The flower seller of Italianme, a magical world where you will read about the real, most beautiful, and true stories!

It was the fifties, very close to the economic miracle. I was a poor young boy, I lived in Via del Campuccio and I went to the industrial schools. I belonged, I was, the son of a poor family. My mother “gave service” to win some money, tI mean, she worked as a maid for hours. I loved my mother, who made many sacrifices for me, I had a fixed idea, to give her flowers but had no money to buy them. Also in that time, flower shops were rare.

It was close to Santo Spirito, a popular square Oltrarno with a beautiful church constructed by Brunelleschi in 1400. Among the popular houses of this square, there was the great Palazzo Guadagni in whose corner every Sunday was Mario, a modest person with a serious behavior, with the face full of wrinkles because of the time, a humble, simple and good man. On Sunday morning he used to sell flowers to passersby, wild flowers gathered in the hills of Florence.

One Sunday, I plucked up courage and asked if I could have some for my mother. I also told him the reason and that i had no money to pay. Mario’s face showed attention and lit up with a beautiful smile and said:  “Come with me on Saturday, I´ll take you to pick the flowers to take to your mother.”

We made an appointment at the Via delle Campora, a beautiful street from Porta Romana going into the hills. It was a beautiful sunny day, walking on the grass of the meadows was like walking on a soft carpet. Mario showed me the flowers that Icould pick, stealing them from the bees. I made a beautiful bouquet of daisies and some poppies. I was happy. Upon return, I went home and gave them to my mother. When she saw them, her face lit up with a gorgeous smile. We hugged each other, one of those hugs that you would not like letting go, I still remember it!