7:oo am, Thursday morning.
Phone rings.
The voice is unrecognizable to me as I groggily sit up in bed trying to figure out who this might be. They speak in familiar ways as if we chat this time every day, asking how I’m doing and when we got back in town. Slowly, fitting the pieces together, I finally hear a phrase and a tone of voice that gives it away—mystery solved. (more…)
Years ago before visiting Florence for the first time, I remember thinking that it was probably some Mediterranean wonderland—balmy, blue skies and all that stuff. After all, if you take a spin around the rivieras from Spain, across France and down through Italy, you’re enjoying some of the world’s most spectacular weather in a huge and dreamy arc of beaches and rocky coastlines. However . . . (more…)
The first time we experienced the Italian hunters in action, we were shocked! And then, after we got to know how sweet and adorable their prey was, we were even more appalled. (more…)
I looked up and saw something incredible.
There on the hill across the valley was the star that I had all but forgotten about. It’s actually a deep woods surrounded by olive groves and old farm houses, where the edges of the woods are delineated be different plants so that it resembles a three-dimensional star gently laying on the hillside. I first saw it about 6 years ago when my mother (then in her early 80s) and her husband, Harold, were visiting for several weeks. I’ll never forget it. (more…)
How strange!
Italy in November with literally millions of olive trees, yet no one is picking the olives—and no one ever will! Instead, they will raccolgono, gather them, or prendono, take them. Just try to use the word “pick” on Italians and note the puzzled looks on their faces. They probably can’t imagine what you are even talking about. But, if you say gather or take at just the right time, not only would you be well understood, but might even find yourself up on a ladder in the middle of an olive grove for a few days. (more…)
Simone and Alessia arrived around mezzogiorno, noon the other day for lunch with us in the country. The sun was bright and the air was clear with that unmistakable fall crispness. We hadn’t seen them for over a year, so it was especially fun for us to have that time together to sit and talk awhile. And even though we enjoyed our conversation, there was a bit of a distraction that occupied most of our attention. As you might have guessed from the pictures, they were not alone! (more…)
Dusk crept across the valley as I sat on the stone bench overlooking the old meandering farm road below. Suddenly, I heard a snort somewhere to my left and immediately became motionless, listening intently. Then I heard multiple snorts and munching sounds to my right, coming from the nearby brush just beyond the road. Glancing back to the left, the first snorters came into view! (more…)
Three brothers ran the local restaurant in Monteloro, called da Orlando, named after the most vivacious of the three. The ristorante occupies the entire “downtown” with a surprising quasi-Art Deco interior behind the traditional Tuscan facade. The site boasts a delightful valley view from the vine-covered dining terrace in the back. We had many meals in that favorite local haunt during the years while finishing our place on the hill. Orlando, being the most talkative of the three brothers, often stood by our table telling us jokes, stories and neighborhood gossip as he deemed necessary. He was so engaging and funny, it always felt like we should pay extra for the live entertainment. (more…)
Wild animals are one of the most interesting aspects of living in the Italian countryside. When we first arrived here 10 years ago, we were mostly alone up on this hill. Surrounded by nature, we saw and heard it all: cinghiali, wild boar; fagiani, pheasant; lupi, wolves; volpi, fox; caprioli, deer; cornigli, rabbits; istrici, porcupines; lucertoli, lizards and many serpenti, snakes. Of course, the ucelli, birds are everywhere—a constant chorus of canzoni del bosco, wood-songs. (more…)
Midnight. Cheryl, Aaron, and I were sitting around the kitchen table playing the final hand of Rummy, anticipating that Aaron would win . . . again. Knowing that the game was about over, the rest of us abandoned any hope of making a spectacular comeback as we accepted the inevitable. I was sitting there minding my own business when the strangest thing happened. For some reason, Cheryl started doing cheerleader fingers across the table. Surely you know what I mean. (more…)
Uncommon promise 