Empordaguia

Nobody with only a mite of sensibility can walk through the fi elds of the Empordà without feeling himself or herself full of the energy of life. An inland rambler has the same feeling as one who watches the sea from a protected corner of a harbour. The cultivated nature of the apple orchards, nicely lined up to ward off the attacks of the Tramuntana, has a healing ef-fect on the soul. It becomes vital for all who live with a lack of silence.Perhaps we need domesticated nature to feel at peace. Perhaps the works of man give us strength. This is what happens when we observe a work of art; it would be but a piece of cloth if the observer didn’t put himself in the place of the artist.These fi elds full of white fl owers as spring explodes, and tomorrow sum-mer’s exuberant apple trees, are the work of somebody who has made them his livelihood, who cares for each sprout and bud, who tends to the earth to harvest its fruit and assure its future. Such people know how to dig a trench so the water runs down it without any scientifi c calculations, only with what their father taught them, and their grandfather taught their father, and so on back to their ancestors.Nobody who wants to enjoy this art can walk through the fi elds of the Empordà without desiring a good harvest, without hoping the hail will miss the orchards, and that the fruits of labour can regale our souls with their healing spirits. This also is the Empordà