A Bigger Sort of Church

After two weeks of touring midieval villages with their elegantly crumbling cathedrals and trekking through endless halls of culture ( I like a painting of Maria as much as the next guy but still....there comes a point) my family decided it was time for a change of scene and headed for the Alps. A winding car journey of about two hours that left me staggering and dizzy brought us to the charming ski village of Fopolo (say that five times fast).
It was refreshing to see another side of Italy beyond renaissance art and coffee bars, where woodsy little cottages nestled into the crests of the mountains and mountain goats mingled in the streets. It was all very Sound of Music-y. The vibrant green of the alps, the tinkling of the livestock bells echoing off the moutains, and bright splashes of color that was the alpine flowers-and even edelweiss. The only sound that could be heard was the roar of about three waterfalls, topped only by the occasional ringing of church bells.
We took a short hike in the brisk morning cool, and the grass felt refreshing underfoot after weeks of cobblestone. Being summer, we were virtually alone in the miniscule ski town. We would have been alone on the trail but for the small scurryings of various animals on the periphery of the trail that told us otherwise. When a squirrel emerged from the grass darted up a tree, my whole family stopped to gawk with beamused wonderment. I however, was less impressed (being from Arkansas, its going to take a lot more than a squirrel to get me excited.)
Further down the trail, the church bells signaling the end of the sunday service began to ring, their clear echoes ringing like fifty churches rather than one. My host mother looks up, disappointed. " Oh no its Sunday! I forgot, we could have gone to church!"
"But we are in church." I insist, gesturing to the grandeur of the hazy blue peaks, tall alpine trees, and dramatic valleys of the surrounding village. " Noi siamo nella piu grande chiesa della monde!"