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  • While driving across the isolated Po river valley, the countryside is like a place lost in time. Every season is like a frame that helps you to see the different colors, but the desolation you feel is just the same. Abandoned and crumbling farms whose courtyards where once the centre of life, completely bare. Only some old rusted piece of farm equipment is left, under the fall rain or the hottest summer sun.

    I often think about life back then in the ol’ good times and I imagine people living with not much, but in dignity. The tales of the elderly got to me through the words of those who enjoyed life in the countryside and loved it as it was, living it together with other human beings, as a big family. There wasn’t time to be spent alone, locked in the house; life was happening in the fields, in the barns and on the farmyards. The sense of community was the glue that kept our society going.

    Cement is now taking all the fertile land, it’s getting the upper hand, it’s threatening our lives faster than we are able to realize. The few farms that resist fight their everyday struggle not to succumb to the same desolation I feel, while I drive across the plain. They want to keep their doors open, as farmers have always fed the world and they still want to continue to work with this Mother Land of ours.

    It’s like a relentless decline. I feel nostalgic thinking about how life is now and how much it has changed. When I was a child life was always lively and happy on a farm; there was always something to do and a bunch of people going all over the places. Even in poverty, there was always a bowl of soup to feed the poorest.

    Now, the hands of a few greedy want everything they can get from the land, with no limit. Once it's gone, they'll just want more. The few small farms left, swept away.

    Now, desolation and solitude.
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