Red Poppies and Communism

The children had been enrolled in the nursery school for only a couple of weeks, when they told me they had been invited to a birthday party.  At first I didn’t believe them.  How could they understand a possible invitation when they spoke practically no Italian. When did they learn the word “compleanno" (birthday)and who would have invited them?   

    

Later when we got home a woman with three children showed up at the gate.  Her name was Gabriella.  I’ve forgotten her last name and the name of the children.  Gabriella, her husband and her brood lived in a chalet above us on the hill.  The house was large and comfortable. The windows of the spacious living room framed the snow-covered mountains in the distance.   We were indeed invited for cake and juice the next afternoon.  It was the middle daughter’s birthday.  The kids had been playing together at school.

My children were excited and I was thrilled to make a friend and attend a social event.  The cold, rainy days had been long for Christopher and me.  We had few toys and it wasn’t possible to spend time outside.

Me, Charles,  Gabriella's husband, Gabriella and family on their balcony.

Gabriella and her husband were staunch Communists.  They fully believed in the Marxist doctrine.  It was incredible to me, because they were the poster children for a capitalistic success story.  Together they had grown a small chicken and egg business into a thriving affair.  They sold the eggs and when the hens were no longer producing at an acceptable rate, they sold them for meat.  I believe this sort of production was new at the time;  this was long before Perdue and Tyson.

One day we were invited to visit the chicken coops.  We met at the old abandoned farm house.  I was offered an espresso with grappa which I declined.  Then we headed for the long buildings that housed the chickens. The hens were squeezed into tight pens.They all wore tiny blinders so they couldn’t see each other and peck at each other.  A conveyor belt rolled along in front with grain for the chickens. Another conveyor belt carried away the feces.   The children helped gather the eggs. I helped Gabriella with a new shipment of baby chicks. Each one had to be picked up and held firmly while eyedrops were inserted in each eye. I can still recall in horror the smell, the racket and the inhumane treatment of those poor chickens.

What horrors lay ahead for this little chick?

See the temple on top of our hill?  It was a favorite place to play.

Sometimes when the weather was fine, Gabriella and her children would join us for a walk up to the top of our hill.  The kids played around a small stone temple and jumped on the rocks.  They made up a hundred games and seemed to understand each other with minimal language.  Of course they played with the poppies.  Did you know you can peel back the bright red petals and then press the black stamens into the back of your hand.  They leave a circular black mark like a stamp.