Buon Ferragosto

Savoring the simple pleasures of summer

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Late last spring, my husband and I bought a little holiday apartment on a lake north of Milan. The very next morning, we flew to Poland to be with his 95-year-old father, who had just been hospitalized. As it turned out, we would spend most of the next two months flying back and forth to Warsaw to be with him, until his death in late July. 

I say all that as backdrop to the fact that we have just spent our first week together in that lakeside apartment, just me and him and our dog, Bibi. I think it was our first full week in one place since mid-May. We really needed it, all three of us, after a disruptive and emotionally tumultuous summer. We have so enjoyed the calm of staying put and settling into a new routine, of resting and just being instead of rushing and fretting and powering through our To Do lists. I’m feeling refreshed, more relaxed than I have in a long time.

Real Summer

We lived in San Francisco for many years before moving to Italy almost two years ago, and while SF is an amazing place, it definitely lacks one thing: a real summer. June, July, and August in San Francisco are typically foggy and cool, sometimes downright cold—nothing like the Michigan summers of my youth.

So moving to Italy was a big change for us. We’ve loved having four seasons, and we’ve especially loved having “real summer.” The chance to wear shorts, tank tops, and sandals every day. To keep the windows open, the soothing sound of fans blowing. (Like many places in Italy, we don’t have air conditioning.) 

Last week, Italy celebrated Ferragosto, the biggest holiday of the summer, when a huge percentage of folks leave the sweltering cities behind and head to the sea, the lakes, or the mountains. Like many lake towns in Italy, the population in ours swells exponentially in summertime—especially in August. But even still, it’s so much quieter here than in Milan. No ambulances, no honking horns, no buses, no construction. Just the waves lapping the shore, and birds chirping.

Of course, this week was a little unusual, as Ferragosto festivities brought in seasonal noise. Like fireworks. And cover bands and night markets in the main piazza. And karaoke night at Ella’s, a little place a few doors down. And bouncy houses and movies-under-the-stars for kids. And a choo-choo train for the little ones, as well as a sightseeing “train” for adults that drives a loop around town. Tonight we’re going to ride the ferris wheel set up near the center of town. I’ve been looking forward to it for weeks.

There are condominiums behind us, and their pool is just on the other side of our flowering oleander bushes. As I sit here at my desk in our guest room, the noises from the pool are my soundtrack. I find them to be so calming. The excited calls of children, the splashing sounds as they jump in, climb out, repeat. The more rhythmic sound of the morning lap swimmers, as they propel themselves up and down the length of the pool. It sounds like summer.

We call this grassy patch of shade our “beach.” In the afternoon, it gets pretty full.

We’ve been reading a lot, especially under the big shade tree just down the shore, where we set up our beach chairs and enjoy the breeze while losing ourselves in good books. (Yesterday I finished Mother, Nature by Jedidiah Jenkins, and I can’t recommend it enough. Powerful stuff.) Ducks frequently swim by, as do swans. A local sailing school for kids often heads out on the water with a group of tiny one-person sailboats. A few minutes ago, I saw probably 15 of them out the front window.

The lake has been a great temperature, not too cool, not too warm. I have prescription goggles, and I love to look for fish while I’m swimming. (Technically, I don’t “swim” so much as simply keep myself from drowning. But it feels good all the same.)

The other day some rain clouds unexpectedly blew in over the mountains. I stood on our back balcony, breathing deep the unmistakable scent of rain on the way, and watched the drops begin to fall. After years of serious drought in California, I almost always breathe a quiet “thank you” to the earth when it rains.

We have a small garden that we share with the other two flats in our building, and a couple days ago I spent about 90 minutes weeding some of the yard. It was hot, and uncomfortable at times, but something about it just felt so good. The woman who lives below us takes care of the mowing, using two extension cords to run the cord for the mower up over her balcony in order to plug it in in her kitchen. But she doesn’t trim around the edges, so this afternoon I’ll be using our new shears to tackle some of the 10-inch-high weeds. I expect more good honest sweat and more feelings of accomplishment.

Andrew went to the farmers market just after we arrived and stocked up for the week, so we’ve eaten copious amounts of fresh fruits and vegetables. But we’ve not been entirely healthy. Most days, we walk to the gelato shop two doors down, where all the gelato is made on-site. Resistance is futile. Yesterday I tasted one of the newer flavors: la birra. It tasted just as advertised—like beer. I ordered tiramisù instead. 

Country Roads

Just on the outskirts of town are bicycle paths, hiking trails, and quiet country lanes. We take advantage of these for our morning and evening walks with Bibi.

Only a few bits of last winter’s snow remain on the mountains. When we found this place, we were really excited about serious hiking with Beebs, but she’s turning eight on Friday, and we sense she’s slowing down a bit. She’s starting to prefer the flatlands to the hills. I can’t say I blame her.

My childhood dream was always to live in the country, so one of the things I love about this town is that it’s surrounded by agricultural land. There’s a little farm with geese, another with a small herd of goats. Yesterday we saw a cow and her calf, as well as dozens of horses, including several foals. There’s even a little place with therapy donkeys, but they’ve been taken to the mountain pastures to escape the August heat. They’ll be back soon.

There are little orchards with trees bearing ripening apples, pears, plums. Grape vines. The last of the hydrangeas. Small olive groves. Fields of fresh-cut hay. And corn stalks taller than any I remember. 

The other day we walked toward the tiny neighboring town. There’s a little self-service stand next to the road where you leave €0.50 per egg and choose the ones you want, while the chickens cluck from the other side of the pasture fence. When we got home, Andrew made us a delicious omelette. Farm to table in 90 minutes. 

Simple Things

One of the things I love about getting older is the awareness and ability to appreciate everyday things like this. I don’t think I could have done this 20 years ago. I was in my early 30s, single, and it felt like the world was my oyster. I was on the move! Now, I’ve seen much of the world, and I know it’s amazing, but I’m just as happy to be home with Andrew and Bibi, puttering around the house, taking a nap, going for a quick swim. It’s the little things that bring me joy and contentment.

I think about my late father-in-law every day. He lived a long, full life, and I hope Andrew and I do the same. But I know there are no guarantees. In just the last 10 days, the healthy husband of a woman I know had a major, life-altering stroke. A healthy guy I know was hospitalized with a “massive subdural hematoma” in his brain. And a healthy woman I know was diagnosed with breast cancer. It’s sobering.

We don’t know how many days we’ll have. But we have today. And I’m not sure we really have anything “better” to do than just slow down and enjoy each hour of it. What a way to spend a summer’s day.

And with that, I’m off to do some yard work. Have a great rest of your day!

Michael

This little plot of agriculture-zoned land is for sale near our apartment. I’m trying to convince my husband that we “need” it, but so far, he is unpersuaded.