 A slow, peace
silence, pervades every fragments of light, and towards the endless, masks and shadows of
the actors of a natural show, on which, curtains never fall. Outstretched of Beeches and
Maples, clearings of Oak plants. Then hollies and yews and again Beeches, like extreme
limits and southern vegetation that extents up to Sweden. Troina and Sweden bounded by the
strong and antique essence of the work most spectacular, inimitable and unrepeatable:
Nature. Meadows full of wild anemones, peonies
and orchids; underbush rich and livily of heather, butcher's broom and hawthorn, of
genista, roses and rovi. All, in peace, where the only sound is that, of the life the
drifts between the coves of time, like the winding water up to the womb of the rock.
Silent and subtle noise in this fragment of existence, paradise of loirs and marmots,
porcupines and hares, wild cats and aquatic, migratory birds; of owls, tawny owls, barn
owls, kites, sparrow hawks and kestrel. Paradise, maybe park. Park of
the Nebrodi, corners of colors, perfume and silence, that hide a green universe inside
itself between the limits (Simeto's basin and S. Fratello stream) of arm, subtle, hot,
stifling and icy according to the Season.
 Then mountainous, stately and dark chains
(Monte Pilato, P.lla Miraglia), like careful sentry and silent witness of the miracles of
a nature that transforms and that renews in the vest of always, almost like remembering
the immortality of the art most perfect, mysterious and magic of nature itself. And if,
the soft and hot silence of this world would be more that of magic? Ruggero Normanno first
and King Guglielmo after, have left to some Brasilian monasteries and to the Cathedral of
Troina, from the XI century. Inheritance sphere, contested between the town of
Cesaro' and Troina, as, the state property extends up to touching the boundary of the two
towns, and of the taking of possession as to which was the origin of a conflict that was
heightened with a decree (1895) that handed over 13,000 hectares to Troina taking it from
the territory of Cesaro'. An
inheritance, that we will leave, to the people that will be here in a hundred years, but
today, it's ours; The firm, Silvo-Pastorale (established in 1963) takes care of the
conservation of the improvements and of the enhancement of the value of this property,
among the best of the Nebrodi's and of Sicily, of great scientific, social, economic and
cultural value.
Projects already launched, and others still to arrive, because this is
a paradise of colors, scent and life, "a paradise for a few". Through the
creation of equipped areas and museums, the forest territory, is intended to be valued ,
precious and inestimable goods, under different aspects: economic, touristic, landscapist,
recreational and cultural. A particular attention to the incentive of the animal
husbandry, as well as, to the forest and of their productivity. Expansion, growth to
advantage the handicrafts and the farm holidays. Towards the reconstruction of the
degraded area, in the regulations of the waters, the improvements of the structures and of
the infrastructures, of the meadows and of the pastures.
 It's not an intervention for an
economic aim, as for nature's law, since meadows and pastures form the ground, they will
protect it from the atmospheric agents, they will enrich it with organic substances.
Another objective to achieve is, the realization of a
structure firm that manages the jobs in the woods with it's own laborers and equipments,
an initiative that could encourage the formation of a business firm. Interventions,
projects, conquest for a goal that, reached, inevitably and magically, it interlaces with
thin and silver strings to another goal of old and attractive beauty: The scenery, the
horizon beyond the high and full foliage, and the wind in a strange verse, almost lyrical,
it creeps between the leafs, branches and petals, the Seasons with their scent and the
tones of perfect colors is engraved on everything like a second skin, hot and delicate. Far away, echos, a melody that drunkens,
indefinite sounds of tribe music and folks songs all fused together, a beating rhythm of
wings against the wind and races between high and fresh grass, so much as to seem a long
and endless madness. And then silence, the silence of life.
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