There is a moment in the year when Italy seems to wake up all at once, like a large garden that blooms between the memory of the fields and the scent of roses. That moment is May, a month that, in Italian culture, goes far beyond the simple change of season. May is a symbol of rebirth, of hope, of life that flows again in the earth and in the hearts of people. And above all, May is a powerful bridge between the present and a deep-rooted past, still alive in many Italian villages and, surprisingly, also in the memories and gestures of Italians living abroad.
Anyone who grew up in an Italian town, small or large, knows that May has its own pace, its own light, its own smell: that of the morning dew and the clothes hanging out to dry in the sun, of the roses on the balconies and the songs that once accompanied the sowing or the Marian adoration. It is a month that vibrates with rituals, with ancient words, with proverbs whispered by grandmothers and farmers who guard a wisdom made of observation and wonder.
May as a return to the earth
At the root of all these celebrations is a deeply human feeling: the need to feel part of a natural cycle, to recognize that our existence is intertwined with that of the earth. It is no coincidence that many of this month's celebrations have peasant or pagan origins, later reworked by the Christian religion.
The figure of “Maggio”, the young man adorned with branches and flowers, is perhaps one of the most intense representations of the spirit of this month: a humanity that merges with nature, which becomes a symbol of vitality, abundance, fertility. In the Alpine valleys, even today, there are those who on May 1st place a cross or a broom in the fields, as a sign of protection against the elements. A simple gesture, but full of meaning. It is a silent prayer addressed to the earth and the sky, to the hope that every shoot can become fruit, that every seed finds its right season.
The folklore that unites
Traditions such as the Calendimaggio of Assisi, with its historical parades and challenges between districts, or the Tuscan Maggiolate with songs under the windows, are not just shows for tourists. They are collective rituals that strengthen the identity of a community. In those days, cities are transformed, time stops, the present mixes with the Middle Ages, and every gesture - from the choice of costumes to the choirs sung at sunset - is a way of saying "we are still here, and this is our way of telling our story".
This type of folklore, so alive and shared, does not need to be explained rationally: you can feel it in the air, in the beating of the drums, in the tears that unexpectedly roll down the cheeks of those who have not returned to their homeland for years. And here, perhaps, emerges the strongest bond between May and Italians abroad. Because those who have left Italy take these images with them: the village festivals, the processions with the Madonna among the flowers, the proverbs that are learned as children and are repeated even thousands of kilometers away.
Nostalgia that becomes a ritual
For Italians living abroad, May can be a sweet and cruel month at the same time. Sweet because it reawakens childhood memories, because you go back to seeing your country through the eyes of memory. Cruel because it rekindles the desire to be there, to breathe that scent of spring mixed with incense and hay. This is why many Italians abroad follow these celebrations with affection: the online reenactments, the live broadcasts of the parades, the photos shared by relatives become small windows open onto the soul of an Italy that resists, that continues to tell its story through its rites.
Even in the contexts of emigration, in Argentina, Switzerland, Germany or Australia, there is no shortage of flowered votive shrines, rosaries in the month of May, small festivals organized by Italian communities. It is proof that tradition is never just a local fact, but a root that grows even far away, if nourished by memory and the desire to belong.
May is identity
In the frenzy of our days, the month of May - with its slow rituals, its sung words, its roses that bloom slowly - teaches us another measure. It reminds us that the identity of a people is also built through its celebrations, through the ability to celebrate ephemeral beauty, the fragility of nature and, together, its regenerative force. Celebrating it, even just with thought, is a way to remain Italian. And perhaps this is precisely the power of the traditions of May: they keep us united, they make us feel part of a story that still has a lot to say. Also (and above all) to those who, far from the fields in bloom, continue to hear the echo of those songs that, in the night between April and May, opened the door to life.
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