Keeping Faith by Cindy Bradford (serial 27)
Chapter 9 Part VII
Cindy Bradford
Patrick stood looking to the west as the light from the golden ball oozed into the glistening water surrounded by the dark green landscape. Within minutes the sky had turned to crimson with just a few streaks of turquoise.
“This is, indeed, heaven on earth,” he smiled, looking directly at Carmella. “It is going to be difficult to leave.”
“Then stay.”
“I can’t, but I do hope you will have me back.”
“Patrico, you are welcome here anytime. When the studies are weighing you down or you are lonesome, whatever the case may be, you jump on a train. You know it is quite inexpensive and even after your classes on Friday you can probably arrive in time to watch the sunset with us.”
“You have to promise to come at least once every month. There is always something special. In September, we hunt for the wild mushrooms, and then of course we harvest the grapes in October. November is when the olives are picked; December is then a time when we slow down after the busy fall and enjoy the sights and smells of the holidays. Carmen and Claudia make the most wonderful sweets. The whole house smells of gingerbread and juniper. Enrico and Stefano find the biggest tree available, and we decorate it in the great room. We have twinkling lights and candles everywhere. You cannot miss that.”
“There is a true rhythm to life here,” Patrick mused.
“Yes, and it is rewarding and fulfilling because we do so much of it ourselves,” Stefano added. “In the winter months, Claudia spins wool and makes some beautiful accessories, which she often sells at the markets in Florence. Now she is teaching Carmen. Enrico and I cure our own prosciutto in January and in the spring we pick the vegetables and fruits right here. The women make the most tasty pecorino cheese during a rare, slow time in March. Life is busy here, so we never get bored. Speaking of busy, I must start the steaks if you two will go with me to the courtyard.”
“I will follow you anywhere for a steak,” said Patrick.
As Stefano readied the grill he said, smiling, “You thought only Americans grilled, huh?”
“Honestly, yes, I never thought about that in Italy.”
“Tonight is my night to cook, so this is what I do best.”
He left for a moment and returned with antipasta of bruschetta al pomodoro. He poured the three of them a glass of red wine.
“This is one of the more robust wines to go with our bistecca al fiorentina. Everything tonight is from our land, Patrico.”
“That has to give you a great deal of satisfaction. But, I haven’t seen any cattle.”
“But tomorrow you will see my pride and joys, my Chianina.”
“Is that a breed of cattle just in Italy? I have never heard of them.”
“Correct. They are probably the oldest breed in the world. They have even been the models for Roman sculptures. Just since World War II, has the United States known about them, although some have been in Canada. The U.S. government will only allow the semen to be imported, and it was only this year that a half-blood Chianina and Angus/Holstein bull calf was born in California. There is speculation that this year or next, Italian full-bloods will be exported from Canada into the U.S.”
“Why can’t you export them?”
“We have had a few documented cases of foot and mouth disease here in Italy, so we are prohibited from exporting cattle to the U.S. I think that will change soon, however.”
“I am anxious to see what they look like.”
“They are bigger here than most parts of Italy, even bigger up toward Arezzo and Siena.”
“Can you two think of something else to talk about before dinner?” Carmella asked, smiling.
“You mean like bubble baths,” Patrick grinned.
Carmella hit him with her paschima and laughed.
“We will eat in the courtyard if that is all right. I had Carmen set it up for us before she left work today.”
“That is cheating,” Carmella said.
“Yes, dear, but that is the only cheating I do!”
“Well then, I will overlook this tonight, besides the steaks smell good,” she added.
After dinner, Carmella said, “Tomorrow my baby girl will be here. I am so very excited.”
“Yes, I am also, but first I have to show Patrick the olives and the cattle and then he will have seen most of everything.”
“I will be earlier tomorrow,” Patrick promised, “So now I must get some sleep. The dinner was fantastic; my compliments to the chef.”
“Thank you. Did you tell Patrico that tomorrow night is his night to cook?” he teased.
“I need to make friends quickly with Carmen, but it is not going to be easy with my English and her Italian.”
“Goodnight, Patrico.”
“Goodnight all.”
As planned, Patrick was up early and waiting for Stefano when he came in singing, his deep rich voice reverberating off the richly appointed walls of the dining room.
“I must have my coffee and then we will see the olives. I don’t guess there is a big hurry; many of the trees have been here over a hundred years, and they will most assuredly be here another.”
“Enrico and some of the other workers are pruning many of the trees today. I usually supervise, but he knows how as well as I. We cannot let the trees get too tall so we prune annually. It is a long process since we have more than 200 trees.”
Pausing to fill his cup with more coffee, Stefano asked, “Are you ready? Do you want to take some with you?”
“No, I’m finished. Carmen made me a cappuccino, actually.”
“She is spoiling you, huh?
They drove slowly, looking at the trees, planted up and down terraced hillsides.
“It looks as though it would be hard to work on slopes so steep.”
“Yes, the terrain here is harsh, so harsh that all of Tuscany is responsible for only about four per cent of the olive oil production. The climate is also difficult because the trees are particularly vulnerable to frost. Olive trees in other regions yield twenty times as many olives, but the good news is our olives are a concentrate of flavor and aroma which makes the oil more pronounced than anywhere else in Italy.”
“Do you pick these by hand?”
“Well, yes and no. We don’t use machines if that is what you mean. We hand pick what we can from the ground and then set up scaffolding. If all else fails we use bamboo canes and tap the branches, but I don’t like to resort to that because the olives can get bruised. But, one way or another, every olive is caught in the nets we use to carpet the grove. I doubt that anyone thinks this is as much fun as the grape crush. This is hard work. That is why it is the ‘cash crop’ as you say in the States. But after all the hard work, the men and I head for the woods to hunt wild boar, so we look forward to that.”
After they had driven along the hillside for what seemed like miles Stefano said, with pride, “I am very proud of our oil. I think it is the best in all of Italy. There they are,” he said, stopping the vehicle. Cattle roamed everywhere. “They have a very distinctive look, don’t they?”
“Yes, the shoulders, back and rear quarters are especially well formed,” Patrick noted.
“Now you have seen the farm. Oh, there are a few chickens over by Enrico’s. He takes care of them. Carmen gathers the eggs every morning. No need to see them. I’m sure you have seen chickens,” he laughed. “After lunch, you are on your own again. Elisabette and Guliano will be here around five o’clock, so drinks will be ready at six.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting them. I think I’ll read and enjoy the patio of my bungalow until then.”
After a lunch on the terrace, Stefano said, “See you at six”.