Have you ever walked somewhere and thought, “This must be what Earth looked like before time was invented”?
I have. It happened the day we arrived in the Val di Mello.
The moment I jumped out of the car, it felt like stepping into a movie set a few hundred million years ago — the Jurassic era, but thankfully without the dinosaurs. At most, a few Brown Alpine cows, looking perfectly content and proud, the way only mountain cows can.
In front of me were towering mountains, singing streams, and boulders scattered everywhere, as if some giant had tossed them around out of boredom.
On the way there, just before reaching the valley, I’d noticed a huge lonely rock. My human said it’s called the Sasso Remenno, the largest monolith in Europe.
I watched it through the car window and thought it looked like an ancient guardian — one of those who never speak but somehow make you understand you’re entering a special place.
It even smelled of rock and time, just by looking at it.
My human started talking about “glacial-something morphology.” I pretended to understand, but honestly, it was enough just to look around: everywhere I sniffed, there was the scent of ancient stone, cold water, and new wind.
The trail went up and down between rocks. Every so often I stopped to see if any lizards wanted to make friends, but they—quick as thoughts—vanished before I could say hello.
Humans, instead, stopped every five steps to take pictures. “Look at that light!” they said. I looked too, out of politeness, but what really caught my eye was my reflection in the stream: a brave dog, wet nose, happy tail.
We met plenty of hikers, all carrying walking poles and backpacks bigger than themselves. Some were clinging to the rock walls like giant geckos. Apparently, people come here to “climb.”
I respect that, truly. But if I had to choose, I’d rather climb a plate of polenta taragna — at least it doesn’t slip.
Farther along, the trail followed the stream. The water was so clear you could count the stones on the bottom. I had a sip: cold, sparkling, perfect. It felt like drinking a piece of sky.
Now and then, the air filled with the smell of food from some mountain huts: pizzoccheri, polenta taragna, melted butter. I tried to explain to my human that a food stop would perfectly match the spirit of the journey, but he pretended not to understand. Humans — always with their heads in the clouds and their stomachs distracted.
At the end of the valley, we found a waterfall. Not just any waterfall — one that slides down the rock like a natural waterslide.
I walked closer, paws in the water, and thought that if there’s a paradise for dogs who love streams, it must look like this.
My human sat on a rock and said, “What energy, huh?”
I barked once in agreement and lay down beside him, letting the droplets wet my muzzle.
It was as if the whole valley were breathing. Every sound, every scent, every ray of light had its own rhythm.
And for a moment, I felt part of something much bigger — the rock, the water, the wind… and even my human, who for once had finally stopped talking.
We stayed there a long time, unhurried.
Then he pulled out a sandwich. I pretended not to look, and as always, ended up with half.
While chewing, I remembered a documentary about bees: it said that even they perceive the scent of flowers differently depending on the air they breathe — oxygen, nitrogen, and all those complicated things only scientists understand.
Maybe it’s the same for us. Or maybe, the brain simply tastes things differently when it’s happy.
That sandwich, with the sound of the waterfall and the smell of the stream, tasted like home and freedom. Way better than any city gourmet sandwich.
By the time we walked back, the sun was already low and the valley glowed golden like honey.
I turned around one last time and thought that, if dinosaurs really once roamed the Earth, even they would have loved it here.
Maybe they too used to lie down on the grass and listen to the sound of the water — like two old friends who no longer need to speak.
And as we walked away, I could still smell the stream in my nose.
A scent of freedom, of stone, and of time.
The scent of a valley in no hurry to end.
