Carne Diem in Tuscany
Upcoming milestone moments brought on a reflective weekend in famiglia.
This past December, I started noticing the countdown in a handwritten book dedication from my son:
“Crazy to think this is our last Christmas living together,” he wrote on the title page of Massimo Bontempelli’s Il figlio di due madri. “To the best (and only — ignore the title) Mamma in the world.”
Here was proof that I wasn’t the only one thinking about the monumental shift about to take place in our family.
In 40 days, my son graduates from high school. In 50 days, he turns eighteen. In the countdown to these two milestone moments, I can’t resist the urge to write about them, several months before my son moves to Milan for university.
As spring blooms in Rome, my budding adult is thinking about how to design his future garden. I struggle to understand how much I should still water it.
It’s not fair to think of this as my empty-nest moment yet because, fortunately, my other little chick will still be living at home this September when she enters her second year of high school. Instead, our Roman nest will likely feel a bit more spacious. I will have to set the table for three, throw in less pasta for dinner, and get used to not having my confidant around in books, writing, reading, dog-walking, and tech support.
Reflecting on all this, I recently insisted we spend a family weekend together before the summer scatters us in several different directions. Carpe diem, I told them. My 15-year-old daughter groaned — she didn’t want to miss out on Saturday night in Trastevere’s Piazza Trilussa.
My son, on the other hand, didn’t object. I thought back to his Christmas gift to me, and took note of the other quiet comments he has recently made about moving away from home soon. He has been noting recipes and ingredients of his favorite dishes, lining up annual subscriptions to Spotify and The Economist, and observing me from the driver’s seat in traffic as he gears up to take his own driver’s license test. I’ve also noticed a vague though elevated interest in his doing laundry, stocking the fridge, keeping a budget, and running the dishwasher.
So, off we went to Tuscany — for two nights in the Val d’Orcia, and an afternoon in Panzano.
In front of our car, my husband, daughter and I each stood with our intrepid, wheelie carry-ons. My son, instead, donned his hefty back-pack that we recently bought in anticipation of his summer Eurail trip with friends. After he hauled it the short distance from our home to the garage, he asked to learn my back exercises in order to train him for the new weight he would soon shoulder. When he packed the trunk like a Bento box, I was reminded that I wouldn’t just miss him around the house.
As we crossed the border from Umbria to Tuscany, the backroads began to slither like snakes among the verdant, rolling hills that the kids thought resembled a Google screensaver in their Technicolor perfection. Our playlist shifted from Italian house music to Lucio Battisti, then Lucio Dalla, and on to Mina and Rino Gaetano, as my kids sang along and rolled their “Rs” in their fluency of Italian car karaoke. Eventually, we all ended up crooning to Antonello Venditti’s “Notte prima degli esami.” By the second stanza, I pretended I had Tuscan dust in my eyes as I wiped tears away that fell behind my sunglasses. The lyrical medley and poetic words of this particular Italian classic mirror the chapter my son is living in Italy right now as he studies for his final International Baccalaureate exams.
After an hour and a half drive from Rome, we landed at La Foce, a 15th Century Italian villa owned and run by the Origo family, forever friends of both my American family and my husband’s Italian family. During the Second World War, the property became a refuge to many partisans and refugees thanks to the risky generosity of its owners, Iris and Antonio Origo. An Anglo-American who moved to Tuscany once she married, Iris Origo wrote prolifically about her challenging and beautiful memories managing La Foce with her Italian husband as they contributed to the prosperity of its surroundings during difficult war times. Her books are worth an entire summer of reading.
If you are looking for a place to get married in Tuscany, a celebratory setting for an important anniversary or a weekend getaway, look no further than right here. (If you want a sneak peak of what it looks like all dressed up, watch Season 4 Episode 3 of Succession — mute the foul language and admire the glorious flora and fauna!).
If you have a green thumb, plan a visit to their spectacular gardens designed by English architect Cecil Pinsent with wisteria-strewn pergolas, geometrical box hedges, and stunning views of the surrounding valley of Orcia and Mount Amiata.
And, finally, for music aficionados, its annual July music festival, Incontri in Terra di Siena, is a must. Benedetta Origo, and her late son, renowned cellist Antonio Lysy, founded the festival to honor her parents in 1988. Together with her two daughters and her sister, she works tirelessly to make the property, its gardens, and its music festival one of Italy’s finest gems.
On their first night, our kids slept soundly in sibling peace: in separate bedrooms with separate bathrooms. For the second night, however, my daughter snuck into the queen-size bed of her older brother. In addition to seeking his advice on outfits, math, biology and dating, she, too, clearly wanted him closer while he was still around and under the same roof.
On our first night, before dinner, my daughter and I sat outside in sling-back canvas chairs sipping warm tea while I drilled her on her lines as one of the lead roles in the upcoming school play. The following night, my son asked my husband if they could smoke two cigars he had thrown into his backpack for the weekend. From my bedroom window, I watched them puff together as the sun set in magnificent purples and pinks, and I thought about how their conversations have evolved from Lego and Minecraft to legislation and politics. We wouldn’t have found these quiet moments at home in Rome where we spend too much of our down time aimlessly scrolling through inane, addictive technology. Only the fragrance of rosemary, thyme, and lavender of the Tuscan air, the spring breeze whispering through the cypresses, and the buzzing of bees in the purple wisteria created the symphony of the countryside’s finest instruments as we regrouped in our quartet.
We ate in two superb restaurants: Dopolavoro near La Foce, with gorgeous outdoor seating under twinkle-lit pergolas, and a delicious selection of local Tuscan dishes (I devoured gnudi di ricotta e spinaci, and my kids loved pici al ragu’ di nana). And, then, we drove about a half-hour from La Foce to Fondo, a new restaurant in an ex-convent next to a 13th century church run by two women, a creative chef and an art historian. I’ll never forget my peanut butter ice-cream dessert served with a King-Kong action figure. In a country where peanut butter is often snubbed, I found my people in this delectable spot. (You can also get married or hold receptions here.)
On Saturday, we drove to Panzano to visit our friend, renowned-butcher Dario Cecchini, and his wonderful (Californian!) wife Kim, at their meat mecca of eateries. The hungry can choose to eat at either Cecchini Panini, L’Officina, Solociccia or Panzanese. Our favorite dishes were ramerino in culo (rosemary up the bum), and bistecca fiorentina con sugo diamme d’inferno (Florentine steak with flame of hell meat sauce). Don’t despair if you don’t eat meat: there’s a delicious menu for vegetarians of irresistible Tuscan dishes (I recommend the Tuscan beans and braised onions and chickpea tart).
When we first moved to San Francisco, our kids were aged ten and seven, and struggled with the transition from Italy to America. Dario was one of the first Italian friends we saw in our new life in San Francisco when he visited us as the star of La Settimana della Cucina Italiana. At the time, he sensed our kids’ homesickness for Italy. Not only famous for his delicious cuts of beef, Dario also procures salts. Before leaving us in California, he sprinkled our kids’ heads with his salts, professing good luck, insisting that, with just the right amount of Italian seasoning, they would adapt well to America. He was right. They still remember clutching their salt packets, and his blessing of good will. To be embraced by the warmth of Zio Dario almost eight years later was a heartfelt reminder of his own version of seizing life in Carne Diem.
While in Tuscany, I finished reading Zora Neale Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God. In its last chapter, the protagonist, Janie Crawford, reflects on love, which got me thinking about all that I felt after a weekend with my foursome:
“…love ain’t somethin’ lak uh grindstone dat’s de same thing everywhere and do de same thing tuh everything it touch. Love is lak de sea. It’s uh moving thing, but still and all, it takes its shape from de shore it meets, and it’s different with every shore.”
Throughout the weekend, as I observed my son’s face that no longer carries the smooth baby fat of a little boy but the rough stubble of a young man, I knew in my heart of aching hearts that it was time to let him fly.
After tossing and turning at night and wondering whether I’ve taught him enough, I found comfort reading Hurston with my night-lamp at 3am. In her concluding chapter, she reminded me of some wisdom for my teenager ready for take-off:
“Two things everybody’s got tuh do fuh theyselves. They got tuh go tuh God, and they got tuh find out about livin’ fuh theyselves.”
We found a bit of both in Tuscany. Something tells me it won’t be our last family weekend. But it was still pretty special.
Thank you for sharing such treasured moments which reflect how it was for me too when my oldest left home for university in Canada. The last night she was home, in the middle of the night I quietly gazed at her sleeping soundly and I silently wept. Your story reminded me of this, which was 8 years ago but feels like yesterday at this moment as I’m thinking about it.
What tender thoughts and lovely details.