A Poem in October

October here is not the October of my youth,

days remain warm even while nights cool,

sun invites final days of outside dining,

children catch last hours of outdoor play.

Grapes, harvested in great trucks, are pressed

and judgements made on the stamp this year's weather,

vines are cut back to trunk, ground tidied for the coming year,

all focus is now on making wine with the year's distinctive vintage.

Olives, coaxed from generations old trees, spill on the ground

to be scooped into burlap bags and quickly pressed for oil,

shared with pickers, family and friends before sale of all excess,

pruned branches burn in fields and scent the air with turf- like smells.

Octobers of my youth were things of color,

an extravaganza of New England fall colors,

New England at its best, a lavish 

showiness of reds, yellows, oranges, fuchsia,

the abandonment of Pilgrim reserve to flaunt a ruckus of color,

whole mountainsides wild with flamboyant spectacle,

the boisterous rave of hills doubled in reflective lakes,

even small ponds mirrored the elaborate abundance of color

to dazzle us before the bare thickets of winter appeared,

fallen leaves filled yards, got pressed to preserve color

against the black and white of winter,

were fingered while lingering in front of winter fires.


Posted for Open Link Monday with Magaly at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads and prompted by Kerry's earlier encouragement to read Dylan Thomas's  Poem in October. 
I took the photo in New Hampshire.

L'Aquila Four Years Later

L'Aquila, the capital of Abruzzo, where I live, experienced a 5.8 earthquake in 2009 . The epicenter was close to this ancient and beautiful city and left 300 dead and 40,000 homeless as well as a devastated city center that remains closed to residents to this day. It's hard to imagine how large and elegant L'Aquila was and the extent of the disaster for residents, students at he university and for the economy of the province. Then Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi vowed to reconstruct this vital city in six months. Four years later, the only work done is the placement of scaffolding around the buildings.

On a recent visit I marveled at some intact structures or facades while all around was damaged.

There's a heartbreaking photo posted of some of the caskets from a joint funeral.

And handwritten notes left by former patrons on the door of a favorite cafe now closed.

One of the churches had scaffolding on the inside as well and was open to visitors.

It's hard to grasp the enormity of the loss of this capital, this historical and cultural center, this educational and commercial center. It's hard to see it left in this state of abeyance. It has the third largest piazza in Italy as just one of its many piazzas and elegant buildings and villas among its historic places.

Tours are now given to witness the devastation. I could see glimpses into houses, their doors ajar with dishes on the table and photos on the shelves. Residents have not been allowed back. Lives suspended.

There's no shortage of finger pointing to assign blame in the lack of progress in reconstruction. But it's the more personal side of this enormous loss that was evident at every turn. This large and formerly lovely city, the province's capital, with no people. Add this to the strangely elaborate scaffolding and it was eerie and profoundly unsettling.

Into The Mountains

This past weekend was too perfect not to travel to see new vistas so when my Honey and I were invited by friends to a luncheon up in the mountains about an hour and a half from where we live, I jumped at the chance. A tiny village in the Majella Mountains called San Lorenzo di Beffi was our destination. The drive was glorious and we made frequent stops to admire the views.

The last remnants of snow were visible in the rock crevices.

The restaurant of the Inn which was our destination stayed cool naturally as it was located downstairs in an ancient building now remodeled but with its characteristically vaulted stone ceilings intact.

The Inn itself is called La Corte Locanda (The Court Inn) and the original structure was built in the 1700's.

We decided to stay the night and enjoy the lovely grounds and warm hospitality of our hosts as well as the company of our good friends who also stayed over. Next morning we enjoyed the pool and the sun.

The property had many little spots to catch some shade since the day was hot even in the mountains.

We walked around the area and saw first hand the damage done to local buildings in the last big L'Aquila earthquake in 2009 (just before we moved here). The Inn had been renovated a few years previous to it so it wasn't damaged but their neighbors are mostly gone and homes abandoned or unoccupied with scaffolding around them. The Inn and restaurant have been seriously impacted nonetheless since people in the surrounding area comprised a large part of their business.

It was such a relaxing interlude that it felt longer than a day and a half. I came back refreshed and appreciative of my home in this little corner of the world but more aware of how long the earthquake recovery is taking.

Cittá Sant'Angelo, My Fair City

http://youtu.be/c5xMDZVjrGM

To enjoy on this summer Sunday- a video by Bruno Rugiere with scenes from my lovely, medieval town, Cittá Sant'Angelo in Abruzzo, Italy.

Happy Easter/ Buona Pasqua

Easter Greetings from the land of confetti (candy coated almonds) traditionally given at weddings, baptisms, graduations and other special occasions. They were once thrown in carnivals in Italy but when the English adapted this tradition to weddings, they traded tiny pieces of colored paper (called coriandoli in Italian) for the almonds.

Sulmona, here in Abruzzo, is the home of this colorful treat and I took some photos to share with you. Fashioned into flowers at this time of year, they make colorful displays and gifts. The sparkly flowers in the last photo would be my granddaughter's favorites. May your time with family and friends be sweet.

Where I Live

I'm from the town at the top of the hill
in a far away province of Italy,
a medieval town with ancient stones lining the streets
holding the traces of footsteps for a thousand years
reminding me of my place in the scheme of things-
one of them, humans together, trying to walk straight on crooked paths;
small alleys off the main street echo summers of shouts, out the windows,
down the lanes, while cooking smells waft overhead and people gather on stoops,
stairs, squares always urgent with the need to connect.

I'm from where Dolorata calls from her stand on market day: "Bella! Come stai?",
where Gianni parks his van with fresh fish every Wednesday and Friday and kisses
me and my husband on both cheeks and marvels that our names are John and Mary
and he's Gianni and his wife is Maria and we're from different countries
and aren't we lucky to have met and live here now? I'm from where I can see
the Apennine mountains around three sides of town while the Adriatic hugs the fourth,
where traditions are handed down like cherished family recipes, all meant to nourish,
where transitory has to do with crops and existential struggle describes weather
as friend or foe of the agriculture that sustains our region, its olives and grapes,
dirt and rain, trees and vines cut back after last season to grow again in this one
and be reaped to feed us all and slake our thirst.

I'm from where art and architecture generations old are held as humanity's treasures,
where people greet children with smiles and hugs and swing them gaily around,
hold them, too, as humanity's treasures; where yearly festas celebrate every saint,
crop, flower or historical accomplishment of our region to encode children's memories
in celebration. I've thrown in my lot with these folks in this town to live, to learn,
to expand my definition of where I'm from.

This is in response to Pamela Sayers request at dVerse Poets Pub to write about the places we live.

Combing Olive Trees Branch by Branch

Fall brings  a favorite opportunity in our olive rich area - harvesting olives the old fashioned way by combing branch after branch of our friend's olive trees. She has few enough trees to do it this way rather than the more mechanized version used by larger places. What a wonderful way to spend a day with friends.

My friend Sheila's trees were laden this year, ready to be swept into the nets below. Yesterday was in the high 60's with intermittent sun, the three dogs were bounding around begging someone to throw a stick for them to fetch and six of us were eager to engage in the ancient, almost meditative practice of harvesting olives.

A view from the olive grove located about 40 minutes from my house and closer to the mountains.

Sheila prepared a delicious, home cooked feast for the workers. We ate, chatted and shared snippets of our lives in Italy, rich with new-for-us experiences that endear us to this land, this place.

After pressing, each couple's reward is five liters of olive oil. I'm sure it enhances the heart benefits of olive oil to have combed the trees branch by branch and harvested the olives with our own hands.

Sheila has a couple of trees with eating olives rather than those meant to be crushed for oil. The green olives from Abruzzo, our area of Italy, are scrumptious and rated highly nationally.

Olive oil is used in products as well. Soap, of course, but also shampoo, body wash and lotion. My skin and hair love them.

It's hard to overestimate the value of slow, simple, earth based activities further connecting me to all that is- the trees, the sun, the earth, fresh air, fresh food, friends, easy banter, play with a dog, being a part of the cycle of that which feeds me. I'm grateful.

The Luncheon

I went to a luncheon given by my friends Marcello and Roberto with my Honey and our next door neighbors and first friends in Italy, Emily and Enzo. I share two photos so you can smile as we did, be delighted as we were.  Roberto fashioned ladybugs from cherry tomatoes and olive pieces for the appetizer course and dolphins from bananas and grapes for the fruit course; our appetites were sparked by the symmetrical beauty of the food and our surprised delight at a friend's efforts on our behalf.

It gives you a sense of why I love living here. Imagine this thoughtful, delightful, creative touch to a simple luncheon with friends? Add in the conversation, the day temperate enough to be enjoyed outdoors and the sheer good will of building relationships across language and cultural boundaries and it defines more than anything else "la dolce vita" for me. Sweet indeed.

Last Night's Sunset from My Balcony

I was watching this unusual cloud with my neighbors and here's what occurred:

Those were from my balcony looking south, while westward from my neighbor's balcony, I ran over to capture this:

I was speechless at the display.