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trulybetty · 1 year ago

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oct' 15 x first wine

Prompt: first wine Pairing: sequins!joel miller x gn!reader Word Count: 885 Warnings: questionable outfit choices, lost luggage, wine drinking, joel being his sequins self (slightly ooc? who knows this is no outbreak joel) unbeta'd here and barely read through, playing fast and loose with actual season dates of wine production - mistakes are my own. Summary: first of all thanks to @rhoorl for inspiring this with this picture - so imagine that being your Joel on vacation in Tuscany, exploring wineries in celebration of Vino Novello

x. masterlist

The hotel suite was lush, two bedrooms and a spacious living room area with floor to ceiling windows that overlook the city. The Ponte Vecchio was framed through the windows so that when the sun hit the water in the late afternoon it framed the old brick bridge and the tourists that flock to it in a soft glow. You’d spent the night before on the balcony with a glass of wine, a blanket pulled from the bed wrapped around you as read your book, everyone else sleeping off jet lag.

The historic hotel had an air of old worldly charm with modern amenities.

“Look, I love you. You know that right?” You bit your lip, “But I’d promise to do whatever it takes for you not to wear all of this ensemble all at once.” you pleased.

Joel held his arms out and looked down at his outfit, “What’s wrong with it?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“What’s right with it?” Sarah shouted from where she lay across the plush sofa where she was scrolling through her phone.

You had warned him several times to pack an outfit in the carryon, just in case you’d told him. It’ll be fine he replied, what could go wrong? Well somewhere between the stop over in New York and the flight to Rome, his suitcase had gone AWOL. Not the start you’d anticipated for this family vacation, an invitation to celebrate your parents anniversary alongside them.

At the airport dressed only in the t-shirt and sweats he’d travelled in for almost twenty hours you’d left him to his own devices to navigate the airports stores to see if he could find any clothes that would make do while you navigated putting a claim in for the missing luggage.

You hadn’t been prepared for what he’d brought back.

Joel gave a playful glare in Sarah's direction, adjusting the rim of his hat slightly. The ensemble, consisting of a plain white t-shirt (the concierge had arranged for a fast turnaround on the dry cleaning of the clothes he’d arrived in), vibrant green and blue patterned shorts, paired colourful striped socks (a gift from the past fathers day from Sarah) and the white runners he left the house in the day before.

“Dad, you look like a dad. Like, the epitome of a dad on vacation,” Sarah teased, her head now poking over the back of the sofa as she suppressed her laughter, hands over her mouth.

Joel mockingly pouted, “Well, I am a dad. And I am on vacation, so…”

The first wine of the season celebrations were underway. Harvest season started in August, and followed through until October. In Italy crowned as Vino Novello, it marked the end of the harvest and translated as young wine. Grapes that had been picked at the start of the harvest and fermented for twenty days before being bottled and sold, young wine.

Your parents had insisted that Sarah spend the day with them taking in as many tourist attractions as they could, and would be with them throughout the night, per their eager request. As snowbirds living much further away than Austin, they wanted to spend as much time as possible with their only grandchild, and Sarah was equally enthusiastic.

You’d barely been able to take in the vastness of the winery and its stone villas before a glass of wine had been offered. Both you and Joel had accepted, and with your arm in his, you meandered through the vineyard, feeling the soft earth beneath your shoes and the warmth of the Tuscan sun on your face.

By evening, the both of you were slightly tipsy, having tasted some of the finest wines the region had to offer. Somewhere through the afternoon, you had procured Joel’s hat which was now perched atop your head, slightly askew. The Tuscan sun painted the sky in hues of orange, pink, and deep purples as it began its descent, casting long shadows over the rolling hills.

Joel leaned in, his arm across the back of your chair, his breath hot on your ear and you could smell the sweetness of the white wine from dinner.

“I think I recall you saying something about doing whatever it takes for me not to wear this outfit again.”

You giggled, feeling light and carefree. “Did I say that?” You leaned into him, basking in the warmth of his presence.

Joel chuckled, his fingers trailing down your arm, “You did indeed promise darlin’.”

You rolled your eyes with a smile, despite only having yourself to blame for the predicament you were presented with. However you laughed, taking another sip of your wine. It was a fruity red, and it left a warm sensation in your chest.

“How about this,” his voice husky in your ear, your knees feeling weak and thankful for being sat down, “I’ll take off one offending item for whatever it is it’ll take to get it off of me.”

You raised an eyebrow, while your heart skipped a beat at the suggestion, “Is that your final offer Miller?”

He picked up his wine glass and settled back into his seat. His eyes darkened, and he leaned back in to make an amendment to cashing in on your promise. “Shorts will be the last to go.”

#october x 500 #autumnal offerings #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x gn reader #joel miller x gn!reader #sequins!joel x reader

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susieporta · 1 year ago

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Continua a sorprendermi l'ingenuità di tante persone che ancora credono che l'informazione ci presenti i fatti in base alla loro rilevanza.

Mi sorprende che ancora non sia chiaro a tutti che il sistema informativo è truccato, propone, ma in realtà ci impone il suo ordine del giorno per obbedire ad interessi che non sono mai quelli esplicitati.

L'informazione insomma è un Sistema di orientamento mentale, un sofisticato sistema poliziesco.

Eppure basterebbe un minimo di attenzione e di memoria per comprendere che gli argomenti vanno e vengono senza alcuna necessità intrinseca, e cioè oggi può divenire essenziale qualcosa che solo ieri passava inosservato, o viceversa oggi può passare del tutto sotto traccia un tema che domani salterà agli onori della cronaca.

E ciò accade solo in base a ciò che il Sistema vuole occultare o far sembrare indispensabile, spesso per nascondere questioni ben pi�� rilevanti, ma pericolose.

Per cui quando vediamo sorgere all'orizzonte un'immensa discussione globale, o anche nazionale a volte, dovremmo solo chiederci: ma che cosa vogliono nasconderci? oppure: ma che cosa vogliono imporci?

E' un trucco, chiaro? è solo un gioco da tavolo, un gioco di prestigio impostato dai padroni dell'informazione! è una sorta di Magia Nera, di Incantesimo, nel quale pare che ancora masse di milioni di persone cadono come tonni nella rete, pronti ad essere arpionati a sangue.

Sì, perché in fondo è sempre un bagno di sangue, fisico o psichico, quello che questi Signori vogliono indurre.

E allora, care sorelle e amiche, proviamo a crearci un ordine del giorno autonomo, e chiediamoci: ma di che cosa è giusto parlare oggi, 6 dicembre del 2023?

Io direi che il Tema sia ben chiaro dentro l'abisso dei nostri cuori dissestati, e oggi lo definirei così:

Finire è Fiorire:

Spostiamo la nostra attenzione lì dove questi due verbi all'infinito s'incrociano:

Adesso cioè, nel punto presente, in cui possiamo decidere la fine del finire e l'iniziare dell'inizio:

Decidere: Recidere il cordone ombelicale che ci alimenta al veleno di questo mondo:

E' solo lì che la violenza si scioglie:

Sciolta e Assolta in uno Spirito novello

come il vino di dicembre, frizzicarello e vivace

come l'amore.

Questa è l'unica notizia di cui voglio parlare.

L'unica davvero Buona.

Marco Guzzi

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rogerhodgsonspanishfriendsclub · 2 years ago

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THE LOGICAL SONG - Extracto

La historia detrás de la canción...

En 1979, se le pidió a Paul McCartney que nombrara su canción favorita del año. Eligió The Logical Song de Supertramp. Para Roger Hodgson, co-líder de Supertramp, fue el mayor de los elogios."Habiendo crecido con The Beatles", dice, "fue maravilloso escuchar que a Paul McCartney le encantaba mi canción".

Pero Hodgson siempre supo que The Logical Song era algo especial."Cuando estás escribiendo una canción", dice, "a veces sientes que tienes un ochenta por ciento de éxito, pero con The Logical Song sentí que lo había clavado al cien por cien. Como melodía, letra, arreglo y una grabación, que es realmente perfecta en su integridad".

The Logical Song fue el mayor éxito de la carrera de Supertramp, alcanzando el Top Ten en los EE. UU. y el Reino Unido, y transformando el álbum principal Breakfast in America en un fenómeno de ventas multimillonarias que encabezó las listas de éxitos. También ganó un prestigioso premio Ivor Novello a la mejor canción en música y letra. Y como reconoce Hodgson, fue el contenido lírico, tanto como la música expertamente elaborada, lo que hizo que The Logical Song conectara con un público tan grande. "Una gran canción", dice," es una con la que la gente se puede identificar, que los emociona, les hace sentir algo".

Y en The Logical Song, Hodgson se basó en las experiencias de su propia infancia problemática para crear un clásico del pop-rock existencialista en el que abordó la pregunta más importante de todas: el significado de la vida.

Desde que se formó Supertramp en 1969, fueron Hodgson y Rick Davies quienes formaron el núcleo creativo de la banda. Ambos cantaron voces principales y tocaron teclados, y entre ellos escribieron todas las canciones. Hodgson y Davies tenían un arreglo similar al de Lennon y McCartney en The Beatles: escribieron por separado, pero siempre compartieron los créditos de escritura. Sin embargo, como dice Hodgson ahora: "The Logical Song no fue coescrita de ninguna manera. Era en gran medida mi canción".

Fue a principios de 1978 cuando The Logical Song comenzó a armarse. La banda estaba en Los Ángeles, a punto de comenzar a grabar el álbum Breakfast in America, cuando Hodgson se sentó solo en un piano eléctrico Wurlitzer y comenzó a jugar con una progresión de acordes con los que había estado jugueteando, de vez en cuando, durante un par de meses. "Tenía estos acordes escritos", dice, "y no había pensado mucho en ellos, a decir verdad. Pero un día, cuando estaba tocando los acordes, escuché la melodía. Y cuando comencé a cantar la melodía , la primera palabra que me vino fue 'liberal'..."

Inmediatamente, Hodgson soltó palabras que rimaban: intelectual, radical... lógico. Y en ese momento, todo el concepto de la canción se enfocó. "De inmediato, supe lo que quería decir. La canción nació de mis preguntas sobre lo que realmente importaba en la vida.A lo largo de la infancia, nos enseñan cómo comportarnos, pero muy rara vez se nos dice algo sobre el propósito más profundo de la vida. Pasamos de la inocencia y el asombro de la niñez a la confusión de la adolescencia, y eso a menudo termina en la desilusión en la edad adulta.Y muchos de nosotros nos pasamos la vida tratando de volver a esa inocencia."

En The Logical Song, Hodgson hizo una crítica condenatoria del sistema educativo. Era un tema que había abordado antes en School, una canción del exitoso Crime of the Century de Supertramp de 1974, un álbum histórico de rock progresivo. Pero como dice Hodgson, The Logical Song era "muy autobiográfica". Su narración en primera persona hacía referencia específica a sus años en el internado como un niño 'tímido y sensible', profundamente afectado por el divorcio de sus padres cuando tenía 12 años:'They sent me away to teach me how to be sensible, logical, responsible, practical/And they showed me a world where I could be so dependable, clinical, intellectual, cynical..." ("Me enviaron lejos para enseñarme cómo ser sensato, lógico, responsable, práctico/Y me mostraron un mundo en el que podía ser tan confiable, clínico, intelectual, cínico...")

Hodgson invirtió "mucho trabajo" en la letra. "Tuve que elaborar todas las palabras que terminaran en 'al'", dice. "Así que fue la única vez que consulté un diccionario al escribir una letra". Y para la música, su atención al detalle rayaba en la obsesión. El riff del piano eléctrico fue la base. "Tenía una sensación rítmica muy percusiva que realmente me gustaba".

Pero cuando comenzó el trabajo en los estudios Village Recorder de Los Ángeles, Hodgson dictó lo que tocaría cada miembro de la banda. "Yo era el arreglista principal de la banda", dice. "Solía pasar por todas las partes, incluso hasta los rellenos de batería. Es como un rompecabezas. Cualquier cosa extraña no debería estar allí. Todo estaba orquestado y por eso funciona tan bien". "Así que lo pusimos al final después de que canté la palabra 'digital'

Debido al perfeccionismo de Hodgson, la mezcla final de la canción tardó dos semanas en completarse. "No descansaría hasta que fuera absolutamente correcto", dice.

Sin embargo, el fin justificó los medios. Lanzada en el verano de 1979, The Logical Song fue alabada por Rolling Stone como "una pequeña obra maestra.

Treinta y cuatro años después, y 30 desde que salió de Supertramp, Roger Hodgson todavía canta The Logical Song todas las noches cuando actúa como solista. "Todavía puedo tocar esa gran nota al final de la canción", se ríe. "Pero es condenadamente alta".

Lo más importante de todo para Hodgson es que es una canción que no ha perdido nada de su significado. "Tenía 29 años cuando escribí The Logical Song" dice. "Estaba buscando respuestas. La pregunta candente en esa canción era: .'Please tell me who I am,' ('Por favor, dime quién soy') Ahora tengo 62 años y todavía no tengo todas las respuestas. Pero sabía que había algo más profundo allá afuera, un lugar de paz. Y al final, lo encontré".

Video de Chicago Bob

#Paul McCartney #thelogicalsong #breakfastinamerica #SupertrampsRogerHodgson Supertramp Fans Bryan Head David J Carpenter Music Michael Ghegan Music Ray Coburn

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fwl22 · 1 year ago

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Autumn Letter, 2004

Outside the rain falls in sheets, waving in the wind like sails over a blustery ocean, like mist moving over a mountain pass. It is cold just to look at the steel gray sky and the dark shadows in the forest. The season seeps into the house through the cracks and spaces around the windows and doors. We go on fire watch to keep the embers glowing in the salone upstairs. It’s for the guests we say, but since there are no guests these dark autumn days it is clear that we just want to keep the house warm.

The weather moved through the year like a giant descending stairs. Summer lingered into October before we dropped off into a mild fall and now we plunge unceremoniously into winter. Three weeks ago we were in shirt sleeves in the garden and today the winter coats are out and buttoned up against the unrelenting rain.

The olive oil production is in full swing. The frantoio has been in motion day and night as the freshly picked olives have to go into the mill as soon as possible. The 24 hour work will continue for almost another 3 weeks. There is a good chance that after a break for Christmas the work will continue into the new year. The olives this year are small but the oil production is normal by weight, and the olives are plentiful, so output is high. My brother in law Giovanni has had to purchase a number of extra containers to hold the oil.

The grapes this year were beautiful, and the wine also has a lovely color. We harvested the first Sunday in October and people are drinking the vino novello this week. The young wine is a traditional thing here, a process probably related somehow to the Beaujolais noveau. But here at Canneto there is no forced fermentation, just a regular fermentation in a warmer climate, thus the process goes a bit faster than in more northern climes. And the wine is not a true novello but rather just “new��. While most wine has an alcohol level of 12.5% to 14% by volume, at Canneto the level is usually around 11% or 12% maximum. This results, as one guest so aptly put it, in the “reedy” taste – a distinctive thinness and light aroma.

Last year, when the weather was so hot and dry, the grape harvest was very small, but those grapes were full of natural sugars, and the concentration of the juice produced the best wine ever made at Canneto, with an alcohol level of 13% and slightly higher. In the end there was probably less than 700 liters of 2003 vintage wine produced, while in 2004 the amount is more than 2000 liters.

There is a wonderful verb in Italian intendere, which in its intransitive form means to be knowledgeable or to be an expert. So most everyone begins their comments on wine or olive oil here with Non mi intendo…. or I’m not an expert…. Speaking to the straniero (foreigner) though, brings out a lot of the experience and local knowledge of the men and women who grew up on and have worked the land.

So it was on a Sunday a week or so ago that our babysitter Bruna had me pick some mushrooms that were growing under the olive trees. There were only 3 or 4, but she prepared them for my dinner. “It would be shame to leave them,” she said, and Paolo and I shared the freshness and the taste of the musty earth (sautéed in delicious olive oil, of course).

The truth is that Canneto has always been a place known for making olive oil while the wine has historically been pretty awful. Part of this has to do with the geography – Canneto sits on the northeastern slope of the Val Bisenzio and thus get very little morning sun. The afternoon sun, then, seems more filtered and less direct than the morning light. Nothing is irrigated here. If it is a wet year then the vines are over watered, if it is dry they suffer. (Last year (2003) was so dry that many of the large vineyards and farms had to water their crops to save the plants and the harvest.)

By asking, one discovers that Canneto became the property of Paolo Rucellai, the second son of the first Rucellai owner, Giovanni. Giovanni’s mother brought the property to the family as part of her wedding dowry in 1759. Paolo was a gentleman farmer and a bachelor uncle. Canneto was then a working farm with at least three tenant families. When Paolo was not hanging out at the seaside, at the palazzo in Florence, he would be with his fattore or foreman dealing with the business of running the large estate. The villa here, as was the villa in Campi Bisenzio at the time, was not a place to live for long periods of time, and certainly not hospitable in the winter. It was a summer residence or even a spring and autumn residence, and a kind of hunting lodge.

When he reached the age when he no longer wanted to take care of the place Paolo announced to the family that he would sell the place. The property was his retirement fund. Paolo’s younger brother Cosimo and his wife, Editta, had come to love Canneto, and they arranged to buy the estate with annual installments beginning in 1906. Paolo, seen in photographs from the time appears as either the slightly unrefined farmer uncle, or a kind of druid old man, in bathrobe with a long beard while at the beach at Forte dei Marmi.

Cosimo and Editta, or Edith as she was christened in Newport, Rhode Island in 1861, began to spend time here in the first decade of the 20th century. After assuming ownership Edith began to transform the Villa into a more hospitable residence and its gardens into a more modern style, probably something between Edwardian and Tuscan.

One has to remember that this was a very progressive period, although we don’t commonly think of it as such. Edith Bronson was the daughter of very wealthy American parents who had spent all of her youth traveling between the US and Europe, settling with her mother in Venice where she really grew up. Her father died in a sanitarium in France from tuberculosis and other malaties and is recalled as a loving, but somewhat sickly figure that remained at the edges of his wife and daughter’s life. His family was an important one from New York and his father was a congressman, a US senator, and finally the postmaster general of the state for 25 years. A Civil War officer, he kept his life and his title of Colonel. Edith’s mother was Katherine DeKay Bronson, also from an old New York family with close ties back to the old country in Holland. The Bronson’s had a house at Castle Hill in Newport, Rhode Island and had sold it long before the Vanderbilts and Rockefellers had built their mansions. A painting of that house in Newport is on the wall in the dining room at Canneto as part of the wall paintings commissioned by Edith. Katherine De Kay was a Victorian woman, definitely a powerful and well educated woman, and she is perhaps best remembered for having been one of Robert Browning’s closest acquaintances in the years after the death of his wife, Elizabeth Barrett Browning. She rented a palazzo in Venice where she was part of the expatriate artist social scene of the city, hosting parties and guests with famous names – writers, composers, painters, poets, singers, and the generally famous people who would make the Grand Tour. As the daughter of an outgoing, social woman, Edith was considered quiet and reserved.

Cosimo Rucellai for his part was the son of Giovanni, the eldest son of the original Rucellai owner of Canneto. Cosimo was the primary assistant to the admiral in command of the Venetian naval base and met Edith through the intermingling of the high society of Venice with the high society of the American and English society in Venice. Edith was fluent not only in Italian, French, German and a little Dutch, but she also spoke and wrote in the Venetian dialect which she had learned along with her mother. The elders on either side of the couple were skeptical of the match, and letters of Henry James to Katherine De Kay reveal the period as the couple convinced everyone that they were in love.

After the marriage, Cosimo was awarded command of a ship in the Adriatic. He was first stationed in Taranto in Puglia, and then at Ancona. Edith stayed, first in Venice and then in Ancona with their daughter, Nannina, born in 1896, and first son Bencivenni, born in 1897. Edith suffered through the mumps in Ancona, and when later she became pregnant with second son Bernardo, they decided to go back to Florence and be together. Cosimo resigned his commission and turned his attentions to the work of a gentleman farmer.

Ultimately the family moved into the villa in Campi Bisenzio, at that point a mostly abandoned house on a large farm that Cosimo’s father referred to as “frog infested”. Cosimo and Edith threw themselves into making the place modern, livable and helping the neighboring contadini, or tenant farmers to improve their lives. They built a school and a medical clinic and they established a number of workshops for training people in the local arts and crafts, such as basket weaving, tool making and embroidery work. It is no wonder that the family was instrumental 3 generations later in creating a museum to honor the straw weaving which became so famous – making the original “panama” hat and countless other items in a tight weave – in the neighboring town of Signa. The Villa was modernized and the family, now with four kids as of 1903, spent most of the year in Campi, just a 40 minute to an hour carriage ride to the Palazzo Rucellai in Florence.

Cosimo studied modern farming methods and worked hard to introduce new ideas to the very traditional contadini at Campi. With the acquisition of Canneto, he immediately brought his fattore from Campi Bisenzio to help organize the work of the land at Canneto. This man was an expert in trees and especially fruit trees, and he is responsible for much of the planting of fruit trees on the property. This man and his son continued to work as fattore for Cosimo’s youngest son (born in 1903) Giangiulio at Canneto and retired here, where his granddaughter still lives, next to the Villa in the village of Canneto. It is easy to see the signature of their work by comparing the trees at the Villa in Campi Bisenzio to those at Canneto. The same trees surround both houses. This is also the reason there are so many pear, cherry, fig, apricot, plum and persimmon trees.

Antonio Mori, the original foreman’s son was not interested in wine or grapes, he was paid to take care of olive trees, and so the small vineyard at Canneto received the minimum care, and the local farmers made the wine in the traditional methods. My father in law Paolo tells how when he began to come to Canneto in the late 1940s it was well known that one should carry his own wine because the vino locale was undrinkable.

In the late 1970’s Paolo Piqué’s sons Giovanni and Lorenzo began to replant the vineyard, which represents less than an acre of land. The ancient and sick vines were replaced with two local varietals that tend to do well in the regional climate – Sangiovese, the red or nero grape, and Trebbiano, the white grape. There is also a small percentage of a vine called Uva fragola, or strawberry grape, a vine that produces both red and white grapes together that have a distinct aroma of strawberry. The new plantings gained steam after 1985 when a terrible and long freeze destroyed a huge number of vines and olive trees. Now these 15 to 20 year old vines are beginning to show a great improvement in the quality of the wine produced.

As part of the agricultural association of Prato the farm has access to expert advice and the enologist and vinicultural counselor (my term) upon tasting the 2003 wine (a man who knows the vineyard, this is) recommended to my brothers in law to put the wine away and not drink it. “This way,” he continued, “if in the future anyone ever wants to know if you can produce good wine here, you can open a bottle of this.” And, in fact, we put away all of this small production for the family.

Luckily the production for 2004 is normal and the grapes were lovely and healthy. While we do not thin the fruit in the summer to give room for larger, more robust grapes, Giovanni has been improving the vines and taking better control of the pests (wild boar, deer, hare and pheasants more than bugs) and the quality of the harvest is definitely improving along with the maturity of the plants. The 2004 wine has aspects that would seem to bode well for improvement over time, a statement in and of itself that seems amazing to make about wine from Canneto.

The fact is that the really awful but large harvest of 2002 (a wet, wet year with lots of ugly grapes) has produced a wine that after 14 months or so is a very mellow and delightful table wine, just perfect for our purposes of drinking everyday with lunch. I don’t pretend to know anymore than the fact that this was an intolerable wine throughout all of 2003 and most of 2004, but now I actually like it. Or maybe it has killed my taste buds… The other fact to note is that Cannetani wine is typically low in alcohol, around 11% by volume. The 2003 comes in around 12% while the 2002 is about 10.5%. When you drink a bottle of wine made elsewhere, one must be aware of the consequences.

Tuscany has an area the size of Death Valley National Park, and every little area in Tuscany is full of still very fresh local knowledge of the land, the geography and how nature interacts with weather and season. Many people have told me this year how traditionally, in the past generation, the time for picking the olives did not begin until the first days of December. Now the picking can begin as early as the first week of October and the oil making can begin shortly after. Still the idea is to pick the olives when there is a good mix between the dark, mature olives and the green immature olives in order to produce a well balanced oil.

The terrible freeze of 1985 lasted for three weeks with a low temperature of -22°C during one long overnight that killed hundreds of trees. The olives all over Tuscany suffered dreadfully, and one can still see where the dead trees have come back to life in the form of three or four new trunks growing out of the “dead” stump. But many trees were completely lost, and at Canneto hundreds of new trees were planted. Now there are over 1000 trees on the property, but this is still very small for production standards, and certainly far fewer trees than are encompassed by the confines of what used to make up the estate.

Of the huge estate that Cosimo and Edith purchased almost 100 years ago, only 40 hectares remain, or about 100 acres. By 1909 they had moved the family to the palazzo in Florence as their principal home, maintaining the villas in Campi and Canneto, and in 1915 bought a house in Forte dei Marmi that they had long rented for the summers. Cosimo occupied himself with the farms and the farm families and Edith continued in a tireless series of progressive works to create organizations to help pregnant women, educate poor and underprivileged children and provide health care and education to contadini in Canneto and Campi Bisenzio. Their oldest son died of Spanish fever in 1917 while serving as an ambulance driver in the Italian Army in the Great War. The property passed to their youngest son, Giovanni Giulio (Giangiulo) (the middle son, Bernardo or Nado, inherited the title of Count and the Villa in Campi). Nado also served in the Great War and was wounded on the northern front, and most likely forever scarred by the tremendous suffering and cruelty he had witnessed. Giangiulio married Teresa Higginson of Lennox, Massachusetts in 1925. They eventually moved to Canneto and completed the work begun by Cosimo and Edith of making the house into a home.

Over 1000 olive trees grow on the various terraces of the 4 or so acres that is the orchard or olivetto. The orchard is divided into sections that are tended by men with whom the family divides the oil produced from the trees in that section. The oil is measured by weight. My chemist wife reminds me that oil is lighter than water, therefore 5 liters of oil is less than 5 kilograms. If a man harvests 40 quintali (20 metric tons, or 20,000 kilos) of olives, and the olives produce oil at a rate of 13% of their weight, the result is 2600 kilos of oil. In the wet year of 2002, the family’s 50% take of oil was about 4500 kilos, while in 2003, the result was way less than a fourth of that.

The term extra virgin olive oil refers to oil that has less than 0.5% acidity. Virgin olive oil refers to oil with less than 1% acidity. Anything else, by the laws in Italy, is referred to as “olive oil”. In Italy, after olive oil, there is not a large selection of other oils to be found for cooking or dressing foods. What in the US is labeled as vegetable oil is referred to as “seed oil”. Sunflower seeds are the main ingredient in seed oil. In addition, the designation of “first pressing” or “second pressing” seem to be inventions of marketing people as in the frantoio the olives are ground up and then crushed by the big stone wheels (“pressed”) and then a large centrifuge and many filters extract the oil from the “other stuff”. The other stuff (sansa) is then taken away where if treated with chemicals can produce more oil for industrial purposes. The two things that damage and spoil the oil are air and heat. Thus comes the term “cold press” indicating that very little heat is used to improve the amount of oil extracted. While the press itself is cold, the temperature in the centrifuge is carefully controlled and regulated by law to give certain distinctions and classifications. In general, in Italy, there is extra virgin olive oil and then there is everything else. New oil is used for conditioning food, old oil is used for cooking. Seed oil is used for deep frying.

After the dry year of 2003 the real recovery was in the fruit trees. The work of the old fattore still goes on in the form of any number of pear, apricot, plum, cherry, fig and lemon trees. The pears were plentiful this year, and we had to work hard to clean up after the birds. After we could pick our fill, the birds came and cleared out the rest. The plums were small buy many this year, and the apricots were delicious after having not produced any last year. We canned apricot preserves as well as plum and fig.

There was a lot of attention focused on the elections in the US. The accepted truth here is that the President of the United States is, in effect, president of everyone, or, at least, is the commander-in-chief of the largest and best outfitted military force in the world. And, as is the case throughout the world, there is a lot of anger and disillusionment about a man and a government that could have so forcefully and precipitously, with bullying, lying, and bravado, led us into a very ugly war in the name of making the world safer, etc. Many, many times conversations were begun with, “well, after there is a new president….” and I had to correct that Mr. Bush’s re-election would not be based much on foreign policy. But the vagaries of politics, or the continuing demolition of politics in the United States aside, the strong public opinion remains that this was a referendum on the war.

To the contrary, the vote was a referendum on the United States and its people. Typically citizens in other lands recognize that our political leaders seldom reflect who we are entirely. And in a place like Italy, the locals often are able to get a clear impression of what various foreign people are like by being able to meet them and talk with them. Tourists in Tuscany, while fewer than ever in the past 20 years, are still many, and it is common for the locals to have impressions based on these kinds of interactions. In general, Americans are known for kindness, generosity and ingenuity. On a negative side they are often considered to be ignorant of culture and arrogant of customs and insensitive to local ways. But the point would be that traditionally the Americans have managed to get rid of leaders who are seen to be bad.

This year, however, the worm has turned, and to be American is no longer viewed as a good thing. The re-election of the President has only confirmed that Europe cannot trust the American people to do what they (Europe) view as the right thing. While European journalists have long been pointing out to their readers in very popular journals the corrupt nature of the Bush administration, the American press spends far more time on the dangers of the low-carb diet. While Europeans seem to be able to vote their popular opinions into action, the Americans do not (Mr. Berlusconi notwithstanding).

Therefore it is not too surprising to see institutions and organizations in Europe that have had the name “American” in their title changing their names or removing the offending word. The American International School of Florence is now called the International School. The American Language Institute becomes the Foreign Language Institute.

Of course, more worrisome is the decline of the US dollar. While this remains something that doesn’t affect many in the US itself, it is a source of great concern for the rest of the world. You have seen gas prices rise. But does anyone notice how no one is investing in the US? It is certainly obvious that the President is not worried about this trend, but the negative effects for many sectors of the US economy, not to mention the economies of South America, Europe and parts of Asia are scary.

But as somebody said the other day, it always seems that the US government can make the markets move like a puppeteer with his puppets, and when they want the dollar to be stronger, when it no longer serves them that it is weak, they will make it rise. What can one believe?

In the end we will survive this. Even if the world markets collapse and depression ensues, we will survive. It won’t be as much fun, and we’ll finally have to give up those sport utility vehicles (perhaps cars altogether), but we’ll make it. After all we survived eight years of Ronald Reagan and company followed by 4 years of Bush the father. The “scandals” of Mr. Clinton didn’t ruin us. Somewhere in history there was a President Taft and a President Harding. There was a President Grant, too.

Tommaso only complains that he wants to go outside and ride his bike. No matter that it might be dark and raining and freezing cold. No matter that the frantoio is busy and the trucks and cars drive the narrow road churning up the gravel and mud. The steam collects on the window in front of the big pot of water boiling for the pasta. Perhaps some soup tonight instead for me. Then a bath for the kids and we can fall asleep to the sound of men’s voices and olives falling by the bushel into the stainless steel scale, a sound like a hard rain on a tin roof, and wake up to the rumble of the stone wheels grinding the pulp and pits into an oily paste.

Canneto, November, 2004

#Vila Rucellai #Italy #tuscany #olive oil #Prato

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