On this bitterly cold January night in New York City, I am in a state of suspended animation. I own a house in southern Tuscany but it will be months and months before I can finally go there to live.

Behind the house is a small, sloping, medieval piazza. Gary, my agent's dog Lupo, and I sat on the steps of the wellhead there in the late afternoon May sunshine. Zak took pictures. An elderly woman called down from her window, making friendly small talk about the weather and being curious about us, gli stranieri. The following September, after I took possession, I met her again while I sat on my steps at the end of a day of cleaning. I was a sight. Here she came, frail and elegantly groomed, as she set out for her early evening passeggiata. Leaning on the stair railing next to where I sat at my front door, she stopped to chat. She was born in this village and, after forty odd years of dealing in antiques up in Firenze, she's come home to die here. I'm ashamed to say I do not yet know her name, but I look forward to seeing her again soon.

After I had signed the compromesso in May, wherein it was agreed that access to the garden was mine even before the closing months hence, Gary took charge of getting a start on the huge gated garden across the lane. The tall gate opens on to the terrace that gives the house its name. According to the elderly ladies who live a bit further down the lane, before World War II, the young people of the town used meet here at IL LOGGINO (the little loggia). They had been part of that social group. They will be able to tell me so much about the history of my house.

The walled garden is deep below the town lane. There is a huge medlar tree growing up to shade the terrace and there is a date palm, probably imported from Libya before the war. Down the stone stairs there are four olive trees. There's a large sagging grape arbor, in autumn covered with large, delicious red table grapes. There are some white table grapes climbing the wall below the terrace. Under the terrace are two small store rooms the back walls of which show the outline of a filled in passage way. How old is it? Did it lead to my house or farther up toward the ruined castle?

It is a near wilderness in my garden now. And tonight it is very likely pretty cold. But there will be wild, exquisitely sweet, tiny, red strawberries again this spring. Under the untamed growth, there are roses and iris and day lilies. This promised paradise overlooks, as do all the front windows of my house, the entire Val d'Orcia from the outskirts of Pienza to Montepulciano to Monte Cetona to Radicofani. It's quite a view.

posted by Joanna @ 1/28/2004 04:14:00 AM