{"id":13607,"date":"2025-01-07T07:39:43","date_gmt":"2025-01-07T14:39:43","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/?p=13607"},"modified":"2025-01-07T07:39:45","modified_gmt":"2025-01-07T14:39:45","slug":"wild-man-of-the-hunt","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wild-man-of-the-hunt\/","title":{"rendered":"Wild Man of the Hunt"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer\u2019s voice on the page.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Wild Man of the Hunt<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

By CM Riddle<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mom grew up in the country with her brother and sister, along with what seems like hundreds of Italian immigrant relatives.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mom\u2019s great-grandparents Albina (the mean one who kept a lid on the candy jar) and Rosalina (the sweet one who didn\u2019t have a lid on the candy jar) were sisters. They sailed into San Francisco from Luca Italy in the late 1800\u2019s with their husbands, who were brothers; Pietro and Romolo.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

While making great efforts to become a part of the new world, the family still clung to ways and traditions from Italy. Working on their land they grew vegetables and flowers, and made wine. Their families thrived in West Marin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rosalina, or as Mom called her, Noni Rosie, had an original \u201cbed and breakfast.\u201d She hosted gentlemen coming up from San Francisco to hunt deer, squirrel, and ducks. She became an excellent cook by foraging herbs like flavorful bay leaves or wild porcini mushrooms, and she\u2019d serve a sweet huckleberry pie, all gathered from the Inverness Ridge to create her delicacies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Their families grew and these multiple generations of cousins lived along a short section of Highway One in Inverness Park. They shared holidays and celebrations together.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Swiss Italian folklore followed Mom\u2019s grandpa, Nono Mano, to Inverness Park. When he was a boy, children were told to be good, and Santa Claus would bring toys, but if they misbehaved, his counterpart, a dirty betrodden creature, much like Germany\u2019s Krampus, the man of the wild hunt would come. Instead of leaving presents, he\u2019d stuff the naughty children into his sack and take them far away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

*****<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This past winter, my daughter Natalie found a local Old Traditional Winterfest. One of the attractions included having your picture taken with Krampus. She loved the idea of having her baby, Lilith, meet Krampus, so we invited my Mom and off we went in search of him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI never heard of Krampus, but Nono Mano used to dress like Santa when I was a kid,\u201d Mom said. \u201cAnd he scared us. At Christmastime Nono Mano would burst into the kitchen, dressed like a maniac with a scraggy beard made of lacey grey lichen hanging from his chin to his chest. His cheeks were rouged red and his knitted beanie pulled low near his brow, made his eyes look wild. Over his shoulder he carried a gunny sack tied to the end of a crooked old branch.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She told us how she squirmed behind the old stove or hid behind her mother\u2019s dress while he swooped around the kitchen pretending to snatch the children. She didn\u2019t like that the grown-ups laughed at the kids\u2019 fears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I have cozy memories of Noni\u2019s kitchen. The room was one huge square with a cast iron Wedgewood stove taking up a whole corner. Noni could cook up anything by adding chunks of wood to the burning side. The other side she used to bake. The top had \u201cburners\u201d which she lifted with some sort of tool so she could stir the embers thus keeping the temperature even for cooking or keeping the room warm. I couldn\u2019t imagine a maniac in that kitchen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My memories of Nono Mano are from when he was quite old. He sat in his chair at the table, sipping his coffee and smiling. Many years later, I came to know the funny smell on him was whiskey. He\u2019d sit at the table sipping away, letting the whiskey ease the pain of his aching joints. To this day, a whiff of whiskey in a cup of coffee brings me right to that kitchen and the sweet old man who sat there. Worn sweater, crooked hat, and a smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thoughts of him lunging around the kitchen with his mossy beard flying baffles me. I can\u2019t envision him as a scary Krampus, yet Mom remembers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mom was a brave one, full of courage and muster to show up year after year while dreading the old man of the wild hunt to bursting into the kitchen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Though this generations old tradition was carried out by Nono Mano, me, and my siblings missed it, thank goodness. My mom\u2019s crowd of cousins were the last to witness this fantastic folklore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

With the emergence of paganism and new-age spirituality, Krampus has returned. There is a special enchantment of the old ways. Everything in life has a light side and a shadow side, where there is light, there is dark, good and bad, and so it goes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I treasure lessons in \u201cancient folklore.\u201d I\u2019d hang with Jolly St. Nick, but it is important to know Krampus is out there watching too. The duality that one gives from his huge sack of toys, and the other will stuff you in his sack if you are a jerk, boosts the odds of good behavior.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Enjoying our day, my daughter paused to point out we are a four-generation tribe… Mom had a \u201creal\u201d version Krampus visit her, and her great-granddaughter gets to know of a gentler version of him. I am grateful my daughter let my granddaughter visit both Santa Claus and Krampus. Together they bring true magic to the season!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tina Riddle Deason <\/strong>writes under the name CM Riddle<\/strong>. She is an author, and creator. She has published several articles and books, including those about rituals and ceremonies. She is a High Priestess who leads a variety of Women’s Circles. She is a mother and grandmother, and she lives with her husband and “fur-babies” in Rohnert Park, CA. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer\u2019s voice on the page. Wild Man of the Hunt By CM Riddle Mom grew up in the country with her brother and sister, along with what seems like hundreds of Italian immigrant relatives. Mom\u2019s great-grandparents Albina (the mean one who kept a lid on the […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"sfsi_plus_gutenberg_text_before_share":"","sfsi_plus_gutenberg_show_text_before_share":"","sfsi_plus_gutenberg_icon_type":"","sfsi_plus_gutenberg_icon_alignemt":"","sfsi_plus_gutenburg_max_per_row":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[1474],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-13607","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-sparks"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p43Dj8-3xt","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13607","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=13607"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13607\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":13608,"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13607\/revisions\/13608"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=13607"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=13607"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=13607"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}