eat or be eaten

A woodchuck found our garden while we were vacationing in Italy. While we dined on Bruschetta and drank white wine from the Ligurian coast, it ate organic broccoli plants, swiss chard and parsley right in our front yard. Up and over the fence, no problem.

On return, Calley sensed its presence immediately. Every morning she tracked its scent, criss crossing the lawn and heading down to the stonewall. From her bed in the front hall looking out to the garden she watched with full attention, ears cocked, hour after hour.

Then it happened. This morning at eight am I heard a clatter of scratchy paws on oak floor and then the slam of the screen door. Like a flash she went from prone to vertical and was standing in the front yard with the woodchuck in her mouth. Hearing the commotion, I looked out the window to see this scene. I could barely stand to watch and finally decided not to. She was doing what we wanted her to do, but I didn’t really want her to do it. There was my lap dog, the companion who licks my hands and feet, who rolls over to have her tummy rubbed every morning. A killer.

A short bark at the door and she is back from the hunt. The dead woodchuck is slumped in a furry pile on the grass. I fill Calley’s bowl with fresh water and put it down for her. Isn’t that what anyone would want after having a mouthful of fur? Then I hand her a dry, dreary dog biscuit as if that is the proper reward for the real life prey/predator encounter she has just had. I don’t even make her sit before giving it to her. She seems above those little dog tricks now.

After crunching on her biscuit, she sighs and curls up on the kitchen floor watching as I cut carrots and celery and tender basil leaves for a vegetarian soup.

Thanks to Calley, the parsley, swiss chard and eggplant are safe for another day. Who says a dog doesn’t earn her keep?

directions

iPhone..........

or map?

I just enjoyed the view of Florence from our terrace in Fiesole.

Can you see the Duomo?

cinque terre

Monterosso

View from the room we rented in Corniglia. No hotels in this tiny town. Note cars parked on road to town. That was as far as they could go.

They call this the Italian Riviera for a reason! The water was clear and just the right temperature. The key was to swim off the rocks. Everyone else crowded onto the beach. A swim and a lemon gelato were the perfect ending to a hot day of hiking. The locally made wine came later!

Corniglia was our favorite of the villages. We stayed here for two nights. It is the only one of the five that is above the coast so it did not attract the beach crowd. If you wanted to swim, you had to be pretty committed to get there and back. There was a steep path down to the water and although David looked at it longingly, I chose not to go!

Vernazza

At one time the five villages perched on steep headlands on the Ligurian coast of Italy were accessible only by foot path or by boat. Roads now snake down the steep mountains to the villages but cars must be parked on the outskirts. The footpaths that connect the villages wind along the densely terraced hillsides past grape vines and olive trees.

One path between villages was closed due to "jobs" as you can see in the hand written sign. They actually meant "work" as the trail was being worked on that day. At first disappointed, we were shown a longer, less traveled trail which went higher up the mountain through tiny hamlets, terraced grape arbors and along stone walls. It was our best day. A woman eating her lunch as we walked by her house offered to fill our water bottles. A tiny church was cool in the noon day sun, candles were flickering; lit as blessings for loved ones.

Someone once told me to show the trail as well as the view when describing a hike. Such a good idea since trails can really vary. In the White Mountains of New Hampshire, trails are rugged, mainly comprised of boulders to clamor over, in the west we hear of soft switch back trails lined with wild flowers, in Nepal the incline is gradual and steady. In Italy, these trails were and are used every day to go to work in the vineyards, and to travel to the next town. The steps are well worn.

Hang Out

If you have followed my blog for some time, you know that I could not travel to Italy without taking at least ONE photo of laundry drying on the line. Here is the one (yes one, I restricted myself this time, looking for other themes) I took in Siena. I was reminded to post it by reading a recent article about line drying and energy use.

Your electric clothes dryer is the biggest energy-gobbling appliance in your home after the refrigerator. So hang clothes outside, or inside until they are almost dry and pop them into the dryer.

Hanging out your laundry is a great way to save some money and have great smelling sheets as well. But you already know that.

Seas of Peace!

Hello Family! Please check out a piece on our program, Seas of Peace by Maine Public Radio. We are taking 18-21 year olds from Palestine and Israel on a tall ship in a few days. First we are in Portland learning to sail and doing intensive dialogue and leadership training, led my Tim and me! It is going well so far! Let me know if any of my Maine family will be in Portland in the next week. I would LOVE to see you. So much love, Carrie

Give it a listen and a look:

Seas of Peace radio program

dinner at home

Yes, this is where we stayed. It is as good as it looks!

We stayed in a small farm house for five days at Tenuta di Spannocchia, a centuries old agricultural estate located in central Tuscany near Siena. It is now an organic farm, educational and conservation organization and center for art and culture where workshops are held on all number of things.

You can also just stay there which is what we did. We slept late, read a lot and traveled to nearby hill towns in the afternoons, usually stopping for dinner on the way back. On our last night we cooked at home drinking the wine made on the thousand acres of land that comprises this splendid place.

To see more go to the Spannocchia website.

food

Homemade breakfast at Montecino (our farmhouse)

Lunch in Florence

gelato

food on the go.

Cafe in Lucca

Dinner in Florence

images of italy

directions

lock

roses at the door

lace curtain

courtyard

postcards from the edge

Many of you know how much I love correspondence that is stamped and postmarked and delivered by the postman to the box at the end of my driveway (now affectionately or dismissively called snail mail.) I am grateful to all of you who send me postcards from your travels. I save every one and sometimes rip them to pieces to include the stamp in a collage.

The reality of travel now is that it is far easier to find an internet cafe, pay one euro for fifteen minutes of time and send off missives to friends and loved ones in a flash. It is no problem to find postcards, but to find a post office that is open and figure out the language and currency is not so easy. And who wants to stand in line on their vacation?

So here is my postcard to all of you. I did find a hotel where the man at the desk provided stamps for one letter. I decided to send it off to Eliza in Africa who has two mail stops on her trip. The postage was the same to Tanzania as it was to the States. We were closer to her there than we are at home. Imagine my surprise to see the statue of liberty and the Brooklyn Bridge on this Italian stamp.

Stamps tell a story. On returning home, I did a little investigative research.

The internet turned up a New Yorker article about the New York Police Museum and an exhibit about Joe Petrosino, the subject of the above Italian stamp. He worked at fighting organized crime in New York. That work took him on a fateful trip to Sicily.

He was one of the only NYPT officers ever killed on an overseas assignment. Lieutenant Joe Petrosino, was assassinated, presumably by the Mafia, while on a secret mission to Sicily in 1909. A quarter of a million people showed up for his funeral back in Manhattan. There is a small but fascinating exhibit about Petrosino up at the New York Police Museum. Petrosino was a pioneering member of the Italian Squad—at the time, New York had about a hundred and fifty thousand Italian residents, and only a handful of Italian officers. You can’t fight crime if people can’t come into station houses and make themselves understood.

Impressive story. Local boy makes his country proud.

More to come on our trip to Italy. Hope you enjoyed getting my postcards and letter.