There are places that need no grand words, because they already speak through the silence of their stones.
The Cona di San Martino is one of them. A humble wayside shrine in the countryside, set along the path of those coming back from the fields, when San Vito Romano was made above all of vineyards, olive groves, worked land and hands marked by toil.
For the farmers climbing under the sun, with baskets full of fruit and vegetables, the Cona was shelter and rest. Seeing it meant that the hardest part of the walk was over: they had reached level ground. They would stop, set down the weight of the baskets and of the day, pray and give thanks. Then their eyes would look for the town in the distance, for their own homes, perhaps already lit by the first lights of evening.
It was the moment when tiredness gave way to anticipation: the meeting with family, with loved ones, with the warmth of home. A meeting of love, simple and deep.
In the 1990s, with the help of the Pro Loco and of many willing townspeople, I had the good fortune to take part in the restoration of this small, precious place. On that occasion, on a wooden board, we entrusted these words to memory:
“In this place so dear to us and to our fathers,
which stirs evocative memories of times gone by,
shelter and rest for farmers worn out
by the toil of the climb;
thanksgiving and praise for reaching level ground,
an enchanting view of their own homes,
a meeting of love, of passion.
A simple, humble, magical place,
reluctant to yield to the passing years
and so preserved in its original purity.
In this place now abandoned, forgotten,
near and yet far away in time,
as happened and often happens
in a hut in which…
a great light was kindled…
for one single great family of Human Beings
in their highest aspiration.
A Good Life to All of us.”
Today the Cona perhaps looks more alone, wrapped in vegetation and in the years. But it is enough to stop for a moment in front of its arch to still feel the passing of those coming back from work, the rustle of the leaves, the low voices of evening and that ancient longing to get home.
Let us not allow these places to become nothing more than forgotten stones.
They are living pages of our history.
They are the silent heart of our land.
The image is a reconstruction created with artificial intelligence.