Fog, Dogs, and Old Rituals

In the fog of Novara

The fog was the first thing I noticed. Not the soft, romantic kind that drifts lazily across a hillside, but the dense, grounded fog of the Po Valley, that transforms the world into a series of silhouettes and half-formed shapes. We drove up in his old Toyota Land Cruiser before dawn; the headlights cutting narrow tunnels through the gray. By the time we parked on the flats, the fog had swallowed everything.

Fog like that changes your sense of reality. You don’t see the landscape — you feel it. The cold settles into your clothes, the air tastes metallic, and every sound seems both distant and close at the same time. Cars passed somewhere out on the road, muffled and directionless. Other hunters were already out, their figures moving like shadows across the fields. Even their dogs worked in silence. No barking, no chaos, just instinct, discipline, and purpose.

The Dogs

His two Springer spaniels shifted in their crates at the back of the Land Cruiser, alert and ready. I remember standing there with him under the open hatch, both of us watching the dogs as we bolstered our energy with hot coffee. I made a comment about how pretty Macchia’s face was (she had that soft, expressive look spaniels often have, all gentle eyes and feathered ears).

And in the very next second, she turned on the other dog with a snarl so sudden and ferocious that we both jumped. Teeth bared, eyes blazing — the complete opposite of “pretty.” The timing was perfect, and we burst out laughing; the sound restored the sweet look to Macchia's face. It was one of those small, human moments that stay with you long after the greater details fade.

Walking the Rice Fields

I wasn’t there to hunt. I was there because he wanted to share this part of his life with me, a part shaped by early mornings, working dogs, and a tradition older than either of us. And for someone who lives so comfortably in solitude, who needs it the way some people need noise, the invitation meant more than I ever said out loud. There’s a quiet significance in being welcomed into someone’s world, especially one rooted in ritual.

As we walked along the dirt road, the landscape revealed itself in fragments. The rice fields stretched out in every direction, though I could only see a few meters ahead. The cascine — those old farmhouses scattered across the countryside — appeared and disappeared like ghosts. I rarely saw anyone around them, and their emptiness gave them a kind of mystery, as if they were holding stories they weren’t ready to share.

Hunting Traditions

The older generation still moves with the land, not around it. Hunting here is more than a sport; it’s a thread woven into survival, agriculture, and identity. There’s a synergy between people and place, a respect for the land, for the animals, and for each other. Out here, that respect isn’t optional. It’s necessary. You don’t take careless steps in a fog this thick nor ignore boundaries. You don’t forget that the land provides, and the land demands.

Watching the hunters and their dogs, I understood something I hadn’t before. These weren’t house pets or companions in the way we think of them. They had purpose. They had roles. They were partners. And the men trusted them — trusted their instincts, their training, their connection to the land. There was something beautiful in that partnership, something ancient.

The wonder of an invitation

I stood there in the fog, a quiet observer in a world that wasn’t mine, and felt the beauty of being included. It's like opening shutters and letting others see into your home. In contrast, fog has a way of hiding everything until you walk toward it. Traditions are like that, too. You don’t understand them from a distance. You understand them by stepping into the quiet, into the cold, into the mystery — by being invited in.

And for someone who loves solitude as much as I do, who often chooses the comfort of being alone, that morning reminded me of something simple and human:

Sometimes the most meaningful moments are the ones where someone opens a door to their world and lets you stand beside them, even if only for a little while.