L' ultimo Giorno/The Last Day

"You've been gone a long time!"
So posted one of my Facebook friends.
3 months. At first it does seem long. 3 months. A quarter of a year. 3 months away from my dear husband. 3 months of being unable to communicate with neighbors in the instantaneously mind-to-mouth rapid-fire manner of my New Jersey roots. 3 months of living with strangers just beyond the kitchen door. 3 months of being at least 6,000 miles away from any possible hugs from my children. In this context, it DOES seem like a long time.
But here I sit on my last afternoon in Casa da Carmine, drinking a wonderfully wicked strong espresso and gazing across the Fino Valley. The sky is baby blanket blue, the light clear and crisp. The town of Montefino sits at the highest spot, silhouetted against the sky like a miniature in a museum display. Its stillness and perfect detail are simultaneously tranquil and imposing. I watch as rows of sheep undulate across a green field. Another to their left flows yellow. Several softly rounded hills further up are striated shades of brown, beige, ochre, and gold. In the clear air,the squeaky rattle of an old tractor navigating an astonishing steep path can be heard for several kilometers. Church bells ring. 12:45. 15 minutes until the start of pranzo - the mid-day meal. I smell simmering pasta sauce and sausages beginning to brown.
These are the things I cannot take home. These are the things that  make 3 months seem like a very short time. That make 6 months, a year, 10 years, a lifetime seem like they will never be enough. Not to satiate my love and yearning for all these things and more.
This summer was superb. I climbed mountains -even led friends up one. I kayaked an exquisitely
beautiful stretch of Adriatic coast. I indulged in my new-found love of SUP boarding. I ate with abandon - arrosticini, porchetta, crunchy, fresh "fritte miste di pesce (mixed fried fish)", and too
many different kinds of antipasti to describe. I ate ricotta made fresh that morning at the place from which I purchased it and used olive oil about which I not only knew the country of origin, but could point to the very trees from which the fruit came. I dance myself silly at Mario's restaurant. With friends and unknown men and women who whirled, twirled, stomped, and clapped us around to the ceaselessly energized music of "lu bott" - the miniatures accordions typical of Abruzzese music.
Casa da Carmine filled my life with guests who perhaps began as strangers behind a door, but quickly became a part of my revolving family here. There was the adventurous Norwegian woman who allowed me to lead her up a mountain trail in winds that nearly blew us off of it. She held my arm to keep us both anchored. There was the German family whose 7 and 11 year old boys exalted in
launching from ropes into fresh lake water.
"The water here is not as cold as in Germany!" They said.
There were dear friends from way, way back who gathered here for a family reunion of sorts. I was blessed to be able to watch the love pour out and between them as they laughed together, cooked
together, sang together, and relished every second of this togetherness with a joy so contagious it left the house ringing for days after their departure. That this place - not just this house, but the whole area -  can allow this to happen and that I am able to be witness to it all - how do you get enough of that?

The Gran Sasso Mountains

Sun setting on San Lorenzo Winery

Alla prossima estate!
To next summer!

I went to mass today. I haven't been a practicing Catholic in decades. But on this, my last day here, I felt drawn to go. I struggled to follow the readings and sermon in Italian. But, oh, the sound! Of spoken and sung words! The sound echoed deep inside and plucked familiar, resonant strings, some
long silent. At communion I observed the faces and walks of everyone returning from taking the sacrament. In them I saw aunts, uncles, cousins, neighbors from my childhood. I felt swaddled in the kind of complete love and security I have known in only two places - at my grandmother's kitchen table and here.
When, at the end of mass, each person grasped another's hand to bestow them with "pace", I felt involuntary tears arise. From profound and often elusive joy and peace. All this is what I want to
offer my guests. The almost unbearably beautiful capacity for perfect harmony in our bodies, minds, and spirits. Although not all, and perhaps very few, have the connection to this culture that I do, this place still works magic. Its magic manages to permeate to the core. I want to share all of this with you. For as long as possible.
Alla prossima! To next year!

L' ultimo Giorno/The Last Day

"You've been gone a long time!"
So posted one of my Facebook friends.
3 months. At first it does seem long. 3 months. A quarter of a year. 3 months away from my dear husband. 3 months of being unable to communicate with neighbors in the instantaneously mind-to-mouth rapid-fire manner of my New Jersey roots. 3 months of living with strangers just beyond the kitchen door. 3 months of being at least 6,000 miles away from any possible hugs from my children. In this context, it DOES seem like a long time.
But here I sit on my last afternoon in Casa da Carmine, drinking a wonderfully wicked strong espresso and gazing across the Fino Valley. The sky is baby blanket blue, the light clear and crisp. The town of Montefino sits at the highest spot, silhouetted against the sky like a miniature in a museum display. Its stillness and perfect detail are simultaneously tranquil and imposing. I watch as rows of sheep undulate across a green field. Another to their left flows yellow. Several softly rounded hills further up are striated shades of brown, beige, ochre, and gold. In the clear air,the squeaky rattle of an old tractor navigating an astonishing steep path can be heard for several kilometers. Church bells ring. 12:45. 15 minutes until the start of pranzo - the mid-day meal. I smell simmering pasta sauce and sausages beginning to brown.
These are the things I cannot take home. These are the things that  make 3 months seem like a very short time. That make 6 months, a year, 10 years, a lifetime seem like they will never be enough. Not to satiate my love and yearning for all these things and more.
This summer was superb. I climbed mountains -even led friends up one. I kayaked an exquisitely
beautiful stretch of Adriatic coast. I indulged in my new-found love of SUP boarding. I ate with abandon - arrosticini, porchetta, crunchy, fresh "fritte miste di pesce (mixed fried fish)", and too
many different kinds of antipasti to describe. I ate ricotta made fresh that morning at the place from which I purchased it and used olive oil about which I not only knew the country of origin, but could point to the very trees from which the fruit came. I dance myself silly at Mario's restaurant. With friends and unknown men and women who whirled, twirled, stomped, and clapped us around to the ceaselessly energized music of "lu bott" - the miniatures accordions typical of Abruzzese music.
Casa da Carmine filled my life with guests who perhaps began as strangers behind a door, but quickly became a part of my revolving family here. There was the adventurous Norwegian woman who allowed me to lead her up a mountain trail in winds that nearly blew us off of it. She held my arm to keep us both anchored. There was the German family whose 7 and 11 year old boys exalted in
launching from ropes into fresh lake water.
"The water here is not as cold as in Germany!" They said.
There were dear friends from way, way back who gathered here for a family reunion of sorts. I was blessed to be able to watch the love pour out and between them as they laughed together, cooked
together, sang together, and relished every second of this togetherness with a joy so contagious it left the house ringing for days after their departure. That this place - not just this house, but the whole area -  can allow this to happen and that I am able to be witness to it all - how do you get enough of that?

The Gran Sasso Mountains

Sun setting on San Lorenzo Winery

Alla prossima estate!
To next summer!

I went to mass today. I haven't been a practicing Catholic in decades. But on this, my last day here, I felt drawn to go. I struggled to follow the readings and sermon in Italian. But, oh, the sound! Of spoken and sung words! The sound echoed deep inside and plucked familiar, resonant strings, some
long silent. At communion I observed the faces and walks of everyone returning from taking the sacrament. In them I saw aunts, uncles, cousins, neighbors from my childhood. I felt swaddled in the kind of complete love and security I have known in only two places - at my grandmother's kitchen table and here.
When, at the end of mass, each person grasped another's hand to bestow them with "pace", I felt involuntary tears arise. From profound and often elusive joy and peace. All this is what I want to
offer my guests. The almost unbearably beautiful capacity for perfect harmony in our bodies, minds, and spirits. Although not all, and perhaps very few, have the connection to this culture that I do, this place still works magic. Its magic manages to permeate to the core. I want to share all of this with you. For as long as possible.
Alla prossima! To next year!