After fussing with the computer all morning and calling Verizon I have given up. I can't even get the phone to work now, so I am on the brick patio behind our place and enjoying the view and writing. Since all of my efforts to post pictures( or even to get the get the internet to work at all) have failed. I tried to get the land line in the house to work. The phone is dead. I wonder if this was Maddies master plan all along. I am totally unplugged, and have resigned myself to writing and enjoying this place where I am.
Our stone house, the Poggio de Soppra (the hill above?) is high up above terrain that is mostly agricultural hill country. The yard is rich green grass, clover and yellow dandelions, with neatly trimmed hedges and evergreens. There are several pomegranate trees at the back edge of the yard, and olive trees line the orange and yellow gravel road that provides the only access to the house. We are surrounded by the hills and man made terraces below us, which are covered with alternating wine grape vineyards between areas that have been left to the brush and the trees. All of this has the look of planned and landscaped orderliness of land that has been arranged, re-arranged, landscaped and farmed for centuries. I get the feeling that if I was blind, and giant, I could read the land by braille and get a picture and a story from this very ancient script.
It is harvest season, and the grapes are as large as nickles, heavy, blue-purple and juicy. The clusters are as big as two or three fists. T I know they are sweet, because I tasted them last night while sitting in the vineyard watching the stars. The clusters are harvested by hand, so I can hear the workers cutting the clusters and talking nearby. I cannot understand what they are saying, but is sounds very much like the banter of laborers every where during the workday. I know there are jokes, philosophy, and history in that banter.
History and philosophy. From my perch on this Poggio (knoll, hillock?) I can see castles and farmhouses that are several centuries old. I know that from the other side of the house, If look out the kitchen window, past the wood fired oven and down from the poggio to the north, I will see the Abby of Sant'Antimo. I know this because I saw the Abby at sunset our first night here. It is not made from the same orange yellow sand and stone of the other structures, but is of creamy alabaster stone brick. It looked like to bedside lamp of the moon being lit from within during the sunset.
We asked for directions from a monk the first day we got here. He spoke excellent English with a French accent. We plan on visiting the Abby before we leave, to listen to the Gregorian chants that we are told happen several times a day. I'll tell you what I know from reading about the Abby. It is currently run by a group of Cistercian monks, and they celebrate the mass several times a day with the chants. It was begun in 1118 and was once home to a prominent Benedictine community. It evidently has playful frescoes and carvings of animals, including those of copulating pigs in the sacristy.
Pigs. We have eaten wild boar, roe (deer) pheasant, and rabbit for meals. And fresh vegetables Much of it in and with pasta or in rich soups. This makes sense, because that is also what you see in the field and vineyards The food served and sold is local. I would bet that most of it comes from less than 100 miles away, because it tastes really fresh. The food is really simple, yet it is the best food I have ever ate. The largest grocery store in the closest town of any size is the Coop (pronounced cope -ahh). It is the size of about two convenience stores. Most of the other groceries are sold indoors and outdoors from “Aliimentari” (all-ahh-men-tar-ay) they are about as big as a large closet.
Well that's all I have time for right now. It's not as good as pictures, but I will try and attach pictures when we figure out how to get the computer hook up to work with any regularity. Almost out of batteries. Cinda is calling. She sees a rabbit...
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