Spanish views from a small town

Yesterday I saw the chestnut roaster installed in the town where I do my weekly shopping. The smell of the burning wood and the sight of the vendor rolling newspaper into cones confirmed that we are well into the autumn season. He's already been there for the past few Saturdays, but yesterday I noticed him more keenly. Every fall I go hunting down lanes and byways for the greenish brown burs filled with chestnuts. I have learned to push and pull with my feet to open them and thus avoid the sharp needles. The chestnuts, roly-poly shining brown, lie scattered around, escaped from burs that fell earlier and split open. Generally I feel lucky if I can gather a half kilo for an evening of roasting. Yes, it would be easier to go to a greengrocer's or a supermarket and just fill a bag from the pile, but it's not the same. There's something about scavenging for autumn fruits that is anciently human and makes you feel good when you have found a quantity that satisfies you.  ...