One of those spring days last year, when Gary worked in my garden and I was assigned garbage detail, the hairdresser down the street stepped out for a smoke and a look at that view (and perhaps at us?). Looking for any excuse for a little break from chores, I fell into conversing with her. Then a sad, young woman passed by and the hairdresser had a brief, private exchange with her. Turning back to me, she said that the woman's mother had died last night and went on to tell me how. Afterward, Gary said, "Either my Italian is really bad or she just told you that her friend's mother fell out the window last night!" True. Hanging laundry on the line. Mmmm.

There's a lot of shy curiosity in the village about me. There's a lot of 'who gives a sh**?', too. I like both attitudes. This isn't a tourist town except for a few long distance bicyclists or the stray hiker. The very oldest citizens seem to have had memories of youth triggered by my reanimation of this once prestigious residence that has been shuttered and empty for thirty odd years. Those who overheard every word of my Q & A at the bank when I opened an account might be arguing about my marital status since they know they heard I am single and yet they've seen me working around the house with an Aussie, a Finn, an Italian, and a Brit pitching right in- all men. Which one's the husband? Mmmm. (They each live anywhere from ten minutes to an hour away.) Most of my women friends live much further away. One came all the way from New York to slave away during the initial cleanup. I plan to fill the house with friends often- for dinner, weekends, afternoons in the garden. Everyone will have views.

posted by Joanna @ 1/30/2004 02:58:00 AM 0 comments  

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 0 comments