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February 22, 2010 … … of a house in deepest Sicily? … of clouds and earth and stone?
Of lying under a fig tree with days wide as an ocean? … Dream away… There are so many broken-down homes in Southeast Sicily waiting to be tamed. Waiting and waiting for you. February 19, 2010
I scale the scaffolding to inspect the newly-patched roof tiles. Resentment tugs at me—a feeling that my husband should be the one crawling up these monkey bars, not accident-prone me. Why is he 7,000 miles away, on terra firma, while I’m alone in this strange land? The truth is, the foolhardy idea to renovate a house in Sicily was all mine. But couldn’t he feign a little more interest? I keep climbing. Anaïs Nin’s words run through my head: Life expands or contracts in proportion to your courage. It’s cold up here. The house—at the summit of Ragusa Ibla— takes the full brunt of the cutting tramontana blowing south from snowy Mount Etna. The rocks at the edges of the roof are meant to keep the old terracotta tiles from flying away in the wind like a cloud of pigeons.
The finished roof, excruciatingly slow as it has been, looks gorgeous in the amber glow of late afternoon. But what do I know. Will it keep the rivers of rain outside? Will the damp house one day be a dry house?
Earlier in the day I’d rushed down in a panic from Rome because a neighbor had told me my scaffolding permit was about to expire. A denuncia against me—an official denouncement to the police—was under discussion by neighbors. None of my brushes with officialdom in Italy have been good; I’m especially nervous about being on the wrong side of the law in a country where even a bounced check can land you in the slammer. But in true Sicilian fashion, disaster has been averted just in the nick of time. Fifteen minutes before the permit expires, my project manager tracks down a friend in the comune. “C’e l’abbiamo fatto!” he enthuses, winking and brandishing the new papers. “We did it! It’s been extended. You’ve got to have friends in Sicily.” Yes, you’ve got to have amici. A truism that becomes clearer to me each day. A friend of a friend—a virtual stranger—has, with astounding Sicilian generosity, donated all the materials for the next phase of the project: the plastering of leaky exterior walls.
But will the wall work drag on forever, like the roof did? Will I give neighbors another reason to denounce me? Will my husband ever come to Sicily? Will he ever want to see this old house? … xxx February 16, 2010
Starting in February, Sicilians take to the hills and valleys to hunt for wild spring asparagus. The first time I stalked asparagi was with a party of friends in a wildflower-strewn valley just beyond Ragusa Ibla. We were led into battle by my friend Gio’s father, Signor Battaglia, a tailor with a zeal for women and wild edibles. Though the skinny spears grew waist-high, they weren’t easy to spot. They lurked in brambles and behind stone drystone walls. For several hours we rambled through the golden freshness playing a kind of Where’s Waldo with asparagus. “Look! There are five right ahead of me,” Signor Battaglia would say. He’d stop dead in his tracks to let our eyes focus. But the flora was tangled and we were asparagus-blind. He’d scowl with mock impatience, then inch forward to tap each tender green shoot with the tip of his cane. We’d erupt in surprise, and someone would clamber over a rock wall or wade deep into the brush to pluck the tall spears with a satisfying snap. When we’d collected enough wild food to feed a village, we headed back to the house to prepare lunch with our dewy ingredients. I’ve written elsewhere about this meal and special man, Signor Battaglia, who for me is the incarnation of Sicilian joie de vivre. I thought about him yesterday and started craving asparagus. Since I’m not in Sicily at the moment, I had to settle for stalking spears in the vegetable aisle at Trader Joe’s. I found some good organic skinny spears. I love asparagus best roasted, so here’s what I did: 1. Snap off woody ends. 2. Wash well (store-bought variety can be gritty). 3. Put in baking dish and drizzle with olive oil. 4. Roast at 350 for about 15 minutes. 5. Grind coarse salt and pepper and add a little spritz of lemon if desired. 6. Serve at room temperature as an antipasto or hot as a side dish.
Asparagus has health benefits galore: it clears urine (yup!); contains fiber that encourages digestion; and supports heart health thanks to folate, vitamin B, and the master antioxidant glutathione. Do you forage for wild edibles? What do you do with asparagi? .*** Here’s a link to a blogger in Italy doing a series on wild edibles.
February 11, 2010 Well, I’ve been blogging on and on about my adopted Sicilian village for several months now, forgetting to give you an overview of the place. Do you want to see her? Shall I locate her in space?
Do you see why I fell head over heels?
She floats like an island, surrounded by a moat of gorges. Ragusa lies south of Bizerte, Tunisia in latitude. The soft African air wafts through her piazzas on winter days; rainstorms can deposit Saharan sand. xxx
[gmap] My husband spent a few hours figuring out how to put this Google map on my blog. (Thanks, honey!) Be sure to check out the satellite view, too. xxx Click to subscribe. (It’s free.) *** If you liked this post, you might also like: |
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Ragusa Ibla is a huddle of homes and churches, the kind of place you want to cradle in your hands.