by Alessandra Ressa
From the beginning of summer, when I moved to Monte Prat in the Friuli Venezia Giulia Alps, there has been a surprising amount of wildlife visiting the surroundings of my tiny cottage.
It all began with a gentle-eyed deer one early morning, followed by curious foxes which mistook my doormat for a toilet bowl (no more snacks for them, I’m afraid), and wild rabbits, as big as dogs. Then came the wild boars which literally peeled the grass off my garden like you would peel a banana.
Toads have been the cause of great concern when I walked around the house at night, as it is probably the most unpleasant experience to step on one of them and hear their dying moans. Mice, a stunning amount of them this year because of an unprecedented food surplus, ran to and fro in a seemingly mocking attitude, reducing my tiny piece of property into Swiss cheese.
Weasels snacked on the candles I left outdoor and a handful of dormice, initially mistaken for ghosts, moved into my attic and began their whatever-they-do night activities, which, in the heavenly silence of this place, very much sounded like rolling balls and moving furniture. After the pest-control bill arrived, I wished there had been ghosts in my attic after all.
A gigantic hawk has taken on hunting very close to my house, making me fear for the life of my urban cats. Harmless snakes and dangerous vipers slither by on sunny days while I paint furniture. All the while, I keep receiving the nightly visit of the wolf like, tray dog known among villagers as Rocky. I thought I had seen it all when my neighbors’ donkey escaped from her stable and gobbled up all the flowers I had planted the day before.
You can only imagine my bewilderment when I caught the huge and wet tongue of a cow licking the handle of my entrance door and trying to get in. As the beast was crying in distress and I had never seen cattle so near, I figured it was probably young and lost. I also remembered the unsettling road sign about cows at the foot of Mount Corno, about two miles away.
As mobile phones barely work over here people don’t bother using them nor giving you their number. Most people don’t even own one. If they do give you their mobile number, rest assured it is because they know you’ll never get through and it is a polite way to say “I don’t want to have anything to do with you, so here’s my number”. On the other hand, if they do mean to be your friend, they will insist on visiting, and on forcing you to visit them, without prior notice.
It may be difficult for city dwellers, used to plan their every move at least a week in advance, to go to other people’s homes without previously announcing their arrival. I had a hard time getting used to it, and only did it as a kind of revenge after receiving dozens of unexpected visits a day, usually at the very moment I sat down to eat, stepped into the shower or started preparing my lessons.
I got quite used to this Friulano habit, and now I often show up at my neighbors’ door unannounced, especially at lunch or dinnertime when my fridge is empty. So I naturally went to my nearest neighbor, about half a mile away, with a photo of the lost animal. He immediately ordered me to follow the cow while he drove to a couple of farms. By the time I got home and the owner was identified, the bovine had long gone into the woods. Meanwhile, night was approaching.
I was heartbroken, which was source of laughter for my neighbors. Animals are animals, they explained, you shouldn’t feel too sorry for them. A search squad was organized. Some were on foot with flashlights, while others drove cars and tractors and took to the roads. I think they did it for me rather than for the cow. The owner Rinaldo, whose farm is several miles away (and who stunningly looks like composer Giuseppe Verdi!), did not seemed too worried though, and when by 11 pm there was still no trace of the missing cow, everyone went to bed.
The poor animal, after a whole night of thrilling freedom, was found safe and sound the next afternoon while nibbling on grass. As September begins, the dreaded season for hunting approaches, and with that the end of peace for residents and wildlife. I don’t think I’ll want to be here when men in combat fatigues invade this corner of paradise in their pickup trucks to point their rifles at harmless creatures.
There are so many delicious, genuine and nutritious foods in this area of Friuli today, I have a hard time understanding the pleasure of eating venison. Not to mention the high number of deadly accidents during the hunting season. Up here in Monte Prat many locals, rather than hunting, prefer to grow their own animals for meat. They also make great polenta to go with it, cooked on old wooden stoves called spolert.
Polenta, a corn flour meal, is the daily staple in this area and substitutes bread. It saved entire villages from starvation for centuries. Mountain Friulani use little cooking water and keep it very compact, cut it in thick slices and preserve it in foil, so that it can last for days.
The secret to making a real Friulano polenta will be revealed in Queen of the Forest, Part 4. Don’t miss it!
