In Search of MY People

Authors note: The following will likely be far more “personal” history than “natural” history. I am of Italian descent and I just returned from 8 days in Italy where my DNA was apparent in every hand-gesturing, nonstop-talking Italian I saw, and I LOVED it! If this interests you, per favore, read on.

My Grandfather (Papa) was one of those amazingly intrepid people who dared to leave all they knew for what they did not know, to go to a land where their survival would be up to them with no one to catch them if they failed. But he did not fail, even though he was only 17 at the time, he managed to find a job, learn the language and save enough to subsequently bring his 5 brothers and sister over. And the most amazing thing is that this isn’t that unusual a story for that time in the early 1900’s when the world set its sights on America as the Promised Land. And so it was.

When my husband and I first married, we lived in Germany for a couple of years, and recently, with a daughter who was in England for a year, then assigned to Germany, we have made 5 separate trips to Europe to visit her. She has been our tour guide to the world and it’s been wonderful. One year she took me to Rome, and 30 years ago my husband and I had gone to Lake Como but I had never been to Bologna where my Papa had lived.

I also had fallen in love with all the books on Tuscany that Frances Mayes has written: “Under the Tuscan Sun”, “In Tuscany”, “Bella Tuscany” etc. I loved to listen to them on CD each summer and imagine myself in an Italian villa, throwing open the shutters to a new day, or on the piazza sharing tales of life, having a glass of Vino Nobella. Fantasy all but it was just so easy to imagine. With Andrea Bocceli singing in the background, I was there.

But now, incredibly, I was really there! Jen had booked us for a week at an Agriturismo,“Podere la Fornace”, a farm that welcomes guests. Made of stone, surrounded by vineyards and olive groves, set off by Black Cypress, it was quintessentially Tuscan. It even had wooden shutters to fling open. It sat atop a “hill town” (semi-mountain in my book!) at the end of a Wild-Mouse, hairpin-turn laden road. A road that must be negotiated twice a day, along with all the other “Le Mans” type roads that connected our Tuscan town to the others we were there to see: Sienna, Arrezo, Cortona, Saturnia, Florence, San Gimignano, etc. Lets just say, prayers were always on my lips and that the beauty of each town made the “near death” experience worth it.

A few quick impressions:

The antiquity of everything in Europe amazes, all still standing, all looking in better shape 1,000 yrs after it was built than my 35 yr old home. Clearly, it is better to build in stone than in shingles.

The streets in the towns either went straight up or straight down. Each one a thigh burning exercise, yet there would inevitably be someone in their 70’s, pumping by you on a bicycle! Humbling.

If I were to come back as a 70 yr old man, I would want to live in Tuscany.
Groups of old men, old friends gathered on the benches in the town, each morning, each evening. Talking talking, always talking. I would have given anything to be able to eavesdrop. Why did my Papa insist on English only? Grazie Grazie, Bocce Bocce, I have a limited vocabulary.

City birds seem limited too, now that the omnipresent swifts have flown south, (where I wonder, to Africa?) there are omnipresent pigeons that seem to coo and court year round. Is it that romance is always in the air in Italy? Also present, several noisy sparrows, some sort of finches, and the sound of pet finches coming from within. Forts or castles top many towns and jackdaws gather there. As acrobatic as crows, as social as crows but with a much more pleasing voice. No caws but more mews.

The treat of treats though was opening the shutters of my room on our final night, looking at the stars and then hearing the calling of not one, or two but three owls each a little more distant than the other. My guess by looking up the calls of the owls most likely to be there is that they were Scops owls. Owls I also associate with Greece, so how magical is that! And in the early, early morning, with a straight line of crimson over the mountains, the silhouette of bats swooping over the courtyard-Bellisimo!

All right, enough Pat. But you see, it is the talkative; share ALL of life’s details that I most claim as my birthright. Inherited through some distant DNA chain from “MY people”. The world is Tutta bella (all beautiful!) and I have been blessed beyond blessed to see so much of it.

Grazie for bearing with the personal history, next one, natural history, I promise, a return to my new Falmouth bog, if only I can find the time to write it. Presently I am writing in Md, heading to TN where grandchildren await, my “bambinos”! Nona is on her way!