zio Vincenzo's Cinquecento

       Once my goods arrived in port and were driven down from Livorno, zio Vincenzo came by to haul away zia Concetta's old things. He simply tied the kitchen table (should have kept that), the 1970s crystaliere, the old and incredibly comfortable sheep's wool-stuffed mattress including headboard to the top of the tiny Fiat (one at a time) or folded them inside and then drove them down via Fontana - the entire piazzetta looking on. That wagon is amazing. It's nearly as old as I am. Maybe. I've often seen zia Maria and Vincenzo zipping around town and country in it like two high school sweethearts getting their daily chores done.

Under the gelso tree...

     Rapone, Basilicata. It was nearly midnight before we started dinner. Ten artists of various trades and talents gathered on the countryside estate of ceramicist Vito Natale, organized by the inestimable Concetta Di Cecca. The gelso tree seem to glow from within. Tiny yellow orbs dangled or dropped to the earth, sweetened our palates before the first course. Salt cured pork and sharp pecorino, chilled homemade white wine - a local falenghina - pasta gently tossed in fresh tomato 'salsa' and fruits of the sea, then coaxed to our plates by Concetta's brother Michele. Poached Orata followed, seasoned to perfection by Vito Z. Plenty of hearty bread and greens. Fresh peaches chilled in cold water and the dolce from Vito's brother - a maestro of pastries, in Calitri - Bar/Pasticceria Zabatta. The thick stone slab was first cool then warm to the touch as the evening waned, fireflies competed with stars...Some of the artists work can be viewed here - www.zabart.it or www.ceramichegrafio.it

La tabaccheria

A few steps from my door near the old forno is Teresa's tabaccheria.

Summer or winter, Teresa's tableau seems a constant on via Fontana.

The table set out front draped with white linen greets the procession of San Antonio as they walk by on June 13th. 

Lenzuolo su balcone....

June in Calitri

Warm summer breezes, pale blue sheets, and a host of marshmallow clouds just over my balcony. I sit here after a brief afternoon nap contemplating nothing, waiting for my ship to come in, literally.

Domani, or doppo domani, we all know in Italy nothing is within our control.

So when the plates and silverware have stopped clinking, I'll begin my stroll through the quiet lanes of la Cascina and the Centro Storico, wandering and waiting for the town to re-emerge from it's post-pranzo reposo.

This blog-post today comes one month after the feast of Sant'Antonio on June 13 and the lovely mini procession that slowly winds right by my door on via Fontana. From June 1st to the 13th church bells are rung by hand each afternoon from his little chiesetta at the base of the hill.

The sound of their music permeates the atmosphere for nearly an hour, then vespers are sung by village elders. Until the feast day, when two masses are said in the overflowing small yellow church. Afterwards bags of fresh baked and blessed bread, the bread of Sant'Antonio, are passed through the crowd.