What grows together, goes together: this sentiment perfectly captures Giacomo, the chestnut farmer from San Zeno, who has dedicated his life to the land and the chestnut trees. On a sunny slope of Monte Baldo, 74-year- old Giacomo still lives in the small stone house that has belonged to his family for generations.
He is a man who shapes not only the landscape but also the heart of this region – a living guardian of traditions and knowledge that have been passed down through centuries. For Giacomo, the chestnut tree is more than just a tree; it symbolizes home, survival, and the interplay between humanity and nature.
On a golden autumn day, I meet Giacomo in his garden, adorned with chestnuts and autumn leaves. He greets me with a firm handshake, his hands rough and strong from a life spent outdoors. "Every tree here is like a friend," he says with a warm smile that sparkles in his bright eyes. "I know them all, understand how old they are, when they bear fruit, and how to care for them."
Giacomo tells me how, as a child, he learned to tend the chestnut groves alongside his father. Back then, there were no machines; everything was done by hand, using tools that often belonged to his grandparents.
The stories flow from him like a river: the donkeys trudging up and down the Mulini paths, laden with heavy baskets of chestnuts that were patiently harvested and sorted. The evenings when villagers gathered around the fire, roasting the fruits and singing old songs. "In the past," Giacomo recounts, "chestnut flour was our bread. It wasn't just food; it connected us – with each other and with the land."
In the 1990s, along with a handful of other farmers, he founded the "Associazione del Marrone di San Zeno," driven by a deep conviction: the chestnut tradition had to be preserved, not just as an economic resource but as a cultural heritage. He proudly shares how the Marrone di San Zeno received the DOP designation in 2003, a recognition that honored the centuries-old knowledge and hard work of chestnut farmers. "It's not just about the fruits," he says, "but about understanding and respecting the land."
This is reflected in every movement he makes. With a long stick in hand, he shows me how he gently knocks the spiky chestnut burrs from the branches. A soft smile crosses his face as they fall to the ground – a sign that the harvest has begun. Giacomo crouches down, expertly picking up the prickly fruit and placing it in his woven basket. "I've been doing this my whole life," he says, with no trace of fatigue in his voice. "It's something you carry in your heart."
Giacomo speaks with a deep connection to nature that resonates in every story he tells. For him, the chestnut is not just a product; it’s a way of life. His eyes light up as he recalls how chestnut flour was once the centerpiece of every meal and how the chestnut festivals united the community.
He remembers evenings spent by the fireplace as a boy, watching his mother transform the flour into polenta while she shared stories of old times. "The chestnut festival is more than just a market," he says. "It's a celebration of life and memory."Today, Giacomo sees not just trees in his chestnut groves but a legacy he is proud to pass on to the next generation. As he brings the first chestnuts to the festival in autumn and the people in the market nod and smile at him, he feels: his work, his life, and the old trees are exactly where they belong.
Comments