A Tree Grows in Auregino

4/27/2024

Times change. Trees grow.

Cathy took this picture with her trusty Kodak Instamatic in May of 1974. The stamp on the back says it was printed that month. For you youngsters, there was a time . . . doesn’t seem that long ago . . . when you put a spool of film in your camera, took twelve photographs, left the film at the drug store where it was “developed” and three weeks later retrieved your prints. The date stamped on the back by the Kodak Company was the only means by which you could tell when the photograph was taken

As we drove down a small lane in Auregino this morning, Cathy stopped the car and asked that I get out and take a photograph. She was certain we were at the same spot from which she took the picture fifty years ago, almost to the day. She didn’t know why. She just knew it was the exact same view as before.

Here is the photo I took with my trusty Apple iPhone 13 Pro Max. The time signature date in my phone says it was taken April 27, 2024 at 12:49 pm.

Time passes slowly in Auregino. The men in the Trattoria Giovanetti where Lara, a distant cousin tends bar, speak in hushed whispers, as I suspect men have for generations when strangers come in. They look up as Lara explains to Cathy that the cemetery in Gordivio no longer has “old graves.” Apparently, several years ago they were “turned over” to make room for new ones.

Space is limited, Lara explains.

Doesn’t seem right to me, but I suppose, if you go back as far as these folks do, some re-composting is necessary.

Not so the graveyard in Auregino where, as Cathy walked from the gravestone of her great-great grandfather Giovanni Vanoni to a marker nearby, a kind woman named Sonya couldn’t help but notice Cathy’s interest in the Spandini family. Communication was difficult until I asked if Sonya might speak French. I was able to interpret for the two and soon Sonya became choked up as it became clear she and Cathy were also distant cousins.

We parted company with Sonya when, not a moment later, the bell tower in the church began to chime. Cathy took this as a sign from her grandmother and became choked up herself. Both of her grandmothers, Cathy explains, are trying to one up one another with dramatic signs from the great beyond. First, Grammy in Ireland. Now, her Grandmother Perry in Italy.

It is getting a little spooky. Any more relatives chime in and I may start going to church myself.

We came back to the hotel tonight. Our view is spectacular.

Sitting down to compare the two photographs, Cathy seems disappointed that the view of the chapel from the hillside is not exactly as she remembered it. She faults her memory. I remind her that fifty years, though it may seem a moment to her, is time enough for a tree to grow. She laughs, then grows quiet, lost in thought.

It has been a rainy day, but far from melancholy. We explored Valle Maggia and the nearby Valle Verzasca. We crossed footbridges dating back to before her Nona was born. (I had to damn near cross the last one on my knees when my Parky’s kicked in and I got the shakes. But Cathy helped me find my footing and I managed not to do a nose dive into the river.)

Times change. Trees grow. Our footing grows shaky. Space becomes limited. The dead make way for the dead.

But, church bells still strike the hour, aqua blue water still rushes down from snow covered slopes peaking through the clouds. And our families, like stone bridges, will endure long after we are gone.