripped the slopes, resulting in massive erosion and flooding in the valleys below. So when the Casentino Forest Reserve was first established, there wasn't much forest left -- mostly the sacred forests preserved around the other hermitages. But since then, a miracle worthy of St. Francis, and the pride of the Italian Forest Service. Day after day I climbed through vibrant young forests of oak, beech and fir -- none of the trees older than I am, but already rebuilding the soil and streams. I sat quietly and watched a wild boar snuffle through the leaves, and later that day found a large wolf scat full of boar's hair. Owls called in the night, and birds sang all day -- these mountains are alive again!
Each day, distant noon church bells would draw me down a side ridge to a little village, to have a wonderful lunch in the only cafe and practice my rough Italian. Local folks were unfailingly helpful when I was lost, or just looking for coffee.
Toward the end of my week, I found myself walking in a thunderstorm through a dripping beech forest, with the birds singing between thunderclaps, and I felt perhaps a little of the joy and wonder that Francis found in these mountains, and the sacred forests that he loved so well.
In the succeeding centuries the rest of the Appenine forests didn't fare as well. Timbering and especially charcoal production to fuel the Industrial Age stripped the slopes, resulting in massive erosion and flooding in the valleys below. So when the Casentino Forest Reserve was first established, there wasn't much forest left -- mostly the sacred forests preserved around the other hermitages. But since then, a miracle worthy of St. Francis, and the pride of the Italian Forest Service. Day after day I climbed through vibrant young forests of oak, beech and fir -- none of the trees older than I am, but already rebuilding the soil and streams. I sat quietly and watched a wild boar snuffle through the leaves, and later that day found a large wolf scat full of boar's hair. Owls called in the night, and birds sang all day -- these mountains are alive again!
Each day, distant noon church bells would draw me down a side ridge to a little village, to have a wonderful lunch in the only cafe and practice my rough Italian. Local folks were unfailingly helpful when I was lost, or just looking for coffee.
Toward the end of my week, I found myself walking in a thunderstorm through a dripping beech forest, with the birds singing between thunderclaps, and I felt perhaps a little of the joy and wonder that Francis found in these mountains, and the sacred forests that he loved so well.
