A Land Shaped by the Seasons

An ode to South Tyrol’s seasons and how absence makes the heart grow fonder

Something was wrong. I couldn’t pinpoint what exactly, but I knew that something was amiss, or rather, that something was missing. I was missing something, missing it a lot in fact. But what was it? In my younger days, I wasn’t missing anything. I found life in South Tyrol’s idyllic Alpine paradise stifling and cliché-ridden, so there was nothing to miss when I broke free and moved to a large, dirty, noisy city. It didn’t bother me how I was so far north that the sun hardly showed its face in winter. Or at least it didn’t bother me at first. I was young and I spent all night partying and most of the day sleeping it off. What did I need the sun for? But, at some point, as I got older it started to wear me down. At some point, I understood that here in this big city way up north, people spent every day and every hour of the long, dark winter looking forward to a brief spell of beautiful summer weather, which would hopefully arrive soon and couldn’t come soon enough. And when summer finally did arrive, they spent this short – always very short, in fact! – period of sunshine dreading the impending arrival of yet another long, dark winter. Yes, there was snow, but what good is snow without mountains or sunshine? It was madness!

I realised that it is the ever-changing seasons that make life in my homeland of South Tyrol so worth living. I love how in March skiers can still speed over the snowy slopes on the Plose, while down in the valley in Brixen/Bressanone spring is in the air, flowers are in bloom and you can enjoy your first summer drink of the year. Or how in autumn, during the Törggelen harvest festival, you can tuck into seasonal delicacies in a mountain inn up in the Eisacktal valley and admire the leaves ablaze with glorious reds, yellows and golds. And how at the end of winter you can look forward to spring, how the end of spring heralds the arrival of summer, how summer rolls into autumn and then it’s time to look forward to winter again.

Each season isn’t afraid to reveal its true, unique colours. Our lives – and often our work outside in nature – are shaped by the perpetual turning of the seasons. This is a source of happiness, with every season being savoured and enjoyed to the full. It’s a reflection of how, in life, the things we have to wait for, and which aren’t always just there for the taking, are the things which delight us the most. It’s these small moments – nature’s little cues that we see in our outdoor pursuits and local delicacies – which make us await the arrival of each season with joyful anticipation. When, for example, as spring wrestles with winter, you hike on the Gitschberg mountain and see the first colourful buds poking their heads above the white carpet of snow as if in a watercolour painting. Or when you’re strolling in the mountains above the Lüsner Alm Alpine pasture on a hot summer’s day and suddenly feel the first hint of autumn in the air. When in late October, as you’re roasting chestnuts, it starts snowing without warning and the children stare out at it, their wide eyes glued to the window as they imagine building a snowman the next morning as the sun shines in a cloudless sky. Or when, at the start of spring, you spend one final day on the slopes despite the snow already being wet and sticky by 10am. As you enjoy a last glass of sparkling wine in the ski lodge and carve a few final turns in the snow, you’re already thinking ahead to your first day of bathing at the Schrüttenseen mountain lakes.

A few years ago, I left the large, noisy, dark city behind me and returned to the mountains. Will I stay here for good? Who knows. If I do, it will be the four elements of happiness – spring, summer, autumn and winter – which will keep me here and make it impossible to leave.

Text — LENZ KOPPELSTÄT TER