Anyone who has spoken to me over the last few weeks has heard my complaints about fall in southern Italy. While the sea and palm trees are beautiful, something doesn't quite feel right about autumn without all the plants changing color. It's odd coming home without fire colored leaves hiding in the hood of my jacket or stuck to the bottoms of my shoes. So when I stepped out of the car in a tiny town in Basilicata last Sunday I was overcome with joy. Wreaths decorated with leaves and berries adorned the houses and the air was filled with the warmth of woodsmoke. The occasion was a festival of chestnuts, and the amount of fall spirit all around was unbelievable. Freshly roasted chestnuts were sold in little paper cones and the streets were covered in the discarded shells. Cornstalks were tied to the trees and hay bales stood at the entrance to the main street. Afterward we headed to a nearby lake that transported me back to Oregon. The beauty and diversity here constantly amazes me.
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| The main street bustling with people. |
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| Nothing like a woven cornucopia full of dried corn to make it feel like fall. |
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| My chapter mate Elki in a festive alleyway photography showcase. |
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| Me on the shore of the lake where we picnicked. |
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| Photogenic decorated houses. |
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