Italy: Deutschnofen, My Dad's Kind of Town

My dad gave me many gifts: a secure childhood, a fondness for music and encouragement to play it, a sense of responsibility to family and community, appreciation for sports and the outdoors, a do-it-yourself mindset, a love of learning, and an excellent education. He also gave me the desire to travel.

As a chemical engineer working in market research and then sales, Bob Henderson (1923-2008) used to travel quite a bit for the petroleum companies that employed him. Mostly he went to Europe and South America, sometimes for as long as several weeks at a stretch. Soon after getting back from such a trip, he would set up his slide projector and screen in the living room and entertain the family with photos he had taken. I especially remember ones of him and his Czech colleague, Rudi Novatni, travelling through the Alps in a red Mercedes two-seater (probably a 300sl).

When my dad got ready to retire, he seriously considered moving to Switzerland. Of course, I am glad he did NOT make that move because he and my mom chose instead to come to Chapel Hill, which permitted them to participate in the upbringing of Jonathan and David—an arrangement that greatly benefited all concerned. Nevertheless, I inherited from my father a fondness for travel—for the Alps, in particular, and for the Tyrolean village culture that has been fostered there through the centuries.

After spending a couple of weeks in Sud-Tirol, the largely German-speaking part of northern Italy, I can better see what appealed to my dad about this part of the world. Bob Henderson was a person who appreciated hard work, well-maintained properties, carefully groomed gardens and well-tended farms, impeccable examples of civil engineering, tidy and quiet towns, cool air, wide vistas, small churches, and good music (particularly of the choral and brass band sorts).

Deutscnofen is all that, and my dad would have loved it. I must say that Jan and I deeply enjoyed being here too, although more fluency with German would have helped us. Jan needed a quiet place to work on a couple of HUG Your Baby research and writing projects, and Deutschnofen perfectly answered that need (except when the Vodafone network occasionally failed to provide the computer access we rely on!).

Jan found the peace and quiet she needed, and I found plenty to explore. We both enjoyed splendid and constantly changing views of the Dolomites, super-fresh air, great picnic spots, lots of excellent music, and the relaxed pace of village life—all, for the most part, accessible both by foot and by TravelScoot.

The quality of the music we heard was astonishingly high. We attended an excellent end-of-year concert at the village middle school, featuring one piece, in turn, from the brass group, the strings group, the guitar ensemble, the saxophone quartet, a flute group, a couple of solo pianists, and two amazing button accordion players (one of whom stole the show, in my opinion). Elsewhere we heard a couple of very good community brass bands (in Alpine costume!), some pop bands at a music festival playing well rehearsed covers of Steve Miller Band and Stones tunes, and a trio of mature performers (not unlike The Sound Connection, with their sequenced drum tracks) who amazed me with their harmonized yodeling.

The most remarkable performance I attended, though, was in the village church (Roman Catholic) on Pentecost Sunday. A special performance had been prepared, featuring the regular choir in the rear loft with the organ, plus a men’s choir down front. I was astonished, first of all, by the number of people (of all ages) in attendance. It seemed like the whole village was there. Churchgoing has clearly not gone out of fashion in Deutschnofen!

When the music began, the volume was breathtaking. The organ was full on, and the members of both choirs matched its intensity. There was no mumbling of lyrics; all the singers’ eyes were on the conductors, and the conductors’ eyes were on the organist. This music was performed with both joy and precision. The antiphonal call and response between the choirs was superb, and their use of dynamics was powerful.

At the end of the mass, the organist played a remarkable postlude, and all the volunteer choir members stuck around to listen to its conclusion. The organist began with a brash sixteenth-note figure in his right hand (which he maintained throughout every bar of the song). His left hand played a repeating chord pattern (two eighth notes, followed by a quarter rest), while his feet carried the melody. The piece developed and modulated, and never let up until it reached a majestic conclusion. What a righteous, uplifting performance! It brought tears to some eyes, including mine.

My dad would have been just as moved. I imagined him standing next to me, smiling with the wonder of a full spirit, glad to be in his idea of heaven.