“You can belong here.”
My new friend Andrea said these words to me a few months ago as we were walking through the “olivetta” in Umbria, Italy, searching for white truffles. His brother, Michele, closely followed his truffle dog “Livio” through the olive grove, digging quickly when the dog alerted to a find. The kids happily ran to the action, eager to fill their pockets with the small, fragrant truffles. A successful hunt would assure we had plenty shaved over our homemade egg pasta for lunch, which we all were looking forward to.
The kids ran and dug while Andrea and I slowly walked behind, lingering amongst the olive trees. Why do olive trees feel like balm to my heart? Speaking half in Italian and half in English, each of us meeting the other in conversation, I shared with him my deep affinity for this place, the countryside… the people… the way of life… the way families are built around a focus other than ‘things’. Speaking generally, Umbrian’s tend to prioritize community and conversation over convenience. One simply isn’t rushed — it’s not set up to be efficient. That’s not the point?
Perhaps some could argue this has kept this region held back from progress, from innovation.
But progress, innovation… towards what? I wonder.
Community events, holidays, celebrations, markets, weekend trips to Roma, time in the countryside, and food reign supreme. In our small village, the line for the porchetta vendor at the Saturday mercado was always long! “Siamo tutti!” That is, “We are many!” I heard spoken to the butcher. But he didn’t rush — he’d spent two days preparing the roast suckling pig, generously seasoned in his family’s secret-spice-blend, slow roasted to perfection. So he would take his time, speaking gently and slowly with each customer — even to those of us who ordered in broken Italian.
The focus seems to stretch far beyond progress and bank accounts.
I spend time reassuring myself that it’s good to be where I am. I pray about this often. This is, after all, where I am. In many ways, what I appreciate about the Umbrian’s approach to life can be taken here, now.
I bake bread because I delight in it… flaked sea salt and fragrant rosemary tucked inside an impossibly golden crust. Pure pleasure. I also delight in sharing my table with others, gathering up small little bouquets of flowers and branches for the kitchen, tasting new cheeses, reading through new inspiring cookbooks, stocking the refrigerator with my favorite cured meats, and having a particular bottle of wine I’m looking forward to enjoying.
These are small joys and simple pleasures, but I’ve never been the sort to aspire to much grander things — or perhaps, I simply haven’t made it there yet. Perhaps all my bandwidth has been beautifully taken up with planting tomatoes and pruning roses.
I couldn’t wait to devour the new episodes of Tucci in Italy this past weekend. Perhaps my favorite scene of the series took place at a restaurant in Lazio over a porchetta sandwich. An Italian man smiled and said “everyone who lives here is always happy” because they have porchetta to always enjoy together. While the sandwich is being made, the waitress stops the conversation to say, “Listen to the sound the crust makes when I cut it. Food is music. It’s art.”
My temptation, of course, is to overly romanticize the olive trees, piccolo artichokes, cobblestone streets, and inexpensive wine. But the thing is, I do hear the sound of the bread crust as music.
Though my Italian is elementary (sto praticando molto…), the language of a slow and simple life, woven around the harvests and the seasons, is one I speak very well.
So when Andrea assured me that Umbria would welcome our family, that we could belong, I believed him. Despite the many barriers, not the least of which is the notorious challenging Italian bureaucracy, culturally we speak much the same language.
The language of crusty bread, homemade wine, golden olive oil, kitchen gardens, family, seasonal produce, open tables, walkable streets, inexpensive coffee, face-to-face conversations… passion.
All of these thoughts have circled my head, landed in my heart, and have remained there since this morning. I don’t know what to do with them, but it’s lunch time now. What shall I eat? Perhaps a quick bowl of pasta with red sauce…
The truffles will have to wait for another day.
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Love,
Shaye
