Italy - Venice to Florence

The rains came on our last day in Zelarino, and we woke to a steady patter on the skylight in our Eco Garden apartment.  We had considered going in to Venice one more time, but the weather dictated spending a relaxing day on the farm pushing on with schoolwork, reading, and washing our clothes.  Maurizio suggested taking a short train ride to Padova, a neighboring town full of thousand-year-old frescoes and offered to take us to the train station, but we were ready for an easy day at home.  The rain tapered off by late afternoon, and Deena and I donned our jackets and set off for a walk to the small market to find ingredients for supper while Joseph and Deveny continued with their studies.  

The sky was still gray, and a light drizzle swirled through the cool air, but it felt good to get out and walk in the Italian countryside.  The narrow road was lined with deep drainage channels choked with thick grass, cattails, and the exposed roots of multi-trunked sycamores, their remaining leaves faded yellow and brown.  We passed soggy corn fields full of birds picking around the harvested stalks with farm equipment sitting idle under tarps along the borders.  We could see small vineyards through stands of evergreens, their saturated boughs drooping after a day of rain.  The warmth of the small market was welcoming, and we made quick work of selecting fresh pasta, sauce, and cherry pie for supper. I made a point to thank the signora who made the delicious sausage we enjoyed on our first night in Zelarino.  With backpacks full of groceries, we took our time  strolling back to the farm and agreed that a walk in the autumn-washed countryside with each other trumps a visit to a marble palace every time.

Early the next morning, Maurizio drove us to the train station, and we thanked him for our stay in some of the most interesting quarters we’ve experienced so far.  We found our platform and settled in for a three-hour ride to Florence aboard a smooth, speedy train.  Because the Santa Maria Novella train station is near the old section of the city, we checked our bags with the luggage storage service so we could explore the city for a couple of hours before heading to our apartment.  Florence is a vibrant, colorful city full of rich history, architecture, and art, and the children were soon snapping photos as we walked toward the Piazza del Duomo.  Deena and I spent four days of our honeymoon in this city twenty-three years ago, and it was one of the happiest times of my life.  We stayed in a hotel near the Florence cathedral, and I have clear memories of its towering orange brick dome and paneled facade made from white, green, and pink marble.

As we walked slowly uphill, the cathedral came into view, and my heart was full, standing there blinking with tears, struck once again by the beauty of this place and sharing it with my little family.  In front of God and every camera wielding tourist in the square, I pulled Deena close to me, hugged her tightly and with my voice breaking, thanked her for our life together.  Joseph and Deveny wandered off a short distance to let us have our moment and took the opportunity to choose a pizzeria for lunch.  I pulled myself together, and we sat at a table outside and enjoyed several varieties of delicious pizza.  For the next hour, we wandered the streets around the cathedral and bought two big cups of gelato to enjoy while we walked back to the train station to collect our luggage.  We boarded a late afternoon direct bus to Impruneta, a small village located in the hills above Florence, our home for the next five days.

Lunch at the Duomo

Decisions decisions 

Our host, Monica, met us at the bus stop and walked us through the center of town on winding hilly streets that were closed to cars due to a festival taking place over the weekend.  The villas we passed had huge hemlocks in their yards with an under canopy of olive trees, their silvery green branches full of ripe fruit.  The occasional pomegranate tree added another exotic layer to this picturesque village.  Monica ushered us into our apartment where we stared open-mouthed at the view from the kitchen window—a large green hill covered by olive and cypress trees and stacked with colorful villas from top to bottom.  The apartment was spacious and bright, and Monica had stocked the kitchen with everything we needed for our first breakfast the next morning.  On a day that had already been emotionally draining for me, I was again on the verge of tears as I beheld on the kitchen counter, a shiny black espresso machine.  

View from the grocery store

We rested from our travels for a while then ventured out into the streets to enjoy the festival and find something to eat.  One of the vendors had a glass case full of meats and cheeses and huge bins piled high with several varieties of olives.  We felt like we were at Costco on Sunday afternoon as we stood there eating sample after sample offered to us from the point of a long kitchen knife.  We bought a big bag of mixed olives and took them home along with some other provisions purchased from one of the small markets, and we had a small Italian feast to celebrate our arrival in a new town.  Joseph asked the blessing for supper and offered thanksgiving for his mom and dad.  I pray that God will lead my children to a husband and wife who will fill their days with joy as mine have been.

Our kitchen window view