INTO THE HOMESTRETCH - 15 August 2011
15th August, 2011
Toward the end of our Gianni journey, on Friday, after we left Porrona, we headed toward Montalcino and what we thought would be the last leg. But just at the outskirts of Montalcino, Gianni once again veered abruptly off the road at the same time as an elderly couple in an old green Panda had the same idea, our two vehicles coming to halt within a whisker of each other. The mutual reason for this stop being a water tap in the shade of some trees.
We shared a good-natured laugh as the husband began filling 2 plastic bottles from the tap, the water being natural and free. While Gianni waited to fill his bottle he, of course, nosed his way into their lives and so we found out that they were, like so many contadini, displaced from their original homestead and were living on the edge of Montalcino. When Gianni asked how they spent their days, the husband, Marino, told us he hunted for mushrooms and took out of his car a long, forked stick with which he deterred vipers. For here, in Toscana, where there are funghi there are viperi!
And you, Gianni asked Marino's wife, Bruna. Oh, the house and poetry. Poetry! What sort? Gianni asks, where upon she reached into the car and pulling a piece of paper from among many began to read in a voice rivaling Ethel Merman's, her sturdy, short body firmly planted.
What a force! The first poem, of which we only had the gumption to turn on the camera half-way through, was a rhyming indictment of the town of Montalcino and the corruption of its grapes in order to please the tourists. As she stood there reciting this powerful Dante-esque verse, I thought, oh, she's a Contadini Rapper. And her handwriting was as open and perfectly formed as her opinion. Bruna left school in 3rd Grade. We are still shaking our heads in admiration and disbelief when Marino says something about cestini. "You make cestini? Gianni exclaims and before you know it we're back in our vehicles following Marino and Bruna home.
Cestini are handmade wicker baskets and in their cantina they have all sizes and shapes. The basic ones, made for gathering mushrooms, are made from 2 intersecting circles of wood, one of which creates both the foundation for the bottom of the basket as well as the handle. The other circle forms the rim. He also makes a flat oval-shaped basked that somewhat resembles a snow shoe, these are for olives and plums and some are stained a deep pink from plum juice.
We find their dialect somewhat difficult to decipher but understand enough to know that Marino is a master in the universe of wood, not only the different types and their uses, but the effect that the moon has on wood, so that there is a right time to cut and a right time to bend. We buy between us one walking stick, 2 baskets and a jar of Bruna's pear jam. Total cost? $5. I like to think of my cestino sitting on our kitchen counter in NY filled with whatever is in season, its poetry full of memory.
And now it really is time to go home. It's 7:30 and we've been on the road for 11 hours. Or is that days? Or weeks? Gianni drops us off at our car in town and we agree to take showers and meet at his house to cook the fish . And so it is that 30 minutes later we are at table under the almost full moon, eating fish from this morning's sea, perfumed with rosemary from the garden and accompanied by a good sharp salad of radicchio, onion and tomato. A proper Tuscan Day.
