I usually think we’re living in the suburbs, but every now and then something persuades me that we actually live in the country.
Today, it’s the transumanza – moving the herds from high summer pastures to lower altitudes for winter. I filmed this right out my studio window.
You can hear the herd dog, but not see him – he was in the truck behind.
…One Week Later
Paul gave me this book from my Amazon wish list; I had been meaning to read Parks for quite some time, having heard good things about him.
All the reviews I’d read mentioned his books as being about Verona, but, on the very first page, I laughed out loud: “Italian Neighbors” is set in Montecchio, a small town that I’ve visited several times because Enrico has cousins there (though I don’t know it well enough to recognize the specific places Parks mentions).
This is a different sort of book from the “buy a villa in Tuscany” or “live in a picturesque village” sagas listed below; Parks lives a more ordinary life, he and his Italian wife struggling (as many of us do) to make ends meet with whatever work they can find (in his case, English teaching and translation, and writing). They deal with the hassles and enjoy the pleasures of ordinary Italian life, as Parks observes keenly and reports kindly. Montecchio is not much of a tourist destination nor particularly picturesque, but Parks brings out the small beauties and large charms available in almost every Italian town, if you know how to look. In sum, he reminds me rather of myself writing about Italy: he notices different things, but writes about them much the same way I would. (The big difference is: he’s published!)
Parks’ commentary on Italian social life and customs is dead on, though a bit out of date – the book was originally published in 1992, and even Italy has changed in this last tumultuous decade and a half. In addition to novels, Parks has written several more books about his life in Italy which doubtless bring the story forward and remark on these changes; I’ll let you know when I get around to reading them. His most recent, about the Medicis, was well reviewed in the Economist and elsewhere.
Dec 17, 2003
So I’ve been thinking of writing a book about life in Italy (just what the world needs more of). I’ve been checking out some of the competition on Amazon – none of which I have actually read:
“Like many European travel memoirs, Hawes’s work hinges on making the locals appear charming and eccentric, making the food seem sacred and making the countryside’s beauty look dazzling yet unappreciated by those who live there.”
“A sensuous valentine to author Ferenc Máté’s adopted homeland, The Hills of Tuscany brims with lush descriptions of golden dales, scrumptious meals, rich wines, and friendly natives.”“Of all the romantic obsessions in novelist Lisa St Aubin de Teran‘s life, the search for a castle occupied her the longest–until she saw the magnificent Villa Orsola deep in the Umbrian hills. Only after eagerly signing the ownership papers did she and her husband, painter Robbie Duff-Scott, discover they were the owners of a vast ruin lacking windowpanes, parts of the roof, and other essentials. A Valley in Italy recounts its restoration in the grand style of impossible house and the charms of bohemian family life. It also offers a rare portrait of the life of an Italian village, where ‘all things are made to be as enjoyable as possible.'”
“Everywhere hailed for its quirkiness, its hilarity, its charm, Pasquale’s Nose tells the story of a New York City lawyer who runs away to a small Etruscan village with his wife and new baby, and discovers a community of true eccentrics – warring bean growers, vanishing philosophers, a blind bootmaker, a porcupine hunter-among whom he feels unexpectedly at home.”
Okay, clearly I’m unqualified – I don’t live in Tuscany or Umbria or any small village or on a farm, and I haven’t renovated a villa, castle, or farmhouse. (Among other reasons, I don’t have the unlimited funds required to do some of those things.) I do love food and cooking, but my life doesn’t revolve around it. I have Italian friends and neighbors, but they are not friendly peasants or lovable eccentrics. Oh, well. As usual, I will just have to do it my way, and hope that someone wants to buy the result. Anyone know a good literary agent?
I heard about the 7/7 bombs from my dad, who called to let us know that my daughter and her boyfriend, visiting them in England, were safely at home in Milton Keynes, though they had all been touristing in London the day before.
I checked in with various friends; everyone’s okay. Life in London returned to normal the next day, with detours to place flowers at the bombing sites. Londoners have survived worse. Some still remember the Blitz in WWII, and most remember the years of IRA terrorism.
Israelis, of course, were unfazed by the news. It seems that everyone in Israel has lost a friend or loved one to terrorist bombs, or has their own near-miss story. The Israelis learned long ago how to cope with “everyday” terror, including such frighteningly hard-headed strategies as putting one’s children on separate buses to school.
In Italy, there had already been a noticeable police presence in railway stations, and sometimes on the trains, reminding us that we’re under siege. The Italian police forces had not been idle, but they increased their efforts after the London bombings, and arrested or expelled from the country dozens of people considered dangerous. Government officials have publicly stated that Italy is, nonetheless, at considerable risk. One even said specifically that they’re expecting something to happen in February, though he did not elaborate on the reasoning behind this prediction. The timing seems to be related to next spring’s elections, on the assumption that, since the Madrid bombing changed the Spanish government and led directly to the withdrawal of Spanish troops from Iraq, the same logic might be applied to Italy (thanks, Spain).
France and the Netherlands have temporarily suspended the Schengen accords (which allow free movement across borders) and are checking everybody entering and leaving. I’m not sure how useful this is. The London terrorists were home-grown, and France and the Netherlands have their own disaffected Muslims; it would be more useful to look harder at people already in the country. Though it seems that the masterminds and instructors of the London bombings may have been foreigners; I guess we don’t want the same guys personally spreading their cheer in other countries.
What does all this imply for everyday life in Italy? I commute to Milan almost every weekday, by train. I suppose I should be worried… Nah. Life’s too short, and, anyway, what am I going to do? Barricade myself in my house? That would truly be a victory for the terrorists. The best thing I can do is spit in their eye, metaphorically, by continuing to do what I do and be what I be. Most of my lifestyle is an affront to the beliefs of these idiots. That’s my personal freedom, and I am not about to give it up.
It’s ironic that, having moved to a beautiful place more or less in the country, I now commute into the city for work. I’m usually out of the house 12 hours a day, and don’t get much time to enjoy the natural beauties that surround me at home.
But there’s still plenty of nature to observe from the train. The spaces alonside and between the tracks run riot with growth. Sometimes there’s enough ground near the tracks to contain tiny vegetable gardens; I’m told the land is leased for the purpose, though I’m not sure by whom, or how the gardeners reach these tiny plots, which are divided and protected by rickety wood and wire fences. One such area near Lecco is entirely fenced with rusting old metal bedframes.
Some of these garden plots are beautified with flowers. Earlier in the year great clumps of vari-colored irises bloomed; then it was roses, and now it’s hydrangeas, bursting with extravagant puffballs of blue, purple, or pink flowers.
The most prolific flowers are, of course, the weeds. A few months ago the tracks were lively with red poppies, now they froth with Queen Anne’s Lace, and something with yellow blooms on a tall spike.
Back at home, our own orto (vegetable garden) is surviving my neglect – I barely have time or energy to water it every evening. I have learned that four zucchini plants are too many, and you have to watch them carefully. The fruits hide under the huge spreading leaves where I don’t notice them until they have become monster-sized (at which point they’re not very tasty to eat). I harvested a zucchinona 60 cm long, weighing four kilos (ten pounds).
We enjoyed good fresh salad for a while, but I planted too much and didn’t harvest it viciously enough, so it all bolted (flowered) and became too tough to eat. I suggested digging it all up and replanting it, which Domenico has duly done, though he dourly predicts that it’s too late in the season – in the present heat, the plants will not root strongly enough to produce much.
The cucumbers have been good, though, again, four plants are too many – next year I will purchase more conservatively. We’ve just begun to enjoy our first tomatoes. The peppers don’t seem to be doing well, I’m not sure why. Domenico has also planted broccoli, which needs to start growing now in order to produce in fall/winter (good thing I asked him about that; I was imagining I could plant it later in the year, since it’s a winter crop).
Sadly, our land doesn’t seem very suited to strawberries – for all the plants I planted and carefully tended, I only ate about six strawberries. Maybe they’ll establish themselves and do better next year. The hazelnut and fig saplings that Domenico planted are also struggling. At least the roses are doing well – 11 plants in 8 different colors, including yellow roses for Texas. They’re still blooming, a few at a time, though they wilt immediately in the crushing heat. Next spring they’ll probably be spectacular.
ps. Revenge of the garden: I went out to water yesterday evening and got stung twice on the right arm by the same wasp. Hurt like hell, and my arm still aches today. But at least now we know I’m not allergic.
We spent the weekend watching marching bands – appropriate for the 4th of July, though that’s not a holiday in Italy. The association of Italia Marching Show Bands had its championship in Lecco, with special guests the Concord Blue Devils, one of America’s premier drum and bugle corps. The presence of the Blue Devils in Lecco was the crashing together of two very different parts of my life. I know something about this drum and bugle stuff because my college boyfriend, Keith, had been a member of the Blue Devils. He took me to the DCI Championships back in 1982, which I never forgot. A good drum corps exhibition is a combination of the biggest marching band you’ve ever seen (over 100 musicians), plus 40 dancers and flag twirlers, all of them choreographed to make Busby Berkeley proud.
I often miss events because I’m not paying attention, but I heard about this one months ago from our friend Ravil, an opera singer now living in Milan, who also used to be a member of the Blue Devils (and vaguely remembers Keith – small world!). So I was prepared for this event, and very excited about it. Saturday evening the bands paraded through Lecco; the footage above is from the Blue Devils’ warmup before the parade. When I have time to wade through the remaining hours of video I shot, I will post some more clips.
My family were a bit taken aback by my enthusiasm before the event, but they understood once they actually saw it. The Blue Devils gave the final exhibition performances at the end of Sunday’s morning and evening competitions. I knew there would be an encore after the prize-giving, but we were out with a friend and her small, tired kids, so decided to go home rather than sit through the speechifying. As it turned out, we could hear the music perfectly well from the stadium, about a kilometer below our house.
later – The Blue Devils’ European tour generated some controversy among their fans back home; here’s my thought on the matter.
July 3, 2005
Sunday was the actual competition of the Italia Marching Show Bands. I had a front-row, center seat for the morning’s events and was able to get good footage; in the evening the center seats were sold out and I had a lousy point of view, to my great frustration.
July 3, 2005, 6 min
