CASTIGLIONE DEL LAGO, UMBRIA— We go right into high gear on quarterly garden maintenance today. Communing with nature. I haven’t been here for three months so we’re talking about a garden of a rather overgrown nature, but I look forward to digging right in. Weeding? Sign me up. Pruning? Good for me and the roses. Cleaning up the goop that fell out of the fig tree? Arruhgh. What a mess. We seem to have like the Exxon Valdeze of fig trees. It is making black and greasy goo all over my paving stones at that end of the garden. And, it is disgusting to attempt to un-pollute the area, but we are rolling up our sleeves and jumping in.
Now, I like a fig now and again. Ma questa non vale la pena – certainly the not at all worth the hassle this year. Figs were awful. Mostly due to excess rain washing over them day after day when they were supposed to be up sunning in the branches. This year they just got waterlogged, swelled up, split into three angry pieces and kurplop. Thank heavens we only have the one tree. Wonder if Mr. Fig Tree knows we have a new woodstove?
As usual with any good project, within no time at all we have used every tool we own doing the job but soon have a need for yet something else from the hardware store. Today, that something else is black plastic bags. Body bags for the fig goop and fig branches I’m whacking back wildly. Road trip? Hardware is the one thing Panicale has very little of. I bet if someone would open one in town, before you know it we’d have three, but right now we are hardware-challenged and this looks like as good an excuse as any to drop down to Castiglione del Lago and its famous Edil Feramente CANADA hardware store.
The storeowners are Italian, but lived in Canada for decades. When a project gets over my head often the vocabulary fails me in English, let alone Italian. How often would you need to say thingamajiggy in Italian? That is what I thought too, so I never buckled down and learned that word or a million other manly tool words. Drill bits. When would that come up in conversation? One of those scraper things that holds double-edged razor blades. What the heck DO you call that? Whatever you call whatever it is, when I have no earthly idea what I’m doing, I get lazy and treat myself to a bit of Canadian English. In times of stress, it is fun to have someone who speaks your language, plus this is a big, clean hardware store with darn near everything.
We’re off for simple things today so it doesn’t matter if the Canadians are on duty or not. They aren’t as it turns out. Ah, good. We got the nice guy with the big mustache for our clerk today. Bags for garden trimming? Biiigg ones? Strong? Sure, we got’em. How many kilos do you want? Kilos? That is like pounds of bags? So, THAT is what the problem has been. I have had a heck of a time finding bags. I’d ask in a grocery and they would say, Here, you can have this one. I’ll get another one. But then they wouldn’t sell me one. And I’d leave with the one bag, scratching me head and wondering. So, ok, I need two KILOS of plastic bags. And now we’ve got scrub brushes of three sizes to work on the fig poop on our garden walk and decide to ask if there is anything stronger than the dish soap we’ve been using? Has chemical research come up with anything that will clean fig off stone? And maybe, if we are lucky, accidently kill the fig tree in the process. And yes, yes it appears there is. And her comes a lovely, unmarked, gallon bottle of it. With a handle. And you’ll be wanting gloves with that, he says ominously. Yike. Careful what you wish for I guess. And he adds, I wouldn’t be opening this indoors either. What the heck is in that bottle? Ok, I’m buying it. But I’m not anxious to be using it.
THE FLYING EAR OF CORN COMES TO UMBRIA?
Paying up, I see the man next to me has a Dekalb Seed Company vest on. My parents from Iowa wouldn’t be surprised to see that in middle America but I am. Here. OK, I have to ask. No, no the wearer says. Regular brand. See it everywhere here. Especially around Perugia. Really? It’s a clothing line?
I looked Dekalb up on the web when I got back and this is not a fashion forward thing. The site was full of earnest boilerplate copy about Rootworm Soybean Variant, Conservation Tilage, Agricultural Scholarship and, personal favorite, The Monsanto Pledge. I can see the AG Chemistry Geeks with their short sleeve dress shirts and brown ties and hand over heart reciting that beauty. I couldn’t even figure out how to get a corny ball hat out of them and this guy IN ITALY has an actual vest. He was nice enough, but he was clearly surprised – that I was surprised. It was just too banal to him. He couldn’t imagine my interest. Ma, si! Seed corn! Iowa. Italy?
If I live to be a hundred . . . You know, I bet, there’s some wild-eyed marketing/branding guys involved in this somewhere.
Leaving on a jet plane. Yeah. All systems Go. Going. Gone. We slipped the gravitational pull of Logan International in Boston and a couple random movies and rubbery raviolis later I was rushing through DeGaulle in Paris. Shortly after Paris I was up in the air over the Alps and the next thing I knew I was getting into a taxi in Chiusi, Italy and saying “Panicale, per piacere”. I found Wiley! She looks great, the house looks great, even in the cloudy rainy weather. I managed to stay up till real Italian dinnertime to get on myself sort of on Italian time and then we treated ourselves to dinner at Masolino’s, next door to our house.
First off, driving the three hours back from Rome by myself, with my father’s words firmly in my head ”When you pull out onto a road you are not pulling out onto a road in Maine, you’re pulling out into OMIGOD! ” Well, lucky for me I avoided all ’omigod’ situations on the way back, and only had a little bit of traffic and rainfall! And I have to say, it felt good, pulling into Panicale in my little car, heading to my little house, and knowing I got there on my own. I came in and made myself a big celebration dinner– pasta with pesto (and Italian gods don’t kill me– but I put a little Tabasco sauce in it too– my version of something old, something new,?!) also had some of the great farm fresh ricotta that the 
It’s Orfeo that’ll do it every time. After a brief hello, Celia told him about her quest for a particular hand cream made from bee products – that quickly led to Orfeo running into his house, grabbing his car keys, and leading us down the hill to his friends ”they have the best honey– you don’t need to go to Chiusi! You come to them”!
Later, as we strolled back to the car, more likely waddled, I noticed a very interesting difference between Chiusi and Panicale– In Chiusi all the benches and door stoops were filled with women, all sitting and chatting, fanning themselves and petting cats, well, as anyone’s who’s visited Panicale knows, in our town this sight is very unusual, it’s the men who take up the benches– but in Chiusi no men were to be seen– am I seeing a dating show? Umbrian Bench Dating, I really think I’m onto something here!
As daughter Wiley prepares to spend an extended period of time here — more than any of us ever have at one time, there is always something new to consider. Will the supplies we have work well, or will she find a million little things she needs? Well, the first thing we got for her is an Aldo Bar charge card! That way I know she will head to Aldo’s for her daily caffeine and meet all the neighbors! Today we saw Jurgen who said we “had some work to do on our garden&rdquo . . . ! Wiley and I came back to look, but it looks great to us. Wonder what Stew would do?
He plays at being shocking to nose-tweak some of the more conservative factions in this fairly traditional part of Italy. He is Danish but speaks perfect American English (he was Born in the USA. In the state of Springstein) and was raised eventually in Panicale. He starts rolling his own cigarettes as soon as he sits down but first asks waitress if its ok and she says no because there little kids at the next table and he pushes the tobacco gear back and sweet as a kitten says but of course, totally fine, I understand. Everyone assumes Eric has brought his own beer into the restaurant to tweak our collective conservative noses a bit. Wiley harassed him about it the next day and sure enough we’d all unjustly put him in that place. He’d bought the bottle from the waitress before he came to the table so it wouldn’t end up on our table’s bill. OK, we all got burnt judging a book by its cover. Typical day in the neighborhood when dad goes dating with daughter. 
But I digress. Why am I sawing up a branch of our tree? It spreads its branches up and out to the street above us to share with the people passing by. Bus loads of them are now almost tearing it apart in a fig feeding frenzy. Even when we are in the garden. Turning the other cheek, Wiley will often gather a hand fulls of figs and take them up to the people on the street, just to get them to back off a bit. But still, would you believe the biggest branch was ripped right off the trunk? Weird, but true. Sweet older Italians of all stripes flocking to the tree to relieve some inborn fig deficiency. In the crowd of bus tourists, two old dears waved to us. We could just see their tiny bird like hands and their faces from the noses up above our garden wall. In trembling old-people voices they asked ”dove siamo”? I have days when I wonder what I’m doing, but usually I’m set on where I’m doing it. Afraid that the question is too easy I had to answer a bit tentatively ”Panicale?”no, no they mutter over the top of the wall, Che Provincia? They were in a state, they just didn’t know which one. Heck of bus trip. 
So. . . Big and soft. But not split open. Bring them to the chopping board and merrily hack to pieces. Skin and all. Smaller the pieces, the smaller pieces in final product. Carla like them cut in only 3-4 pieces each. I like much smaller bits I’ve decided.