Il Poggiolo and its former jungly garden, as we saw it one rainy day way back in early February 2009…
I am in Genoa. Codiponte seems far away. As the geography goes, it is. For instance, the weather can be so different. Sleet can be slicing the air outside our apartment here… which it is doing as I write… while the sun is blazing in the Heavens above Il Poggiolo. And visa-versa. Yet, my thoughts of Il Poggiolo… well, worries… are right with me all the time.
Even in my dreams. For the past week, I have had nightmare after nightmare of… out-of-control lawn-movers, their whirling blades near to decapitating me in one fell SWOOSH!!!… the grassy terraces sliding down to the Medieval bridge in a RUMBLE!!! blocking it with a mountain of mushy stone, Mother Earth & uncut grass. That last one hurts… the bare & angled bows of trees, like the make-basket-willow tree You HATES the sight of, SCRAPING!!! their growth into up-lifting the rafters of La Casa Grande’s roofs off their stoney & secure anchors… and so on and so forth. Pondering them all, these nocturnal shenanigans can mean just One Thing… Latent Gardening Anxiety! A Bad Case of it too, don’t you think?
During the holiday week spent at Il Poggiolo, I surveyed the Garden… You was napping, having exhausted himself with several Inspection Tours of his own… and made A Mental List of what all should be done at the first possible moment… WHEN… the 2,000 square meters ain’t sodden to the point of desperation with the previous night’s donation of frost & dew. I cannot depend upon The Sun to burn this wet stuff off into the local atmosphere either. Its bene-rays do not arrive at Il Poggiolo until about 1 – 1:30PM. And, by 4PM the orbe sinks behind the chestnut covered hills marking the Western boundary of Our Aulella River Valley. The sunny day is then done. No use putting out the laundry and hope to have dry underwear by afternoon’s end. In the summer, it’s out by 9, dry by 11!!! What a change. And, besides Mr Sun never rising higher than 30 degrees above the hilly horizon from October to March, there is this falling down construction of an enormous palazzo above us. We have absolutely NO PRIVACY because of it, thank you so very much. Yet, if there weren’t those storied walls & crumbling roof where they sit, I might have a year-round sunny Garden. Then, I could cut the bristling grasses, rake the dry leaves from under the Persimmon Tree or, prune the dangling branches from trees along La Casa Grande’s Eastern side of the Garden without using a light-torch to saw by. I can dream can’t I?
So, frustrated, I sit, bang out this blog & chomp on a non-existent bit till when? End of March? Hey! That’s Spring. YIPPEE!!! I can get to work. Gads.