My first day at the Torre Colombaia Agriturismo in rural Umbria was a rainy one that challenged me to find good in something that doesn’t look too promising at first glance. The visual stimulation of the surrounding terrain of romping, playful hills hugging the horizon, and wise, age-old gardens spreading their motherly arms over the land was lost among greedy layers of unrelenting fog and the constantly sulky drops of rain. However, instead of clinging to expired expectations and allowing my disappointment to join the fog and rain in dampening my weekend, I looked for the good amidst my soggy clothes and cold feet: like a blind person who adjusts for their lack of sight by heightening another sense, I let my sense of taste guide my rainy day at the agriturismo, with a seven-course meal that included some of the most flavorful lamb I have ever had (and believe me, I've had my share of excellent lamb growing up on a sheep farm!).

The sun decided to come out the second day, and my Creative Writing class that I was taking the field trip with, was able to walk around the land. I did an amazing amount of introspection this day - the following is basically my journal entry from the day:

The first crisp gusts of fall snuck up on me today. It was a beautiful fall morning to be in the Italian compagna (countryside); it was one of those mornings that awakens and stirs parts of you that you have repressed, or just not expected to surface on this particular day, this certain morning. I don’t know what exactly is it about fall that moves me so – there’s just something in the sound of dry, fallen leaves scratching against a gravel road, something about the subtlety of sunlight. The shyness of autumn sunlight – I could write a paper on it! It’s not as abrasively, purely white as spring light, or as lazy and steamy as summer sunlight; rather it’s a darker, golden tint, and its beauty quietly creeps up on you. If summer sunlight was custom made for beach scenes with garishly colored beach umbrellas, then autumn sunlight was created with country-living and the harvest in mind. It is the sunlight of memories, the golden warmth conjuring up images of past autumns; for me, the first fall image that seeped into my mind as I walked through the agriturismo grounds was pressing cider with apples from our old apple tree on the side of the road. Suddenly, unexpectedly, I was crying, overcome with an overwhelming sadness as I missed my grandpa Lyle with such an acute pang, it was as if he had just passed away yesterday. I didn’t expect this memory to trigger up such a forceful reaction; I guess it was because the last time I made apple cider, Grandpa Lyle was there, with Grandma, Don and Mary Lou, my parents, David and his girlfriend, Jen - it was such a perfect fall day to remember Grandpa with, and one of my last weekends with him, as it was a few weeks before he passed away. I miss him terribly today, and I keep thinking of a thousand things I’d like to tell him, about Italy, about Todd, about my life. So I guess I’m writing in memory of him today, and in warming memory of that perfect fall day.

My time at the argriturismo reminded me of the beauty of the land that my family roots are so deeply buried in. Being in Perugia, caught up in the rush and whoosh, the excitement of city life, all the while learning a new language, making new friends, and just trying to keep up, it’s easy to forget, or lose touch with nature, and the cycle of seasons. But this weekend, I was gently reminded: the beauty of fall in Italy’s countryside has enveloped me fully – it reminds me of home, and I wish I could just spread my arms and let myself sink into the soil beneath me, so I can absorb the quiet, wise patience of the generous Terra Madre, or Mother Earth. I lose myself in the panoramic views of fields of sunflowers, once bright and happy now bow their darkened heads, ready for winter’s slumber. There are the once neat but now overflowing rows of grape vines in the midst of being harvested, and the healthy heaviness of the olive trees patiently waiting for their turn in the harvest season that remind me of the necessity of death in order for life to keep on in the grandest of cycles.

Even the houses here seem to echo my wish to blend into the earth – they are all made with earthy materials of stone or brick, covered in sturdy clay roofs. Agriturismos themselves are an attempt to pay homage to the gracious earth – they are government subsidized farms that save old, historic buildings and ages-old farms that are re-equipped to use solar power, organic farming and gardening methods, and always fresh, locally grown produce and meat for their hearty seven-course meals! There is no better place in Italy to be able to appreciate the first signs of fall, and the harvest that autumn is all about. Here amongst this calm beauty, my tensed neck muscles release, and I stand still as I let my weight sink into the earth, patiently waiting for the sound of falling leaves that whisper softly, fall is here.