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Borgo Musolesi

Conversations in the Grand Courtyard
In the afternoon, the elders of the borgo (village) used to pass the hours chatting, seated on a simple beam (log) in the grand (lower) courtyard where they used to thresh the grain. Talking freely with complete liberty, for any or all of the inhabitants of the village (in the houses or under the porticos) to hear , that in some way or another they would participate, listening to the conversations. Often villagers: Augusto Musolesi, Limpia Lumini, and Rosina Mazzetti (second wife of Augostini Musolei) would meet there on one of these beams. It was Augusto whom at a certain point would interrupt the gathering to get a snack. And in that precise instant, fantasy would get the upper hand, thinking of Nutella (among other things), “I’m going to get a sandwich with Donatella.”, Augusto would say. The two women rather, would debate on more serious arguments… Life, Death, or simply how to make it through another day. “I put away 50, 100 lire coins every month so that when I die I’ll have the money necessary!”, Rosina would say. Limpia, being very sweet and perhaps more concrete, wouldn’t think of sad things and would respond “Mé, con quii zinq frènc lé a còmperonna bèla butéglia ed Strega am la bév tòtta! (Myself, with those 100 lire coins, I’d buy a bottle of Strega and drink it all!)

The People of a Past Time

“They said it in the borgo (village)”: these are the phrases and the anecdotes of those who used to live in this group of poor homes made from stone which, more than any other thing, make up the “photography” of Borgo Musolesi. Phrases that the oldest inhabitants still remember and never tire of repeating, perhaps from fear of forgetting them, making seem almost real the facts and people that ARE no longer. It seems almost to hear those voices in the upper courtyard, in the lower courtyard, coming out of the houses, from under the arcades downcast by time. The Borgo is no longer like it was once upon a time. It´s no longer “antique” like it once was. It has changed. The houses, the streets, the people, and especially the world outside the Borgo, have all changed. Those who tell the stories all say that today the life is better than before. Musolesi, in the imagination of who found their actual roots here, remains overall a microcosm apart: a place of their infancy and their youth, the place of childrens´ care­free games, when the bell towers were still built, when at noon one would go to get water from the well, and one would chase another with nettles in hand, then to jump over a wall. A Borgo not only to remember but also to live.

(…) From

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