There is nothing like a few days of dismal weather to build up enough tension so that at least a dollop of giddy happiness erupts inside one at the critical moment, the atmospheric dénouement that comes at the first glimpse of a sun thought to be lost forever. Hooray.
You see, it seems we arrived in Italy only to spend our first two days in the rain. Out back, Enrico’s garden was a soggy mess. At night it thundered, although the thunder blended seamlessly with the canone they put out at the periphery of the polenta corn fields to blast away at the cinghiale, the wild boar crazy for corn.
Then came Sunday. The skies cleared early. Sun, glorious sun, poured in the windows.
It was time for a road trip. I loaded the cameras. Martha took the wheel. The backroads were ours.
(Ok, so they weren’t truly ours—there were other vehicles on the twisty, narrow bits of tarmac fringed by a tangle of well-fed and watered rainforest undergrowth we had chosen as our route. As we squeezed by, spooky tendrils of greenery stroked the car ever so gently.)
Such technology, we’d come to find out, wasn’t much help in the outback of Tuscany. In the Lunigiana the screen showed a tangle of roads. Unmarked. The towns were sometimes identified but the names often misspelled. Oddly, the misspellings often involved the letter “g”. Either the g was missing, or it was added to a name that didn’t naturally contain one.
Anyway, the pictures in this article came from that drive. Pretty, eh?