Podere Trove: A Three Week Retrospective

November 18, 2007
Today marks my three-week anniversary on the farm. Exactly a year ago, I was on a Frontier Airlines flight from Denver to NYC, hiding behind big sunglasses, ridiculously hungover from the closing night party at the Denver Film Festival. This morning I fertilized olive trees. Here’s to life’s fluid evolution…

I am hosting a Thanksgiving fest at the farm on Thursday. Barbara called the butcher last night and he is on a mad search for a Turkey. He’ll let us know what he comes up with on Monday morning. We’ve invited a mix of Toscana friends new and old… guests so far include Team Olive, Alberto & Anna, and Robert & Elizabeth. I have yet to meet Robert, husband of Elizabeth (artist & children’s book author) but he runs a hot air balloon company, and word is that he eats and drinks like a true Englishman. I have put an urgent request into my mother and sister to email me very, very explicitly detailed recipes, as I am now completely in charge of this dinner. I have, however, successfully recruited Team Olive as my sous chefs.

It’s been an interesting shift in dynamic since the boys arrived. Or perhaps, better said, an interesting shift in my own personal experience. When I was here alone with Barbara & Ugo, every observation, every perception, every conversation, and every new, silly, tense, or intimate moment, somehow belonged to me. And now I’m going back to kindergarten to learn how to share. I am not quite sure how to describe the five-some that is Max, Adam, Barbara, Ugo, and myself, though I know that I find it as natural and comfortable as I do odd. Sometimes I want to slam my head against the wall (very hard stone) because no one seems to fit any role in my Tuscan fairytale. But more often, I thank and embrace them for enabling a alternate version ( read: black comedy) of my fairytale to exist. Life is made up of all kinds. And sometimes it’s hard to let anything resembling a cloud move into a clear and perfect setting. As ideal and romantic of a niche as I may have found here, the more it becomes my own niche, the more it becomes real life. And with that shift, people’s complexities, secrets, insecurities, and fears begin to color the landscape. Making for a different, though richer, more truthful landscape.

A Three Week Retrospective: Addendum

I have come to the big city for a quick visit to the internet café. Only have a few moments, but must briefly attempt to detail the past 24 hours. I think they may sum up the fabulously bizarre reality that has become my life here.

10:30am: I help Adam clean and roll up the olive nets. Back in the box they go until next year when a new helper takes on my previous role of olive net seamstress.

11am: Armed with book, journal, wallet, and my feet, I depart Podere Trove. I am taking the morning off to stroll into town and spend a little alone time without the fellow campers and head counselors. I am also in need of some slight retail therapy. Previously, I have spotted a shop in Petroio (the only one) filled with all handknit sweaters, linens, etc. I am at the farm without gloves, and am hoping to satisfy my desire for something new while solving my need to warm the ol’ olive picking hands.

11:02am: I bump into Anna, Alberto, and their two friends who are visiting from Milan. They are out walking the dogs and we meet on the path just down the hill from the farm. They invite me to come over whenever I am done having “Katie” time, and we decide that I will come by for lunch.

11:30am: The knit shop is closed.

11:31am: I enter Palazzo Brandano. The four-star hotel and restaurant that happens to be in Petroio. I have come here a few days before with Adam, and we meet the managers, Osmond and Jorgen, who give us free drinks and, since it’s off season, welcome and encourage our company. During this initial visit, I notice that the bathrooms are equipped with heat lights, and I make a mental note to utilize Palazzo Brandano as often as possible. And so, I am back. Jorgen makes me a cappuccino and I sit in the sun on the terrace with my book, and it is like looking at a painting, except it’s all real. When I ask Jorgen what I can pay him for the cappuccino, he responds, how about a dinner invitation? So, I invite Jorgen to the farm for the Thanksgiving fest, but he cannot come, and becomes incredibly red and embarrassed that he has actually asked me to dinner. I also learn that the knit shop is never actually open. You have to call one of the old ladies on the phone or physically knock on their door if you want them to open the shop for you to browse.

12:15pm: I walk to Alberto & Anna’s with my red riding hood on. I only take one wrong turn on the path, and get barked at by one dog.

12:30pm: Anna and her friend, Antionella are in the kitchen preparing lunch. Alberto takes Phillipo (Antionella’s husband) and me downstairs to the test cellar. Now I am tasting the wines of 7 different grape barrells for breakfast. Anna and Alberto have coined me “The Wine Spectator” (they actually introduced me in a restaurant the other night as “The Wine Spectator from New York City” and we received a second bottle of wine), all of which I find ridiculously amusing and really quite flattering.

12:45pm We have tasted the wines and discussed their changes and current stages. I am sufficiently giggly.

1pm: We sit down to a delicious lunch of pasta and frittata with truffles.

3pm: With a full stomach and quite a few glasses of vino in my system, I call Barbara & Ugo to tell them I will not be of much use to work on the farm in the afternoon. Especially if it involves driving a tractor. They are also taking the afternoon off to visit a neighboring town, so all works out perfectly.

Between 3pm and 8pm:
Alberto takes out the guitar and our concerto begins. Phillippo (who speaks no English) and I sing Pink Floyd and an entire array of Eric Clapton songs. I am once again translating the meaning of “Wish You Were Here” and “Stairway to Heaven.” I have somehow been deemed lead singer. Anna comes downstairs with her hair in foils. Antoinella is a hairstylist in Milan, and has just put fresh highlights in her hair. There is more singing. I am told to stay for dinner and am offered a shower. My hair could be used to make olive oil, so I accept without much in the way of hesitation. Somehow we all find ourselves back in the kitchen talking, cooking, and opening more wine.

8pm: A light pasta dinner. More vino.

9:30pm: My hip hop moves have made their debut at my first Tuscan dance party. Anna’s ipod has us dancing to the likes of Ricky Martin, Madonna, and Jennifer Lopez.

10pm: I am choreographing a routine to “Thriller” while translating the meaning behind Michael Jackson’s lyrics. Where is the camera?

Fast forward to 8:30am this morning.

I wake up and think maybe I am still inebriated. The wine and grappa fest continued well past midnight. (At 2am however, I did manage to find my way to the clothesline and locate my sweatpants, which thankfully were dry, or I would have been sleeping in jeans that tend to be a bit restricting these days)

10am: Group field trip to the Tuesday morning market in town.

10:30 am: Ugo and I simultaneously feel the magnetic pull to the porchetta sandwich stand. I think either I have had one too many porchetta’s, or am slightly losing my mind (or both) because I am certain that I recognize the man behind the counter. I mention this to Ugo and he says, of course, that is the waiter from the restaurant we went two weeks back. He and his mother also own the porchetta stand. Ugo orders us each a glass of vino with our sandwich, and whaddayaknow, I seem to be drinking wine for breakfast again. For 5 Euro, Ugo and I each have a panino and 2 plastic cups of wine (as he felt the need for a refill). We do the vegetable shopping for the Thanksgiving dinner feast, and I buy a pair of fleece gloves. Minor retail therapy accomplished and major happiness for my hands.

Noon: I am at the supermarket, walking the aisles with Ugo and my blackberry, scanning my Thanksgiving ingredient list courtesy of my mother and sister. I actually find pearl onions in Italy! And have bought so many sacks of potatoes, we may be eating them through December.

Now am finishing up at the internet café and then back to the casa. The guest list for Thursday has increased to 11, and I have two days to learn how to cook…