Overnight snow appeared on the mountaintops of the Appennini to the northeast, so it must be time to get the christmas tree, or so says my four year old, but he’s been saying that for the last month, I’ve run out of excuses as to why we can’t go out and cut down a tree. Snow has arrived on the mountain tops, it’s not raining right now, Papa has come back from his business trip, Thanksgiving’s over, what else can I say to keep from having to live with a christmas tree, love them though I do, for the next 6 weeks.
Every day as we have driven the narrow winding mountain road to the bus stop we have talked about which tree we might take. The one right up next to the telephone pole, the telephone company will have to cut it down sooner or later anyway so no one would miss it, or the little one that is up behind all the others , it looks about the right size, and it’s stunted there anyway, in the shadow of all the others it’ll never thrive, we might as well take it, and surely no one would even notice it was gone.
We’ve lived here in the mountains of northwestern Tuscany, Italy is my husband’s native country, for over a year now but this will be the first year we will be able to fully enjoy all the traditions of the holiday season, his and mine. The season here begins unofficially on December 1st, when I was “allowed” to buy our first Panettone, the delicious bell shaped sweet bread baked with raisins and candied fruit.
The official beginning will be the evening of the 7th of December, the ceremony when the widest tree lined avenues to the narrowest alleys of the Old Town of Barga will come ablaze with lights spanning the buildings, the bells in the 11th Century Cathedral at the crest of the hill will ring steadily for an hour and afterwards there will be a concert.
The season continues with concerts and festivities. Christmas eve we will celebrate one of my traditions of opening just one gift and I will repeat the story of how when I was a kid, my brother gave me a present, he wouldn’t tell me which one it was under the tree, but if I guessed correctly and opened it, I could tell what all of my other gifts would be. It was a Ouiji board, and I didn’t guess correctly.
The season culminates on the morning of the Epiphany, January 6th, after the arrival of “La Befana” the wonderful bespectacled benevolent witch-like character dressed in rags and worn out shoes who flys in on her broomstick to leave small gifts, candies, nuts, mandarin oranges, in the childrens stockings.
This area is also known as The Land of the Presepe, the Crèche, which appears on every doorstep in all forms from the purely traditional to the highly unusual, and goes back to the 16th century commercial origins of the neighboring town of Coreglia, the birth place of the plaster figurine, developed by local crafstmen and itinerent salesmen. This local cottage industry continues today and exports are sent worldwide.
Sure enough, when I picked my son up today the first thing he said was, is it a nice clear day so we can go cut down the christmas tree? It is and so at cold clear dusk he and his father went off and came back with a voluminous fir, and to the music of Brenda Lee, Vince Guaraldi, Tchaikovsky and Pavrotti , nibbling on panettone,we decorated and admired it, and then my husband told his own purely invented story of “The Christmas Star.” Next year I’ve promised to do a Presepe too.
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