Lis Vinadis of Arta. 
All those concerned della storia della Carnia sanno, o dovrebbero sapere, che una volta tra Arta e Sutrio c’era il lago di Soandri. Il pianoro di Alzeri era franato nell’alveo del torrente But, creando una diga che aveva formato il lago. Una volta… ma quando?..
Il Grassi che oltre ad essere stato uno storico era un prelato e che quindi può essere senz’altro considerato degno di fede, sostiene che si trattava del Medioevo e precisamente dell’XI secolo. Per essere nato a Formeaso, a meno d’un chilometro dalla diga in questione, gli si dovrebbe poter credere anche quando, a conferma, ricorda che ai suoi tempi (siamo nel settecento) si vedevano ancora a Sutrio ai piedi della rocca sulla quale sorge la chiesa di Ognissanti gli anelli to which were attached to the boat.
"bullshit!" Marinelli said in his guide instead of echoing the Carnia Gortani. The lake was actually there as evidenced by the geological investigations, but a few thousand years ago, just in the post-glacial period.
Maybe there was still the man when he arrived in Carnia, at least six thousand years before Christ. Those early men saw the river But breaking the dam, drain the lake and take its natural course, and told their children that there was once a lake.
When? Once, not long ago ... I
the children repeated their children and grandchildren. So after eight thousand years, even my grandfather when I was a child, I told that once, like a short time ago, there was Sutrio Lake Soandri.
But the source of the lake in the story of my grandfather was much more complex and imaginative as well as the fat that gives fantasy in his history of Carnia proves to have a lot to be able to fill all the holes in the official history of blacks , to make the capital of Friuli Zuglio Lombard. A landslide from the mountain
Rivo dragged from the river along the slope of the Root of Alzeri slight slope up to block the flow of the river But if it is a historically proven fact it is still plausible. But for my grandfather's events were held in a much more complex, things went very differently ...
There is a race between San Pietro, who came from Rome to Carnia in order to build the church on the ridge overlooking the Roman municipium Iulium Carnicum, and the devil, who wanted to prevent the construction of a Christian in that outpost Carnia. The men who lived in those mountains, from envy, had all the seven deadly sins, and even a few more, so they were all his own, claimed the devil. San Pietro, meanwhile, countered that even for beef, the barbarians had died on the cross in Palestine the son of God
The devil was angry in particular with the inhabitants of Soandri, the country that stood where today there is City of Sutrio, because they had converted to Christianity en masse. There was the risk that their example was followed by other villages in the flesh, because, everyone could easily see how large the benefits were derived from the conversion. In other countries (then as now) was all wrong, indeed, to say the truth, worse, it rained when he had to weather, there was a sun break rocks when the campaign would need rain. For Christians Soandri however, everything went the right way. When they prayed that it would rain, Peter stops working mason, was to collect two or three clouds over the country and immediately began to rain. When the people begged him to do good weather conditions, with their fingers crossed St. Peter's, the sun could subito ad aprirsi un varco tra le nuvole, proprio sopra il paese.
Il diavolo non sapeva più che pesci pigliare. Pietro che di pesci s’intendeva se la rideva e continuava ad andare avanti con la sua costruzione, pietra dopo pietra, mentre il diavolo correva su e giù per la Carnia facendo brontolare il tuono, scagliando terribili saette sugli alberi più grandi e più belli della valle, ed ogni tanto scardinando persino le montagne con terremoti spaventosi.
A dire di mio nonno avrebbe sacraboltato tutta la Carnia, che tradotto dall’italofriulano vorrebbe dire che l’avrebbe messa sottosopra , se non gli fosse venuta in soccorso sua madre con una idea geniale. “Fai franare il monte di Rivo nel fiume e vedrai!” gli disse. Satana che per essere maschio non arrivava alla perfidia di sua madre, sulle prime non capì il suggerimento, ma ubbidiente come era verso sua madre, malgrado fosse un diavolo, diede subito ordine alle streghe di far rotolare dei massi dalle falde del monte di Rivo, fino a sbarrare il corso del torrente But.
“Meglio di così!…” pensarono gli abitanti di Soandri, che il giorno dopo si trovarono un piccolo lago, appena sotto il paese. “San Pietro per non perdere le abitudini s’è costruito un piccolo lago, ed ora insegnerà a pescare anche noi!…”
S’accorsero del trucco del diavolo solo la prima volta che chiesero a Pietro di far piovere. Mentre scrosciava la pioggia, the lake grew and grew ... and would have quickly overwhelmed the whole country ... "Come back to the peaceful!" had to beg in a hurry. Just in time .. because the water had already invaded the homes lower. But so, to avoid flooding the country, could no longer ask St. Peter to have the rain. The valley soon dries up, there was no fodder for animals, yellowed and dried up the corn fields of potatoes and beans, and spread a terrible famine.
"Save us!" Soandri asked the people of St. Peter, but even the first of the apostles had something against the curse of the witches in Landri who had made the immovable massi collocati a formare la diga. “E in effetti”, precisava mio nonno, “i sassi restarono lì a formare il lago finchè le streghe furono eliminate dalla Santa Inquisizione”. Al povero Pietro non restò altro da fare che, ( in modo, a dir il vero, molto poco cristiano!), ricambiare maleficio con maleficio, sortilegio con sortilegio.
“In eterno raschierete con le vostre mani le rocce del monte di Rivo”, gridò l’apostolo alle streghe, tanto arrabbiato che gli tremavano persino i peli della barba. “E sono ancora lì che con le mani grattano il monte” concludeva mio nonno. In realtà, anche oggi, il monte sembra quasi si stia sbriciolando a poco a poco lasciando emerge, where the rock is greater, the ridges reminiscent of the towers or steeples. These are precisely the tower (also known as bell-towers) of Lander, a popular tourist destination over the town of Arta Terme.
I thought about all these things and especially the story of my grandfather, my last evening climb to the statue of Our Lady of Lander, a devotion that has recently made one of the guard towers. Too tired, I found it hard to sleep and think about the strange mindset of Friuli. In our language there is the word "future", while the term "past" becomes a "once" unknown and timeless, a term that crushes a ending on the centuries and millennia to bring together St. Peter, who was forced to build the church alone, with witches called to build the dam of Lake Soandri. The word "once" is a timeless framework on which everyone leaves a stroke, until you change the original structure and the picture changes, making it appear new figures, new scenes.
The legend of the story of my grandfather, I thought, maybe it was superimposed on others that were told before, because even before Christianity was certainly someone felt the need to find an explanation for the strangeness of Mount Rivo, regular and woodland on other slopes, rocky, steep and crumbly, about what looks alla chiesa di S.Pietro.
Mi addormentai con questo pensieri e mi sognai di star salendo di nuovo ai torrioni dei Lander. Ad accompagnarmi nel sogno, invece di Gianluca che mi aveva seguito durante il giorno sbuffando contro il mio cane ed imprecando contro le vespe che sembrava l’avessero preso in particolare simpatia, c’era ora mio nonno.
“Vieni!”, mi diceva, dandomi fretta e prendendomi in giro per la fatica che facevo a salire i tanti tornanti della mulattiera, che da Alzeri sale ai prati posti a corona attorno alla vetta rocciosa del monte di Rivo. Di prati, in realtà, durante il giorno ne avevo visti soltanto due, stretti attorno a stavoli diventati ormai fatiscenti nella fatica inutile di difendersi dall’avanzare unstoppable in the forest. In the dream, however, everything was on the side lawn. And on, where there is now the last Stavoli, there was even a village of huts. And again ... More on the plateau that dominates the valley, where today there is a camp, a hut was larger than the others.
catch my breath I was on the path that finally, after a long climb, turn horizontally, across the undulating plateau, when I saw out of the large hut an old man dressed in white. Bianchi also had hair that fell long over his shoulders, his long white beard that covered his chest to the waist.
"Mandi Lander," the grandfather greeted him as if it were of an old friend. And no-show, as if I had been waiting a long time, the old man began to tell me how he was the Druid, the head of the village, such as around his hut there was a cemetery, the dead buried under the boulders scattered on the plateau, around the three large stones where the rites were celebrated in honor of God Belen. I noticed that in the dream, the three stones were much higher as we see now. "Over time the soil of the forest has certainly covered in part ..."
woke up, I remember having a dream reported by this notation on the stones and trivial but unfortunately they have no memory of the many things I had told the Lander Druid and explained during the times when we were sitting together watching the valley, waiting for the sunset. The light of the awakening that often erases the entire memory of what we wanted to see, however, was not able to eliminate from my mind the memory of what living in a dream and I could see, after leaving the Druid Lander, the first drop of the shadows evening.
was the night of full moon of midsummer, so to speak, for us the night of Saint John, June 24, even though our schedule based on days instead of nights, and therefore closer to the solstice that the full moon, it does coincide with the eve of St. John the full moon. The moonlight was so bright that the night was still only a shadow light, like a veil to cover the valley. Everything was different, as it were day. Even far away, unreal in that light you could clearly see every mountain, every valley, every village all the way down to the plains. But once identified, all these points, in that magical light, looked like a different world of references, in a different dimension. Likewise, in another world seemed in the valley, the bed of white gravel of the stream But, marked by gleaming silver snake water the reflection of moonlight.
Suddenly, the brilliance of the river began to fall off the sparks of light, a myriad of fireflies, which is normal for the night of St. John. The set of points of light sockets slowly rise up and thickening to form a sort of huge swarm. The cloud then rose to light as a puff of fog after the storm, relaxing on the dock of the river and occupy Randic and then spread throughout the amphitheater overlooking the towers of the Lander. The points of light, rising and going between the rocks, had become increasingly large and were placed in rows above, as if they were really on the tiers of an amphitheater.
Watching from the edges, where I was approached along with all the other villagers, are now clearly saw that it was not light. They were rather beautiful young women with long blond hair shining in the their white clothes as if they were made of light.
"It's Vinadio", he began to explain to my grandfather, "the agan or take water across the valley came together for the feast of the full moon in the summer called by Lander, the Druid Soandri. All the amphitheater was now made of light and the light formed a po'alla time a sound, like a breath out of the ground, weak first, then louder and louder. It was a song, a lullaby ... I did not understand the words but the melody was from my family, with a counterpoint to the sound of bells, which came out just as the towers were really with the bell inside, hidden in the cells, the bells.
wind-driven music broke down the valley, kindling, as if by magic as he passed the great fires in the match of every village, every hut in the mountains scattered. And even the people of Soandri that with me you were ready to crown the edges of the amphitheater, had meanwhile turned on a torch each, forming a braid of red light, which edged with purple, the white light of Vinadio. On the hill opposite, where now stands the church of St. Peter, then lit a bonfire last, greatest of all, with red tongues of fire that rose to the stars.
I remember asking my grandfather to the meaning of that last big fire, but the question is the last memory of the dream. I woke up on the response, without being able to remember, as I remember the speeches of the Druid Lander.
Dreams are so unfortunately, we remember at times, in the wake of the most important things are lost. There remain only flashes of lightning, with flashes of individual suggestions because dreams are born. I had read the posters for tourists Soandri that Lake did not exist in historical times and what are called "Vinadio" strips that form across the fault lines of Lander. M'era come to think that the name is so similar to Soandri Sorantri Raveo of where it was discovered a village of the Celts and then in the dream I had brought the Celts also on Mount Rivo, where, however, although they loved the places of wide horizons, could not have settled.
but I do not know for what twisted way my mind to do the matching in the dream had become Vinadio of the fairies, while the information boards I read that, according to legend, the faults of the mountain was frequented by the damned. Perhaps in this overlapping of the fairies to witches, fairies of the damned, was the originality of my dream.
Perhaps this could even overlap in some way, find the answer to the question I had asked before I fell asleep on the meaning of "once upon a time." Once, when? ... It does not matter! The river of flesh can not ever see the sea but the sea alive water of the river Carnia. The water which is dropped day after day, year after year, even assuming different names over time, is currently one sea, one ocean. How
ocean-sea can not be distinguished from the river, so the man of the river can never read the history of the ocean-sea which hath been dissolved the history of the Celts, who inhabited the mountains of Friuli.
