Once again I wake up early and animal of some kind sleeps outside my window and I hear it snore. The birds are singing their morning melodies and the sun is just peaking up behind the mountain. I go outside and find Giuseppe once again. We speak our hellos and once again I take some time to practice yoga. When I am through I grab my book and head out to the porch. I have an hour or so to read before anyone else will be up and before breakfast will be served. I enjoy the slow pace of the morning, the calmness of all that is around and the beauty of the fruit trees and grapevines. Giuseppe lays figs on the table for us to enjoy at breakfast. I break one open and scoop out the warm, sweet filling. It melts on my tongue as I slowly savor each bite. It rolls in my mouth igniting my senses.
When the rest of the house rises I encourage each of them to enjoy a fig. I spend the next hour or so sitting and talking with Dasha and the girls from Iceland. We are planning a trip to the sea for Thursday, their day off. We ask Antonella to make the rental car arrangements for us and we figure out that the cost will be about 15 Euros each. I will be able to mark off one more place off my list of must do's while in Italy and it is totally unexpected. I am supposed to depart for Rome that day and must make arrangements to leave from the sea instead. As usual I am greeted with, "get there and check on the trains and buses, it will all work out." This style of thinking is so un-American but I am becoming accustomed to it. I know that if all else fails I will ride with the girls back to Sora and then grab the bus to Rome.
Dasha and I talk for hours while she does her work that day. She has been assigned to the kitchen and the window is always open so I can talk to her through it. Melena is assigned the task of putting together a cabinet. She is unsure so I offer to help. I explain that being the mother of two boys makes me an expert at putting things together even if the instructions are in a foreign language. We fit pieces here and there and in no time the task is complete. She feels empowered and shows Antonella. He is surprised but she explains that I had helped her.
I decide to take a stroll through the woods and try to find Le Mogli, or the Rustic Farm. The Rustic Farm is being restored by Antonella's family and mostly the volunteers. Several volunteers are camping out at the rustic farm including Bernadette. I wander down the hill, through the grapevines and animal pasture. I scare the baby horse by trying to pet it, stare at the sheep with their un-bobbed tails, open the big green gate and pass over the creek. Instead of turning right to town I head to the left through the forest. I follow the creek for a bit and climb a rocky slope, realize it is the wrong path and turn back. My eyes fix on the butterflies, a countless variety brilliantly colorful. They flutter peacefully from flower to flower. In one square foot of space you might see twenty butterflies. This place is alive with natures peace and beauty.
The path to the rustic farm is rustic as well. Trees are down in many places and I have to choose whether to go over, under or around. Around is often dangerous as there is a cliff now leading down to the creek. I climb and twist my way through the forest. There is a meadow amongst these trees and it is pristine and still. I stop in the shade of a tree at the edge and linger for a bit. I haven't brought the hand-drawn map with me but I can already feel I have gone too far. I decide to turn around and head back to the farm disappointed I haven't met my goal. As fortune would have it Bernadette is headed down the path back to her tent at the Le Mogli and she leads me the rest of the way. We straddle vines and overgrown shrubs and climb little hills but finally the farmhouse appears as well as the orchards. I immediately understand the appeal of restoring this farm. There is a view of Pescosollido above and the mountains. The orchards are laid out to the left of the house and trees surround the house making it cool. It is two stories, maybe three. Small but lovely. The grass in the orchards is three-feet high and we wade through it to Bernadette's tent, perfectly placed between two apple trees. In the orchard are apple, pear, walnut, and fig trees. There is a washbasin with a hose which allows visitors to wash up. There are two bamboo showers, neither functioning. Still it is a place I would love to lay my head at night listening to the sounds of the evening.
Bernadette promises to join us at the farm later in the afternoon. We are once again headed to Sora. We are hoping to do some shopping, check with Frederico about renting a car and the bus to the sea and have a bite to eat. We pay attention to siesta this time and arrive in town just as things are coming alive again. Dasha and I make our way to a clothing store and I purchase a few more things to get me through the rest of my trip. I try on a pair of Italian made shoes but put them back. (I am still kicking myself for that.) They were wooden with a strap of leather and a flower, simple and elegant. The other girls are rushing us or I would have tried on more.
We head to Frederico's to make our arrangements. Frederico is a large Italian man who lived in New York for twenty years. He is the guy to go to for anything in Sora. He has connections everywhere. He speaks his own version of English but we are able to make sense of it. He tells us the bus schedule to the sea and instructs us which seaside town to visit. The bus is 8 Euros per person each way and the schedule is unfavorable. We will go with the car as long as Antonella can arrange it. Frederico continues to explain what we will need to do but is interrupted by his daughter who comes to put drops in his eyes. He tells us of his daughter with such pride and love. He finishes his instructions and sends us off with a warm smile and greeting. We head to the town square for some gelatto. The day is hot and I order lemon and coconut, which has become my favorite combination.
The girls have to head back to the farm in order to serve dinner. I run into some other farm visitors but decide to return to the farm. Dasha is tired of the same pasta day after day. She needs real nourishment. She speaks to me of tomatoes and cucumbers, potatoes and soup. She hardly eats at each mealtime. She cannot understand why I decided to return to the farm to eat. We, however are rewarded whole-heartedly when Maria serves Risotto with fresh basil. I look at Dasha with a knowing glance, she at last is eating and feeling satisfied. Next Maria brings out freshly sliced cucumbers and tomatoes drizzled in olive oil and seasoned. Vegetables are next, zuchini, green beans and cannelli beans. Salad is served last and it too is drizzled in oil and seasonings. I am full and feeling blessed by the meal and the company of all of my new friends.
Three new people have arrived at the farm, one from Ireland and two from England. We talk a bit and the couple from England eagerly listen to my tale of my love affair with Rome. They have not scheduled time in their visit for Rome but I convince them to change their plans. He is a surveyor of old buildings and loves architecture and I know Rome will feed his soul.
I drink my own carafe of wine and we talk into the late hours of the night. Bernadette did not show up for our trip to town and I am concerned about our hike the next day. I am hopeful she will still join me. There is no communication with the rustic farm so I will have to wait.
I turn in ready for whatever the next day brings.
No comments:
Post a Comment