INSPIRATION
Italian Journey
I’m sitting in a stunning spot at Forterocca with a view of the alps , church and village trying to write ‘the book’, when two trucks a minivan and multiple people arrive all chatting loudly in Italian. Maybe I should change position, move to the café, but then there are the folk from the square and the locals staring trying to decide what I’m doing.
Will I always feel like an outsider here in our Italian journey, overdressed or under dressed, in the wrong spot, saying the wrong thing? Feeling obvious, uncertain, like an idiot. A shaggy haired idiot with smelly clothes and no makeup. How do they make jeans and a t-shirt look so good?
The alps tower over us all, visible one day hidden by thick fog the next. Lines of ancient houses hug the mountains. Our house is in the deepest part of the valley, you will get no light for three months Antonio tells me with delight, e molto freddo and senza sole. The valley is too tight to allow the sunlight, it will make its way in a low arc and be gone by the early afternoon.
I no longer wear a watch, I tell the time by the comings and goings of our neighbors, and the ringing of the cowbells as they head in for milking late in the day. I know when its lunch time by the total absence of any sound apart from the newest stray dog howling on her chain. She cries to be released or fed or just loved, maybe all three. Her oddly colored eyes are always sad and she shivers constantly, a good breeze might blow her all the way back to the village and her past owners.
Sunlight creates deep shadows which hide the detail. The valley is still awaiting the tolling of the lunch time bell then everything will stop. A scruffy brown dog sits sunning itself in a doorway one floor up over the street. It’s front paws dangle over the edge of a partly finished concrete ledge. I hear the owner hammering away inside, the dog yawns.
A soft haze of white smoke rises from the chimneys giving away the fortitude of the occupants, comments are made about lighting the fire this early, how much wood will be needed to see us through the winter, and who are we buying it from. How much is a quintale of wood, and how many will we need, then where will we store this mountain of wood that will keep us alive though the oncoming winter.
A white paper lantern swings gently in the breeze like a glowing summer moon, as out of place here as I am. It casts no shadow at all, makes no impression other than its own oddity.
Threads of spider web catch the sunlight, stretching as far as the spider was able to float on the breeze. When the light hits a certain way I can see groups of them dancing in the wind. The sky is a perfect blue, not a cloud just this soft Italian haze that makes me feel as if I am in a movie.
To just sit in the warmth of an Italian sun, to remove the many layers of clothing added in the chill early hours of the morning when it was crisp and fresh the mountain wind biting at my face is a treat. Silence, no kids no husband. I’ll even forgive the owner of the scruffy dog for starting up his chainsaw, the dogs barking and two trucks deciding on just this moment to pull up under the balcony of the scruffy dog which has now disappeared.
The twelve o’clock bell tolls, I can’t stop myself from counting the swinging bell as it rings out through the valley. Incredibly loud sitting here right underneath, perhaps that’s why the dog chose just this moment to disappear inside. For how many years has this bell tower rung the people to lunch and home to dinner? A bright blue tractor chugs up the road and the bell fades, its echo bouncing off rough stone walls. Another Italian Journey….
A bright shooting star in the blue sky to my left leaves two straight vapor trails as it disappears behind the ridge. A modern orange plastic chair against the bright yellow wall, imitation terracotta tubs with sad faded hydrangeas and doors that need a new coat of varnish to protect them through the winter.
Time is tough here, it leaves a mark on all things.
We are yet to be touched by the winter, I wonder how she will leave her mark on us.
and the gang x
I’ve been finding my muse down at Forterocca Krista, it makes such a difference to my writing to get out of the house and into the village. I’m really enjoying writing and then adding the images rather than the other way around. In my latest post I had a bit of an eye opener to how my life will go if I don’t put value on the simple joys in my life. sending love to you and your gorgeous Bear xx
Lisa – you write beautifully. I love your detailed description from the spider web to the orange plastic chair. Interesting that you feel like an outsider, and yet that is what allows you to observe so well. In the past big newspapers would always move their foreign correspondents to a new country after three years. There were several reasons, but one of the most important was that people become used to their surroundings after a while and lose their capacity to observe details that might be interesting to others but seem normal who those who live there. The second reason, sadly, is that journalists can become too close to the people/institutions they are covering that lose their ability to remain impartial. So, consider your “outsider” feeling to be something useful for your writing. I cannot wait to read your book some day. Take care, Trisha
What a wonderful insight Trisha and a great way to look at being the new kid in town. I am already noticing that I feel now that I can’t photograph the people here in the borgata or the village as they are friends. I especially love photographing the older people and the kids, it was interesting that a friend of ours visited from Australia and was photographing everybody here and they were loving posing for him, so the other is just my story lol x
I’m so glad you stayed to talk. XO I love your words and how you express yourself. I have felt so many of those same feelings, of knowing I belong here but not quite feeling it yet. I’ve learned that feeling at home takes a long time and that it’s worth the wait. I love your descriptions of what you see and sense and feel and hear. 🙂 You’re a magnificent writer and I wish you much calmness of spirit and assurance of belonging no matter where you are. XO
ah Lisa! Keep writing girl.
Grazie dear Margaret, it will be the last thing I’ll give up!
and you inspired me to try that recipe at your blog, xx
And this post of yours reminded me why I took up blogging. Here and now baby. Here and now. 🙂 x
sometimes I need to remind myself, xx
thanks for the reminder, made me laugh x
Trisha, your words are so true. Fresh eyes are so clear, and perhaps Lisa gives us the eyes to look afresh at our own special places, through her astute observation and sympathetic description of her spaces which she makes so special. I look forward to reading more!
It’s always great to get another perspective Kay and that’s what you all give me, what a gift.
I now think of myself as someone with ‘fresh’ eyes and a story teller xx
Dear Lisa, even if I always enjoy your fantastic photos I absolutely loved your descriptive writing and appreciated it without images because it in itself creates powerful images. You are a fantastic writer as well as a fantastic woman. And you’re absolutely not out of place, you just brought some new and fresh air in an old world. I’m Italian and live abroad, I perfectly understand your feelings, but funny to say now I feel a bit out of the place when I’m back in Italy (but I still call it home). I admire the courage and perseverance you all put in this tough experience. Bravi!!!
Love,
Maria Luisa
My husband was laughing when he read this Maria, as I’ve been saying I want a book filled with images and he says the words create the images. My in laws felt out of place here in Italy when they returned to visit us for the first time since they left as an 8 and 18 year old. All the things they thought were ‘Italian’ were out of date when they returned lol xx
Grazi for your kind thoughts, and Bravi to all those outside their comfort zones xx
“Time is tough here; it leaves a mark on all things.” Lovely image, Lisa, and a bittersweet post.
Bitter Sweet, yes totally sums life up from day to day here x
xxx
loved your photos of the men picking the olives, gorgeous x
Lisa ,beautiful words , I felt as if I was sitting in your shoes , the uncertainty of winter approaching is a scarey time ,but do trave to meet the sun everyday then back to your toasty home xxxxxx
Hey Julie how nice to see you here!
The winter is a concern mostly as we have no real clue just how harsh it will be. This will be different to the house in Gambasca where we got the sun even in winter. As long as we have enough wood (that should make Perry laugh, he can send us some) and the house sealed up we should be right. xxx
I enjoyed this with my morning coffee, somewhat late today. While I have the sun all day on my hillside I too wonder about the adequacy of my woodstack; what will the winter bring? I enjoy your personal voice, and so many of your comments ring true with me as I sit, scruffy and senza trucco, una donna seria whom nobody quite understands. Your posting came just as I have been craving good debate in my own language; instead you have offered me a glimpse into your life and have reminded me again of how I love living here in rural Italy. I thank you.
Kay you are most welcome and I have to say I am totally fascinated with your site and the theme of the Legato Exhibitons and the reasoning behind them.
Within our borgata and the area are many older people who lived through the war, the stories they tell are so moving. To think that the war was fought right here, that soldiers passed our very doorstep is hard to take in for an Aussie girl.
Artists have a gift to bring to this subject. So I’m glad to have given you a glimpse into our life, and yes the wild mountains of Italy have captured my heart totally.
x
Lisa, this is such a poignant piece. Despite the uncertainty, you are exactly where you are meant to be and your words always validate your choice to be in Italy. Thank you for sharing your heart with us.
Ciao Linda, I know you understand that a certain place can capture your heart, I see this with Tuscan Muse. I just now hear the farmer walking his cows down the road (in the pouring rain with darkness falling). We can now tell the type of animals going past our house by the sound of the bells xxx
xxx
Lisa, your vulnerability comes through your words with softness and determination. So many times I sat as you have here, wondering, with waves of different emotions pulsing through me, pushing me forward, pulling me back. Italy is so full of tough love. Of fierce love. The further you go into the mountains, the tougher and fiercer the emotions and reality. I think about you every day, praying that your window guy is working without pause to get your house closed up, hoping that you have enough fire wood. Remember when the sun fully retreats to walk yourself up to a sunny point every day that you can and put your face in it. Always remember that the sun will return with the bees and the crocus. Your writing here touches me; you continue to be one of the bravest women I know. Much love.
Diana when I first read your words a few days ago I teared up, so moving and thank you. Tough fierce love sums it up perfectly, the mountain people are a tough bunch, they have to be. I’m sure we will be okay through our first winter and at least here we have help if we need it right at our doorstep.
I love the thought of the sun returning like a past visitor, especially if she brings the gift of crocus! I don’t feel very brave, yet when you think of the life of expats all over the world I guess that’s how you would describe us xxx
Once winter is over we will have to meet up, it remains one of my promised treats to get me through the tough times….to one day sip a coffee with you x
Beautiful, Lisa! I’ve never been one for poetry, always preferring ‘poetic prose’ (finding it particularly in the classics, which is why I prefer re-reading old books to newer novels), and this post is right up my street! 🙂 I have no idea how they make jeans and a t-shirt look so good here, I should have some Italian style in my genes, but I can’t seem to make it work… And I tear up every time you mention the neighbours’ new dog on her chain.
Carina has that gift for looking good in anything she throws on. I hope she keeps it as she gets older and doesn’t loose her own unique style. I on the other hand have no style lol x
I was writing these words in an effort to loosen up and get the writing juices flowing. It really helped to get away from the house so now I go down to the village to write when I get the chance. I feel sorry for the little dog, I’ve named her Igraine the brave, it seems to suit her.
ciao love lisa x