[Editor’s Note: The following words are the first I wrote in my travel journal. I didn’t even think about writing in Florence — there was too much going on. But after less than 10 minutes at the farmhouse, I felt compelled to write. This is when I really connected with where I was. These words reflect my experience in real time. This is what I warned about earlier when I alluded to poetic waxing. Normally I wouldn’t share it cause it’s too much, like a cupcake with a three-inch frosting hat. But this place took away all my wit and sarcasm, leaving me reflective.]
After three days in Florence it feels like we’re in another world. Florence was like an Italian New York City – full of hustle, bustle and noise. Here, as I sit perched on a stone ledge outside our “Piccolo Villa” on a Tuscan hillside, all I can hear is the wind rushing through the cedars, the droning buzz of bumblebees, and the occasional hoot of what can only be a cuckoo bird. It definitely sounds like one, at least.
It’s warm here — probably around 70 degrees — and the sun is bright but kind. From my perch I can see countless rows of vineyard grape vines just beginning to leaf. Fairly young vines, from the look of them, with tiny green leaves clustered in tight petite bundles.
The courtyard outside our villa is half walled with old stone and a lone tree rises from the center. Two lounges wait to be sat in, as do two café chairs with their accompanying table. Even though it’s just barely spring, the Borgo Argenina is surrounded by green and growing things.
In the garden on the hill above us, rows of thyme, lavender, rosemary and oregano are already growing while freshly tilled earth awaits more plants. I mentioned the bumblebees — they’re excited about the wisteria, which is hanging like bright lavender grapes from almost every trellis. It’s almost like it’s taunting the stark grape vines on the hills below.
I’ve already met 2 dogs and 1½ cats — the ½ because I just saw him but have not pet him yet. This is a truly magical place.