The things you see in the forest

>I met a man in the woods today. When I say I met a man in this time that I live in Italy, I do not mean a muscled man with dark wavy hair, a strong mustache, and a good 4 inches of height on me. I mean an 83 year old nonno who wants to find some earthy delicacies in the forest.

I thought he was a hobbit. I walked closer to him as he intrepidly started going straight up the steepest part of the hill. He was too far away for me to have a reason to demand his attention. So I walked on with my eyes on him. He had a basket in one hand and a cane in the other. His green trousers, so typical of the older generation, had a red plaid shirt tucked into them. He had a great green hat with the brim half-folded up with a camel colored jacket on top. I was certain he was searching for mushrooms. I was so impressed with the way he hopped up that hill. I thought he was a hobbit because he was short and wide as a kettle. But not short like in the “he is a midget” kind of way, but in the “his legs look like they stopped growing at 12” kind of way. Automatically my heart belonged to him.

I walked on and soon found a different, much easier path that went up the same hill. Of course I hoped to meet him somewhere up there. I had a pleasant walk through the paradise of fall and after 15 minutes decided to go back home. My hopes were rewarded. As I reached the midpoint of my path I SAW HIM! I talked to him and he immediately asked me if I had found anything. Yes, he was searching for the mushrooms of the forest. I told him I was just walking. I asked him how to see the mushrooms, as the ground was covered with leaves, mud, etc. He answered. Understanding his hands and only one word (piantas=plants) I figured it was as hard as I imagined it to be. You probably have to move every plant.

He walked on and I stood there contemplating why I didn’t go with him. You know how indecisive I get. I stood longer still asking myself if I really wanted to go with him. Finally, I decided yes and RAN in pursuit of the old man. Probably scared him a little bit as I came crashing through the forest. Wild boars dwell here and I might have sounded just like one. He looked surprise and said something like “it is you!” when I approached him. I asked if I could stay with him for five or so minutes, but he said he was finished and ready to leave. So we walked down the path together. I know my accent can’t be too great, but he thought I was from Italy. He was so excited when I said I was from the United States. He was so sweet after and said, “I will talk slower and easier for you!” I am always so grateful when people find their own initiative to help me. Not that I really understand. I just laugh when he does. His is funny like Spur's in The Man From Snowy River.

We walked and talked of age, life and death. Heaven and Hell and if there really is a difference. We talked of my work and that we might see each other again because he picks up his grandson from school. When we reached his car he bid me to be careful as I returned home. I walked with a new spring in my step, wondering if all the words I didn’t understand were of the Piemontese dialect. Forever he will be my hobbit. I am sure that when J.R.R. Tolkein envisioned short, stout, wide, roundish people who venerate food he was talking about the old men in the hills of Torino. I very much hope to see him again.