The bora has been quite strong since last night, and so many chestnuts have been shaken off the branches of chestnut trees planted along the parking lot on the Barbacan on the eastern flank of the Motovun hill. Not a few of them are already crushed by the cars that come and go, but I collected a bag-full of them that were still in perfect shape. There must have been a couple of hundred of them. Feeling kind of sorry for the chestnuts, I took them to my terrace on the western flank of the hill. And then I fetched my sling. Ah, what a joy it is to sling the chestnuts into the thick woods below my garden! At least a few trees will come to life from all the chestnuts in the bag, I dare to hope. By the time I was finished, my hands were hurting from the relentless slinging. But I felt like a merry wood planter. Actually, a wood maker. Or a woodfucker, to coin a term.