As I write these lines, in the shade of the crumbling wall that borders the garden, life unfolds all around in a microcosm of shapes and connections. […] I'm happy to be here, and I can't help but take photos to tell the story of this place and its inhabitants. I love the crumbling silence of the Apennines, their long breaths, the countless little legs that trample their skin like spiders weaving life. Ten years ago, I left Rome feeling a bit reckless and with a burning desire: to share my days with these creatures so similar and yet so different from me. I wanted to literally live among the animals. Not just close to them, but among them. I couldn't have imagined then how much the animals would please me, how obsessive and intrusive they could become.

I soon discovered that the mountain is a threshold: here, boundaries are blurred, and even a home becomes an ecosystem difficult to contain. As soon as I leave, even for just a few days, I know I'll have to deal with someone intent on conquering a nest or a supply of food. When I return, I always find new roommates waiting for me: birds in the shed, scorpions in the bed, hornets in the kitchen, woodworms intent on boring into the entire living room, mice opening restaurants in the pantry, and dormice barricaded in the attic, gorged on electrical wires and drywall.

Far from cities, biodiversity is much more than an abstract concept: it's a sharp presence that digs, inventively, gnaws, and demands. It's the expression of an unpredictable, stubborn, and tireless life that insists, adapts, and takes one piece at a time until you tell it no. And often, after you've told it no, it continues to do so anyway. 

[...]

Living in the mountains means sharing spaces with life forms that have their own rhythms, their own needs, and no respect for your romantic idea of ​​"back to the land." Animals don't ask themselves if your chicken coop is organic, if you've read Gary Snyder, or if you dream of a slow life. They're hungry, they have burrows to build, and young to feed. Their job is to survive, and they know how to do it very well. 

When we talk about the mountains, someone, quoting the poet of deep ecology, invariably reminds us that "nature is not a place to go, it is our home." But in this home, if we truly want to remain, we must learn to live, accepting the fact that we are not its masters. And understanding that neither are the animals. Because here, simply, no one is in charge. Here, everything is ambush, mediation, interdependence, conflict. A constant search for balance and an urgent need for compromise. A compromise that we must reach, because animals do not compromise.

[...]

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What you have read is the beginning of a long article I wrote for the periodical "Ossigeno." The piece is titled “The Ghost of the Big Bad Wolf” And it was a perfect fit for the magazine's June issue, dedicated to mountain life. But it also seemed appropriate to launch a new newsletter that I'll be personally editing. Oh, right, I haven't introduced myself yet! 

I am Tommaso D'Errico, and this is the first issue of Rendezvous: a newsletter produced by I'm not afraid of the wolf and dedicated to the connections—often invisible and sometimes explosive—between humans and wild animals. It will be a space to discuss current events, field research, ideas, experiences, and projects. And an opportunity to discuss encounters and clashes, fears and hopes, close-up glances and fleeting glimpses. In a word: coexistence.

Why Rendezvous?

In the language of biologists, the appointment It's the place where young wolves gather to play, learn, and grow under the watchful eye of adults. It's not a den, nor a hunting ground: it's a safe haven, a place for passage and training. It's here that the pack passes on to its pups the rules of wild living, survival strategies, and the meaning of being a group. 

But the rendezvous is not just about play and growth: it is also the place where conflicts emerge. Because yes, even wolves fight among themselves. Pack life isn't just about cooperation and affection. It's based on a subtle, precarious, and constantly negotiated balance, where each individual tries to assert themselves without collapsing the scaffolding. Just like the coexistence between humans and wildlife: an unstable, and therefore precious, compromise.

We chose this name because it evokes what this newsletter wants to be: a place of meeting, learning, storytelling. And conflict, sometimes. Not a safe haven, nor a distant observatory, but a territory to enter with alert senses and an open mind, to experience firsthand what it means to live immersed in a world shared by different species. Where one can understand—slowly and patiently—that coexistence is not an ideology, nor a choice, but a fact.

Like it or not, we are not alone on this planet. Billions of living beings are demanding space and rights, and the more we expand, the more this sometimes hinders our ambitions. But this is precisely where the challenge arises, because Coexistence is the recognition of the other even if it disturbs us, scares us, puts us to the testIt's the celebration of biodiversity not just in words, but in deeds. Even when it snarls and stings into our lives, when it forces us to redefine habits and priorities. It's the acceptance that problems exist, but it's also the understanding that the solution lies not in destroying, but in building new balances.

Coexistence, after all, is the invisible thread that holds our daily lives together. It's in the compromises with a partner, in the respected traffic lights, in the line at the post office. It's in the teamwork with colleagues and the skirmishes with neighbors, in the limits we tacitly accept in order to share a common home. It's the often silent awareness that the existence of each person is based on infinite bonds and connections, and therefore on the existence of others. 

 Coexisting means embracing the coexistence of needs and trajectories different from our own. Sometimes it means defending ourselves, protecting what we love, saying no. But it also, and above all, means changing our perspective, accepting a dose of uncertainty, giving up the pretense of being everywhere and controlling everything. Recognizing, as uncomfortable as it may seem, that “others” are not just human beings. 

This is why coexistence is much more than a simple challenge: it is a political act, a cultural revolution. It's an urgent and necessary path to improve and evolve. Not just as individuals, but as a species.  

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Here we are, then, Rendezvous start here.

From a creaking stone house, from eyes peering into the darkness, from an invisible herd surrounding us, and from a path to walk together. We will do it by listening, observing, and sharing. We will do it even by making mistakes, stumbling, and questioning ourselves every time. 

Each story will be a step on this journey: if you have experienced a particular encounter, if you know a story that is worth telling, write to me at rendez-vous@iononhopauradellupo.it. This space was created to be alive, that is, open and shared.We'll meet again here in a few days, at our usual rendezvous. In the meantime, to while away the time, here's a little gift: the full article "The Ghost of the Big Bad Wolf" excerpt from “Oxygen #20 – We are the rebels of the Mountain” published by People.