“My” mountains go back a long, long way: all the way back in fact to the age-old interaction with man as both shepherd and farmer. A story that began thousands and thousands of years ago; a story of deforestation, of pastures and seasonal migration, of subsistence agriculture in difficult areas and conditions that bordered at times with the impossible.
Slowly, over the course of centuries and millenniums, the original environment was transformed as the daily struggle to survive in this rugged territory unfolded.
The landscape that we now admire amidst the white limestone cliffs, the deep valleys, the immense plateaus, the forests, and the arid slopes that in late spring are covered with masses of beautiful blossoms, appears to be the very essence of unspoiled nature but it is really the unique product of a relationship – ambivalent, complex, far from peaceful – between man and these mountains.

Still today this interaction continues incessantly, even though it has acquired new features: a new awareness, but at the same time, the ability to intervene, modify, and exploit the spaces at higher altitudes to our own advantage has become so much more urgent and threatening.

Notwithstanding these premises however, the original wild spirit, Genius loci, is quite alive and still lingers in these mountains pervading them to the remotest corners and together with a mysterious aura defines their character. You can sense this on the mountain tops conquered with great effort after very long treks, on the mountain crests, the ravines, among the old trunks of the ancient and remote forests.

Each time I venture into these locations, I abandon myself and allow this spirit to guide my steps and render me more alert and sensitive to the subtle messages that the landscape sends out to those who have the heart and humility to receive them.