My father was very fond of walking in the mountains.
I do not think he ever did in my youth as an application of sport and pleasure, but had learned the hard work of walking speed on foot with the then indispensable part of any military training.
Yet in the last twenty years of his life he rediscovered the pleasure of walking: he loved to take long walks in the mountains, sometimes close to home (Monte Pellegrino, Monte Cuccio, Pizzo Manolfo), sometimes on Madonie, as a base - the most of the time - the Alpine Club huts Siciliano (CAS) Piano Zucchi, initimamente connected to family memories.
The mountain was in the true sense of the word (even if benevolent sense) an obsession, for example, He loved the ruggedness of Rocca Busambra, so when we moved in space in the heart of Sicily, he seemed to see its mass impressive anywhere, while he was driving, yelled Here! Ecoola, Busambra Rock ", a little 'how did whale of a time when perched aloft sula mast shouting "Thar she blows!"
often, me and my cousins \u200b\u200bwent with him: it was difficult to walk, because my father did not like to stay too long. So, in general, we moved pretty quickly and most of the time, for lunch, we were already back, ready to make another quick hike in the afternoon before leaving.
With some frequency, we used to go to the hut in the mountains of Piano Zucchi the entire weekend. And I have a very nice memory of those weekends where we were often (but not exclusively) together with my mother and my brother.
Just as often, Dad liked to go alone.
I think that this way of approaching the beauty of the mountains in Sicily was a way to "recharge" and to cope with the relentless hard work that awaited him in the new week would open within a few hours, but also to rediscover the serenity and to "get on the run" in some way from the worries of life.
I think it was for this that daddy adore, in fact, be alone when he walked.
was closer to heaven when it reached one of the peaks Madonie: I think even he liked this feeling, to him, while being able to deal with the most diverse practical skills, was an idealist with a belief that they can change the world with the power of culture or to be able to make it better.
Until he made his last walk.
Shortly before his death (in 1970) was opened a new shelter to the CAS plan Always, 1300 m above sea level, just above Castelbuono and on the slopes of Pizzo Carbonara.
His last excursion took place right here: I remember that sometimes we went together (there were also my my cousins, with whom my father was always very affectionate) to enjoy the beauty of trails that climb the side of the mountain through thick beech woods, up on to the large iron cross erected right on the ridge of Pizzo Carbonara at a point jutting out over the breathtaking views.
the thirtieth of his death, Refuge Plan Sempria veins called to him to remember his great passion for his Madonie.
A friend wrote, in the first issue of MPs Sicilian Chronicles (the monthly magazine of the Regional Assembly, which he directed for 13 consecutive years) came out after his death (Aldo Scimé, Memory of Francesco Crispi ):
I do not think he ever did in my youth as an application of sport and pleasure, but had learned the hard work of walking speed on foot with the then indispensable part of any military training.
Yet in the last twenty years of his life he rediscovered the pleasure of walking: he loved to take long walks in the mountains, sometimes close to home (Monte Pellegrino, Monte Cuccio, Pizzo Manolfo), sometimes on Madonie, as a base - the most of the time - the Alpine Club huts Siciliano (CAS) Piano Zucchi, initimamente connected to family memories.
The mountain was in the true sense of the word (even if benevolent sense) an obsession, for example, He loved the ruggedness of Rocca Busambra, so when we moved in space in the heart of Sicily, he seemed to see its mass impressive anywhere, while he was driving, yelled Here! Ecoola, Busambra Rock ", a little 'how did whale of a time when perched aloft sula mast shouting "Thar she blows!"
often, me and my cousins \u200b\u200bwent with him: it was difficult to walk, because my father did not like to stay too long. So, in general, we moved pretty quickly and most of the time, for lunch, we were already back, ready to make another quick hike in the afternoon before leaving.
With some frequency, we used to go to the hut in the mountains of Piano Zucchi the entire weekend. And I have a very nice memory of those weekends where we were often (but not exclusively) together with my mother and my brother.
Just as often, Dad liked to go alone.
I think that this way of approaching the beauty of the mountains in Sicily was a way to "recharge" and to cope with the relentless hard work that awaited him in the new week would open within a few hours, but also to rediscover the serenity and to "get on the run" in some way from the worries of life.
I think it was for this that daddy adore, in fact, be alone when he walked.
was closer to heaven when it reached one of the peaks Madonie: I think even he liked this feeling, to him, while being able to deal with the most diverse practical skills, was an idealist with a belief that they can change the world with the power of culture or to be able to make it better.
Until he made his last walk.
Shortly before his death (in 1970) was opened a new shelter to the CAS plan Always, 1300 m above sea level, just above Castelbuono and on the slopes of Pizzo Carbonara.
His last excursion took place right here: I remember that sometimes we went together (there were also my my cousins, with whom my father was always very affectionate) to enjoy the beauty of trails that climb the side of the mountain through thick beech woods, up on to the large iron cross erected right on the ridge of Pizzo Carbonara at a point jutting out over the breathtaking views.
the thirtieth of his death, Refuge Plan Sempria veins called to him to remember his great passion for his Madonie.
A friend wrote, in the first issue of MPs Sicilian Chronicles (the monthly magazine of the Regional Assembly, which he directed for 13 consecutive years) came out after his death (Aldo Scimé, Memory of Francesco Crispi ):
Then, suddenly vanished: it was in Bayreuth or Brussels or Strasbourg, or more simply, rowing (rowing champion was) or on Madonie to wander the mountains, alone, with a stick, perhaps they drew the strength to break dispose of disillusionment, disappointment, pain of incomprehension. But all these Things did not stop him. Reappeared serene and smiling, with the strong and steady pace of one accustomed to walking on rough mountain trails and has a long way to go (Sicilian Chronicles of Parliament, 5-6, 1972, p. 387)
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