the warm wind from africa

The warm wind from Africa has arrived, melted the snow as quickly as it fell and we are now bathed in sunshine.
I could not imagine being in a more magical place for Christmas, with neighbours, friends and delicious, local food in the kitchen. I am cooking a Christmas Eve supper of Castellucio lentils, the taste of which is perfumed, subtle, earthy and makes me think of the beautiful high altitude plateau where they grow here, the feeling there not European at all, so remote and distant it is and quite breathtaking.

Auguri

Warmest Christmas wishes from Le Marche with love.

winter solstice

As we approach the winter solstice, the briefest day, the softest light I light the fires after lunch and look forward to all that is winter. To cosy evenings talking with friends, the twinkling of the chandelier, the lighting of our old brick oven, the watching of mozzarella melting, the tearing of pieces of panetone, the reading aloud of poems, the woollen blankets on the bed, outside the snow on the fields, the knowing we will swim in the lake next summer and the quiet waiting for spring. This I cherish, the hush of Le Marche winter.

mountain camomilla

Today I was in Montemonaco, 900 m altitude, view breathtaking, sprinkling of snow on the peaks. I was in search of honey and herbs and almost came home with a beautiful donkey. The family who cultivate and sell healing herbs and plants live just below the village, easy to find just off the road by the lake. I arrived and they were at home and took me to the barn where they dry and pack the herbs and flowers they have sown, nurtured and picked by hand. Camomilla, tiglio (limeflower), salvia, melissa and a soothing tisane of mixed herbs that is quite wonderful. I adore these caring teas from the mountains and visiting where they grow today has lifted my heart. All in neat rows on their south-facing fields above the water in full sun with breeze straight off the mountains. It must be the least polluted place you could wish for. It was when he was showing me his drying carciofi (artichokes) the farmer told me about his donkeys. He has three. Two are for sale. They were grazing in the sun in a meadow full of grass, had thick winter fur coats and gentle grey noses. Of course they belong there, together, but they stay in my thoughts as I sip my mountain camomilla.

Supper 4: Spaghetti con Fave alla Liana

I have just planted the fave (broad beans) a little late I know, but they are tonight safely tucked up in the warm terra. Planting them I thought of the delicious suppers we will have next Spring and I have a particularly memorable recipe to share.

When we first came to this Marche hill town I would stop on the way down the hill and speak to my lovely neighbour Liana who was often in her orto (allotment), a steep well organised patch with spectacular view of the mountains. However she was never gazing at the vista instead was busy with her work tending her peach trees, olive trees, apricot trees, lettuce, cabbage and vines that she and her husband grew. Her fave were tender and luscious.

One day, as we were talking, she pulled handful of green pods from her plants and pushed them into my arms for me to take home. So that early June evening I cooked some spaghetti, threw Liana's fresh beans in at the last minute and served stirred with a little olive oil.

It was one of the most delicious suppers we have eaten here and everything to do with Liana's fave, her knowledge, her generosity. I am not sure I ever told her how much it meant to us and I dearly wish I had as her orto is somewhat overgrown this year. She died suddenly this summer, much too soon. We miss you, Liana. Thank you for all the fave beans and for inspiring me to dig this Italian earth and plant my own.

ghianda

It is the weekend the querce (oaks) are turning. They hold their leaves longer than other trees and so their autumn is more visible. The road has been a carpet of ghiande (acorns) for a while. I met a woman the other day, brightly clad in a turquoise and pink floral apron, gleefully gathering them into a bucket. For my maiale (pigs) she smiled. I imagine for pigs they are a treat. I am overjoyed when an acorn takes root, finding a tough little oak tree with two tiny leaves. But whatever the season it is the timeless certainty of our oaks that quietly astounds me every day as I pass them by. Sergio is right. These old ones are protected. We must nurture the new ones.

being on televisione

If someone had told me eight years ago when I first walked into the piazza of our village, if someone had said then, Signora please will you speak about our village on televisione, tell the world how much you like it, I would have politely, in my faltering Italian, declined. But things change. And of course eight years later on Saturday evening I spoke, in slightly less faltering Italian, to the man from Rai 3 televisione about how we had found ourselves in paradise. I know spilling the beans was not in the original plan (our Italian village) but then nor is a declining population and I have long ago made it my mission to invite like-minded people here and encourage Italians to return. Thus the village will stay alive and the local economy thrive.

However the best thing of all was the excitement the whole shabang created in the community. Ma perche siamo stati al televisione? (But why were we on television?) asked an elderly woman whilst buying her bread the morning after our limelight. There followed a noted silence, most unusual in the grocery shop. I suggested it would bring more people to Mauro's shop so he could sell more bread and thereby take Luciana, his wife, on holiday. I don't want a holiday she replied, I want a new car.

And most wonderful was the delight of my neighbour Angela (she with the moody hens) whose husband Sergio, a retired farmer, spoke so passionately about the need to protect the young oak trees in this landscape. The message we sent out live to the world was clear. We have a lovely village, wonderful food, a perfect climate, an exquisite theatre, beautiful trees. What more could one need? We invite you friends, foreigners, family, neighbours; stay here with us and look after it.

Bless these olives

Everyone is out there today picking their olives. The harvest is early this year, but they are ready. I love everything about olives; the silver green trees, the way they ripple in the wind, the purple-dark olives they bear, the oil we will make, the putting them in the sack with salt to draw the bitterness, then into the jars with garlic and herbs to serve to our friends next summer. And I am so fond of this time of year, gathering things in, a sprinkling of snow on the mountains, woolen jumpers on, air cold, yet temperature almost 20 degrees at noon. Bless the olive trees and this glorious day.

The winter sun in Fermo

I like nothing more than walking in the winter sun across the piazza in Fermo, being wrapped up warm, squinting in the low morning light, cold air on my cheeks, the feeling of civilization around me and beneath my feet. It is a beautiful place, with kind people, good food, breathtaking buildings and I am so pleased to be involved in the search to find intelligent tourism and cultural investment for this elegant little Adriatic town.

Supper 3: Tagliatelli con tartufo nero

I think I have fallen under the spell of truffles. Yesterday at the annual celebratory festa in Amandola we bought one of our very own. There they all were, precious little ugly black and white jewels from the woods. Sam chose it and we brought it home. He chopped it finely and within moments there it was, stirred into the steaming pasta, filling the kitchen with its bewitching aroma. We were seduced in seconds. And eating it was another thing entirely, so delicious, transporting us to a perfumed world of forest, earth and oak tree.

Supper 2: Tagliatelli con tartufo bianco

I have been travelling these past days and on coming home to Le Marche we were invited to a birthday supper with some dear friends at our favourite local ristorante. Amongst the delicious food that came before me was a small bowl of tagliatelli onto which the cook grated before my very eyes slithers of white truffle. There are no words in English or Italian that describe the delicate earthy delight of this most sensual supper. This is what you do:

Acquire from expert truffle hunter who has just returned from mountains one tartufo bianco.
Buy some freshly made tagliatelli.
Boil water. Add salt. Cook tagliatelli a few moments until tender.
Drain. Stir in little butter, or oil if you prefer.
Onto this grate your white truffle in slithers the size of rose petals.
Eat immediately.

a lemon tree in the mountains

I sometimes find a house with a lemon tree and it always feels special, like the one I found recently. I have come to know that lemon trees are something to admire here in these mountains. Often a tree is revealed as a barn door is opened, such a surprise always to find it sheltering there.
Usually they are planted in a large pot or half a barrel and live on top of a make-shift trolley that is wheeled inside and out depending on the weather. Outside when warm, inside when not, especially during the winter or at the first hint of a chill. Sometimes on a bright autumn day the lemon tree might be taken outside to soak up the sun, perhaps with a blanket around its roots, then pushed back inside before the sun dips over the peaks.

The effort to produce a basket of lemons in the Sibillini Mountains far outweighs the cost of buying those shipped from the south. But knowing a lemon tree is growing in your barn while the snow falls on your roof must be one of the sweetest feelings in the world.

a bag of eggs

My neighbour Angela drops by clutching a plastic bag which she holds out to me. Inside are deep red cuore di buffo tomatoes and a small paper bag. Inside the paper bag are 4 fresh eggs, snug and still warm. Poci (a few) she explains, because her hens are not laying much. Perhaps they feel a change in the season, I suggest. No, she replies pragmatically, they have moods, and promptly sets off home to tuck them in. As dusk falls a full moon rises and the temperature drops. The night is crisp and clear. Up the road at 700 m. it will be chilly in Angela's hen house. I light the fire for the first time and the eggs I cook for supper taste of this day, this moon, this landscape. A precious gift indeed. Thank you moody Marche hens.

Lunch 4: pane di noce

This is a particularly delicious autumn lunch:

Go up the hill to Rita the baker. Buy a loaf of her fresh pane di noce (walnut bread) which is still warm. Carry home in favourite brown paper bag on which is printed: Arriverderci Grazie. Once home, tear the end off the sweet nutty bread and dip it into some olive oil. Eat whilst gazing at Rita's walnut tree just across the valley. Delicious.

The colour of grapes

At dawn this morning in the mist the grapes were not purple, nor lilac, not grey nor black, not red nor pink, not blue nor crimson, not brown nor indigo, but a certain soft dark seductive colour I have never seen before and as I tried to photograph them the sun came up and it was gone. So I picked some and we drank the colour for breakfast.

Miracles of Le Marche: 5. Fenice

Night was falling this time last September when I found Fenice on the road, her back legs weak, her fur coat sodden. A bedraggled scrap of a thing. A dark storm was approaching. We did not think she would last the night. However once home she ate some sardines, buried herself into Sam's sweater and clung on with her tiny claws. On the third day she emerged, wobbly but bright eyed and determined to live. That was then and despite kind offers from friends to take her we cannot part with her. She is from this place and knows all there is to know about how to flourish in a wild and wonderful landscape.

Fior di Latte con Luna Rosa

This exquisite Marche summer supper appears simple, but takes time, possibly years, to prepare:

Put on satin dress. With husband drive to Adriatic coast where kind friends have invited you to supper. Stroll from their shady home to the beach where table is being laid for you by the ocean. Eat delicious fish, mostly with fingers. Talk of distant cities one might visit: Rome, Buenos Aires, Istanbul. For dessert share with Barbara very large bowl of chilled fior di latte served with half a pink moon rising above the sea.

The secret of success here is not only in the timing, but the location. I cannot this morning remember exactly all the detail, but I know one thing is true: the ice cream was served with the moon.

a box of peaches

I often pass the signora with the van, parked most days at the top of our road, but if I stop I know will be hours, standing there with the neighbours, chatting, answering their questions, waiting for my turn to buy a kilo of fragolini, some fragole and other things fresh from this earth. However I am a devotee of her stall in the market and particularly of her shop, a large spartan building down on the main road opposite the petrol station. Here there are just rows boxes of fruit and vegetables, a few groceries and none of the modern visual pressures to buy.

So yesterday I am in the shop, her daughters are out with the van and at the market, and she is behind the counter beside the lemons. And we talk about the cost of potatoes, the exorbitant price of a handbag a customer was carrying, and she tells me how she is from Abruzzo, south of Pescara, that she is one of sixteen children - she was fifteen, her twin brother sixteen, in fact her mother had three sets of twins - and that they had nothing, yet they lived happily all together with both sets of grandparents. That makes twenty two. Imagine feeding these hungry children every day, sitting them at the table, even having that many forks and spoons, let alone potatoes, and she talks movingly about their closeness and how content she was, and how people now are separated and alone, how they don't invite you, and as I am leaving, already laden with all I have bought, she bends down to a crate of peaches and without a second thought begins to put them into a box for me, saying; take these and make some marmalata, and despite my thanks and protests to stop she cannot because she has shared her story, of who she is and where she came from, that they were poor and she was loved, and at this moment she feels close to me. She asks my name. She is Nicoletta. I drive home with more than a box of peaches. I have much to attend to, but the first thing I do is to make my marmalata. I feel sure it is blessed.

a dog called Ginger

I have just met a lovely dog, who lives in a villa with the most peaceful, painted interior. She is the kind of waggy gentle dog that's always so pleased to see you. She is black, Italian and called Ginger. Nothing gingery about her at all. Nothing in her name to suggest she lives here in this exquisite building with birds and trees and flowers decorating her walls and ceilings.

in the garden of Palazzo Alaleona

I found a woman sitting by a tree, sewing perhaps. It is early afternoon in summer I think, looking at the shadows falling then and held for a century or more in the same position on this small piece of chipped glass found in a box yesterday.

The Soft Velvety Chairs of Fermo

I have just returned home from glorious whirlwind visit of Fermo and of the many things I have to tell you what stays in my mind are rows of velvet chairs. Crimson, scarlet, the colour of honey and gold, hundreds are to be found in the city's churches, theatre, salons and meeting rooms, spaces that are vaulted, marbled, curtained, hushed, prepared and waiting for me and you to attend a violin concerto, The Marriage of Figaro, the wedding of friends, a reading of poetry, an uplifting conference, but above all they made me feel invited and seduced by this bewitching little town.

Lunch 3: ciliege

Here is what I had for lunch today, a bewitching Marche recipe:

Walk to cherry tree. Pick cherries for two hours. Eat as few as possible, but of course too many. Walk home, basket full, tree still laden. Make a little caffe. Call mother and ask for cherry jam recipe. Give remaining cherries to Maria my neighbour. Leave the rest on the tree for the crows. Perfect.

Miracles of Le Marche: 4. eye-door

I felt this door was was worthy of a minor miracle. It belongs to a chicken shed, which today belongs to a kind English family who are just beginning the restoration of their newly acquired old Marche farmhouse. Perhaps the door will keep an eye on progress, and perhaps if it is hearby mentioned it might be saved and have a longer life. Clearly it has weathered unblinkingly many a hot summer and snowy winter, so perhaps now there's a chance it could move inside the house, be transformed into a cupboard door, watch over some neatly folded sheets, perhaps even have a pretty glass handle.

Lunch 2: Carciofi Palazzo Romani Adami

I was having lunch with some friends at the beautiful home of Cecilia and Teresa in Fermo. The artichokes they served from their kitchen were the best I have ever tasted and Lydia asked for the recipe, which was told in such detail it would be worthy of a film. This is what I remember they said:

Cut off the leaves and tough outer leaves.
Stuff the artichokes with chopped parsley and garlic.
Place stem up in a wide pan ontop of the stove.
Pour a little water, wine and olive oil into the water.
Add a little salt. Cover with lid.
Half steam, half roast on a slow heat, adding more water and wine as you go, turning the artichokes now and then so they don't burn, for 2 hours or more. You cannot leave the house as you must attend to them every now and then.
Serve hot when tender, or let cool and eat later. Even better tomorrow. Delicious.

Lunch. 1

There is great debate here in Le Marche about where exactly to choose a home betwixt the mountains and the sea. Living between the two, I feel that both the Sibillini Mountains and the Adriatic Sea possess a certain magnetism that requires me to set out to visit them, not unlike a pilgrimage, one uphill to the flower meadows then out of the mountain lake we jump and off we go freewheeling downhill though the valleys to the shore. Having both we are spoilt for choice at lunchtime, shall we have risotto with wild asparagi up there or perhaps spaghetti vongole down at the coast where the crisp cloth will already be on the table, the cutlery polished and where the waiter will remember my name.

Latest News from Casa Cavallina

News of covetable farmhouses and palazzi have been eclipsed by the little foal at CASA CAVALLINA. I visited yesterday and the stable door was open, no sign of them. Then across the field I saw the mare grazing. And beside her, barely visible lying flat on the ground, there she was. I waited. After a while she stood up on her spindly legs and skipped across the buttercups. Look at her nose-on and she is as thin as slice of toast ..

Opening The Door of Palazzo Alaleona

There is a large key securing Palazzo Alaleona and the door is very strong. Only the key that has opened the door for many years would not turn. After an hour and a half, after the arrival of a spare key and the failure of that, the heavy Palace door swung open with the help of a little lift from beneath. Her door had simply sagged a millimetre over the winter, what with the snow we had this year, and as it released we fell inside with the May sunshine.

The Little Horse of Casa Cavallina

This is the first time a horse has been born in one of my houses. I have had pigs, chickens, sheep and turkeys, but never a horse. So exciting. Here she is. Bless the little horse of Casa Cavallina.

News from Casa Cavallina

The foal at Casa Cavallina was born last night in the stable. In the dark fell soft Spring rain. I am going there to see.

Miracles of Le Marche: 3. fate of a fence

Last year the cinghiale trampled my zucchini. At first I was delighted to know there were wild pigs just outside my front door and did not care about my mangled courgettes. Then it happened again, this time to the lettuce. And again, to the carrots. The cinghiale would trot up under cover of darkness, snuffle and forage around for the sweet delights I had planted, dig and stamp with their cloven hooves, bite and snaffle their way along the row of delicacies, thus destroying all I had created in one swift frenzy. So this year I got a fence. Sam went off in search of useful things with which to deter the saboteurs. He came back from the scrap merchant with twisted bedheads, rusting grills, wrought iron flourishes, bent gates, things once made by hand and since discarded as usless. He began, with care, to cut and join them into some kind of order. Soon my fence emerged and as dusk fell and the cinghiale were heard snorting in the bosco, a strange thing happened. It occurred to me I had seen my fence before. I ran inside the house to check. Placed on the piano was a 1950s postcard of our village, admired because it depicted a building, photographed in the heat of summer, with a brand new crazy-paving style fence, only we knew the fence was no longer there. By a curious twist of fate it was here, in my field, and with a new purpose befitting of a fence; to protect my strawberries from those greedy Italian piglets.

Song to Santa Lucia

On the wall in VILLA PAPARELLI is a fresco of Santa Lucia. I know this because she is depicted holding a plate displaying her eyes, reputed to have been torn out, however I gather they were later miraculously restored, and I am glad. Today a friend mentioned she was the Patron Saint of Earthquakes. I am not sure this to be true and if she has been called upon, but I do know her feast day, celebrated on the shortest day of the year, has become the festival of light. In certain parts of the world the youngest daughter, dressed in white, wakes the rest of the family with coffee, rolls and a special song. The coffee I hope has reached L'Aquila. To send more supplies please contact the RED CROSS.

Safe as houses

It seems fitting today, in light of the earthquake that has devastated L'Aquila, to mention Engineers Sebastiano and Antonella Ferranti, our recommended team of structural engineers who are involved in many of our restoration projects here in Le Marche. Their calm, cautious advice is well appreciated today as we are reassured that our buildings meet with the necessary code and specification to protect them from earthquakes of this magnitude. Le Marche is some way north of l'Aquila, we felt a tremor, but none of the buildings the Ferranti's have restored have any problems. For more information and technical advice about your home or your building restoration please contact me and I will put you in touch with Studio Ferranti. And my own house, preserved as was and loved as such, built over three hundred years ago from sturdy oaks and heavy stones from the river, swayed a little on her bed of earth, shed a little dust and settled back into position. Most reassuring. But I am aware for others it was not. To help the people in L'Aquila and surrounding villages who have lost their homes and loved ones, please contact the Red Cross.

Sea of Steps, Palazzo Alaleona

I have found a Sea of Steps. Not in Wells Cathedral, England, but here in le Marche in PALAZZO ALALEONA. In fact there are two; the elegant, undulating, wide stone stairs, shipped from Rome bearing evidence of a grand past and leading to the piano nobile, and the scale di servizio, the servants' stairs, a narrow, almost vertical brick climb at the other end of the building, up and down which the staff would have scurried in their continuous task of keeping house. I feel two tides of history as I step on these worn treads, twin currents of Italian society flowing side by side, separated by walls and circumstance, brick and marble, dark and light. Cecilia loved the back stairs. I cannot decide, but I would leave both exactly as we found them.

News from the bosco

I am waiting for a call to tell me that the foal has been born at the house I call CASA CAVALLINA, a wild and peaceful place in the foothills of the mountains.

Miracles of Le Marche: 2. cat-door

When we moved to our hillside my beloved cat Fazzi went missing, presumed dead. For thirty days and thirty nights I searched for him, looking for his dear black shape and as I skirted our house calling his name I would pass the stable doors and each time something dark caught my eye. It was not Fazzi, but a Fazzi-shaped hole. I took this as a sign that something good would come of his disappearance. And indeed it did: Fazzi Film 2003

Palazzo Alaleona

I have been asked to find an owner for the most heartbreakingly beautiful palazzo belonging to a noble family from Rome. I cannot describe how stunning it is inside and only hope the photographs I took will help convey what I saw. Here history remains intact, unaffected by the modern world, which makes you want to throw away all you have and move in immediately.

Miracles of Le Marche: 1. deer-vine

Once upon a time, six years ago when we first came to our hillside in Le Marche, a serious of magical things occurred. Some can be explained. Others cannot. This is one of them.

Today sunny and very cold but the first plum blossom out. Sam ploughing a patch near the summer washing line so we can plant our pomidori. Little market in the village today, and great to see everyone out in the sunshine. Planted piselli as the seeds i planted in the autumn did not appear, but Rita said this is because the winter was so very wet and peas dislike too much water. I have much to learn from her.

Umbrella pine stretches over Adriatic sea

Postcard found at Porto San Giorgio station, whilst waiting to catch the train to Venice.

The thoughts of umbrella pines

I am smitten with the three young umbrella pine trees Lars gave me that are planted outside my window. Recently two of them have slightly dropped their lower branches, whereas the other retains its pompom shape, and it occurred to me that trees have ideas of their own. They know how and when their branches will create their graceful shapes. I scrutinize all the umbrella pines I see, trying to calculate when mine will reach the roof of our house, when they will touch each other and create a canopy for us to sit beneath.

News from the bosco

Here in the woods it has been clear, bright, windy day and a linen sheet flaps on the line. Sam is organising his workshop, completely covered in sawdust. I have seen a ruined farmhouse with three most wonderful cypress trees, standing right outside the front door like welcoming hosts. On the way home Rita the baker hesitated over which of her pane di noce to give me. Selecting the best of the four loaves in her basket she wrapped my bread in thin white paper. A warm, kind, walnutty parcel.