Just when you think the heat has taken its final toll on the countryside, when the trees are wilting with thirst, when the high grasses are nothing but a tinderbox, when you can’t stand another day of brutal sunshine, the rain finally arrives.  Soft and gentle, it soothes and cools and relieves your anxiety, giving way to a physical feeling of release and renewal.   People here describe it as sense of grace.  When you live in southern Italy it’s easy to see the ties between the people, their land and livelihood, natural and supernatural phenomena, and religion.  Events that are promoted by the Church are often tinged with a little paganism, such as in the food festivals that take place throughout the year: there is the cherry and apple sagre at S. Agata dei Goti, the wheat festival at Foglianise, even the mushrooms are feted at Cusano Mutri; all these crops are anxiously awaited and their bounty celebrated.  A case in point is the Festa dell’Uva at Solopaca.

Solopaca is a small town (population just over 4000) located at the base of the Taburno Mountain and has been known for its wines since the 12th century although its origins date back to pre-history. Like many towns in Campania, it was invaded by the Normans after the fall of the Roman Empire.  In the 15th and 16th centuries it came under the rule of feudal families such as the Monsori, the Lagonesse and the Caraccoioli.

Grapes and wines represent the mainstays of the local economy, so this is a really important event.  Mayors from all over the region are seated on a raised platform strategically placed before the main church, accompanied by the city’s police force carrying their colorful municipal banners.  Solopacan’s parade along the main street in period costumes, solemly pacing ahead of the sbandieratori (flag throwers). There are brigands and pulcinellas, peasants playing the putipù, kings, queens and damsels, gayly defying the brooding clouds that are gathering over the mountain tops.

Hundreds of people line the streets, young and old, eating sausages, broiled corn and ice cream, waiting to see the giant floats as they pass by (which will then procede to Naples to be displayed the following day).   But they all have one thing in common: they are completely covered and carefully inlaid with grapes: green, gold and black.  First come the various wine producers with their logos interpreted as mosaics of grapes.  Then comes the triumphant Madonna, elegantly cloaked in black and gold (grapes).

Then follow the bigger floats with subjects running from political satire to television shows.  My favorite had a sign boasting, “Non farti prendere dal panico, futtite ‘na bottiglia e Aglianico” (”Don’t get yourself into a panico, relax and drink a bottle of Aglianico”).

I enjoy participating in these events where the sacred and profane intermingle quite naturally.  A nun strolls with a woman in excruciatingly tight pants; priests and politicians pose amicably in front of the church. Life is too damn short and everyone wants to enjoy the last summer sun… as Winter is just around the corner.

It’s awkward to write a lightweight newsletter on Italy while we’re all staring into an economic black hole.  As an American who has lived her life abroad, the sense of impending doom has been in the air for quite some time.  Now I sit at my computer, reading the articles as they come in over the internet and watch how the television anchormen and women spin this crisis (at least someone is smiling).  It feels like a financial 9/11, but with a weird time warp that stretches the disaster out day after day.

I suppose it’s useless to look back on the behaviour of this Administration; how they expected us to not question their ideologies and had the gall to say that those who did were un-American; how they jammed a senseless war down our throats (not to speak of the Iraqis’) and then binged, rampaged, and slurped their way through the world financial markets.  At the end, after they dropped the last wrapper into the gutter, they looked around –and threw another tantrum until they got more.  And to think that my parents instilled in their children the idea that was once called the American ethic: that of an honest day’s work. Now, my friends, we will have to live with the reputation for being a nation of shysters out to make a fast buck.

The thought of having awarded the Paulsons and the Bernankes and the Gramms and the Wall St. vampires 700 billion dollars is nauseating. So as I watch my country come tumbling down like a Mother Goose rhyme, what can we do?

I would certainly like to see these gentlemen behind bars for a long enough time so that they can’t get their grimey hands on a penny of the bailout package. Unfortunately it seems we can never underestimate their capacity for greed, or their cynicism about our guliblity.  I think that until we get these culprits out of the equation, it will be hard to see a return of confidence.

There is so much at stake in these elections.  As the financial infection spreads, my thoughts drift to Don Quixote and his battle to right the unrightable wrong.  I have registered to vote and sent in my ballot and hope that Barack Obama wins by a landslide. Even though I doubt whether he or anyone else will be able to fix this mess any time soon, at least we’ll go down fighting the good fight.  Some consolation, huh?

Savour the Sannio is happy to announce the inauguration of a new regional park in the Sannio: Il Parco Regionale di Roccamonfina. The area of the park is delimited by the sloping hills of the extinct volcano of Roccamonfina and incorporates the towns of Sessa Aurunca, Teano, Conca della Campania, Galluccio, Tora, Piccilli, Marzano Appio and Roccamonfina itself. The park highlights a little-known treasure trove of nature, history, art, culture, agriculture and culinary traditions.

The park’s president Raffaele Aveta writes, “This is a first step towards giving the territory of Roccamonfina the visibility it deserves. Visitors from all over the world are invited to embark on a journey through our medieval towns and hamlets, our soaring chestnut groves and the collective memories of our people as well as to taste the extraordinary food and wines that are typical to this territory. This is the best way to safeguard the fertile yet fragile ecosystem of this volcano”

The next step will be the establishment of a farmer’s market where people can come on weekends to buy the local varieties of fruits and vegetables directly from the producers. This initiative is hosted by Eco-chef Berardino Lombardo on his beautiful estate of Terre di Conca. “In an age of globalization and massification, it is important for both consumers and producers to have a place where the unique heirloom varietes that are indigenous to this area can be seen, tasted…and saved from extinction. “

ferragosto m 1. (il 15 agosto) August holiday, Feast of the Assumption, August ‘Bank Holiday’ 2. (periodo) August holidays pl. August holiday period.

The days preceeding and following Ferragosto are the longest and hottest of the year and mark a ritual moment of italian idleness. August 15th represents the acme of physical and psychological wellbeing: you’re feeling good because you’ve left behind work and worries, yet ahead there’s still more holiday to savour. Anxieties are put aside and all attention is brought to bear on this moment of pure stress-free laziness. In Campania this means big family get togethers with food, wine and song and I have rarely seen people have such a good time.

This year Federico and I were on the opposite side of the idleness spectrum as we were helping cater the big Ferragosto buffet lunch for 100 people at Terre di Conca. The day was crowned with beautiful weather and people began arriving as early as 10 am in order to take advantage of the sun and swimming pool. Toddlers were playing with the cats who were in turn getting in the way of the chefs. Friarielli, portulaca and zucchini flowers were being brought in from the fields and the batter for the deep-fried pizzelle was rising. Federico and Peppino (the singer) were setting up the sound system.

Hunger struck at one o’clock and the buffet began. There was a brief moment of tension as everyone surged toward the buffet table, but this group of old customers knew that Berardino served more food than anyone could possibly eat so the atmosphere was easy going and everyone actually lined up like Brits at a taxi stand! First came the fried antipasti: pizzelle (puffed salted pastry filled with tomatoe sauce and basilico), zucchini flowers, portulaca (a green weed) and friarelli (small green peppers). People ate, drank and relaxed while listening to Peppino sing nostalgic songs by Fred Bongusto and Andriano Celentano, accompanied by tasteful recorded arrangements.

Then came the fresh, oven-baked pasta made with tomatoes, eggplant and hard-boiled eggs. A few teenagers returned to the pool to top up their tans and Peppino shifted gear to more rythmic pieces. Husbands and wives, grandfathers and grandaughters, mothers and friends began dancing, embraced in each others sense of belonging. By the time the roasted meats arrived people were ready for more food and wine. Desserts were served at around four pm followed by cold watermelon, chilled prosecco and provolone cheese. Peppino took out his guitar and sang the classic neapolitan songs: Mare Chiaro, Turna a Surriento, U Sarracino…

With work over, the staff started to enjoy themselves with a bit of wine or beer and accompanied Peppino, singing off-key into the microphone. The evening came to an end when Berardino carried his assistant over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and jumped into the pool.

There may be many problems facing this country but, grazie a Dio, Italians still know how to seize the moment. Carpe Diem.

(Thank you Dorothy for two of the pictures!) 

It’s time that I introduced you to Sabra, our german shepherd, seeing as she is such a big part of our lives.

Sabra came to us two and a half years ago. We were about to start a new chapter in our lives and moving to the country meant that I could finally have a dog, a BIG dog. My friend Rachel called to say that she had met a young couple who had a giant german shepherd pup that they were trying to find a home for. I liked the sound of ‘giant’; the more dog the better, I always say!

We spoke to the owner and Kaya (as she was named) was delivered into our arms one fine morning in November … torn from her mother, miserable, dishevelled and covered in her own vomit.

Soon however she was comfortably settled into our home in the Sannio. She grew quickly (and remembering that she was going to be a ‘giant’) we decided that it would be better to give her some proper schooling. I had read Jen Fennell’s “The Dog Listener” and began a search on the internet for an amischien trainer in Campania. Lo and behold I found a school located at the foot of Mt. Vesuvius. It was unforgettably named ‘Happy Snout’.

Federico, Sabra and I went to school for six months and it was the best decision we ever made. We studied how to become pack leaders (which basically means learning how to ignore bad behavior and reward the good behavior of your dog). It was difficult at first but the results were rewarding.

Sabra eventually grew to become a normal-sized, german shepherd mix and she is a real beauty. Whatever she lacks in size and breeeding is more than compensated by her outstanding temperment and intelligence. She has been instrumental in making the insertion and weaving of our lives into the tapestry of S. Agata dei Goti a seamless success. I have become known as ‘la signora col cane’ (the woman with the dog) and when I go out alone, the first question I am inevitable asked is “ma signora, dov’è Sabra?” (”so where is Sabra?”)