Diane's Passeggiata

The Green Heart

 

It is so much fun arriving in Rome, Italy—when my adrenalin is just about on empty from the long plane ride, there is always a bustling café where I can refuel with an authentic and aromatic cappuccino. Popcorn is quite familiar with the routine—finally freed from her pet carrier bag, she is rewarded for her good behavior by sharing a freshly baked cornetto (croissant) with me. We then head to the autostrada and begin our two hour trek to Umbria.   About an hour into the ride, my bleary eyes start to awaken as I watch the landscape take shape to remind me that I am almost home.  Blue mountains bloom in the distance, and rolling hills with the textures of olive groves and vineyards and medieval towns replace the flat farmland that I saw as the plane descended into Rome.

It isn’t until I exit the autostrada, though, that it fully registers where I have taken us. Shifting gears along the winding road, my jet-lagged brain finally begins to shift gears as well. The cypress trees and steep hills bring me back to a memory of sitting at the café in our small town, and an elderly man talking to us about how beautiful Umbria is. “Ah, Umbria é bella” (Umbria is beautiful) he says, with a passion to rival that of Pavorotti. And then he half-heartedly added “anche Toscana” (also Tuscany) with an expression as if not to offend the many tourists that flock to Tuscany every year.  

Umbria. The Green Heart of Italy. The Cradle of the Renaissance. Is it fair that one small corner of the world can harbor such riches? A place where dogs hunt in autumn to discover a hidden gem, the white truffle, the white gold of the gourmet world. Where archeologists still hunt for remains of the first civilization in Italy, and where artists long ago studied and painted and created the foundation of the great Renaissance.

Umbria. The green landlocked heart of Italy, where mountains rise to provide the perfect backdrop for medieval towns and where the serene Lago Trasimeno supplies the ideal salve for any racing mind. Who would not agree with my friend at at the café, yes-- Umbria é bella! 

 

Inspiration

Popcorn has weighed in at her normal weight of 5 lbs, or should I say 2.26 kg (I’m starting to make my yearly transition to the European system of weights and measures). So, I am feeling quite comfortable that she is ready for another transatlantic flight, and I am very happy that Phil will be joining us in September.

These past few weeks, I have been attending to the annual ritual of purchasing plane tickets, arranging for a rental car, and stocking up on art supplies, vitamins and Popcorn’s meds. Italian phrases and images of olive trees have begun to circle in my head as I make lists of what additional provisions we may need for the next 3 months. Invariably, there is a point in the preparation stage where things get a little chaotic and I begin to question why we have not simplified our lives by staying stateside. But no sooner does that thought arise, than it is briskly pushed aside by memories of gelati and pici (the regional pasta), and walks along the shores of Lago Trasimeno.

And as I travel down the road of “why’s”--the reasons why I love Italy so much, I think about fields of tomatoes and melons and sunflowers. And my elderly neighbor who digs her bare feet in the soil as she tends her garden and greets me with a smile that competes with the warmth of the Mediterranean sun.  The smells of wood burning stoves and pizza and the sounds of a busy café serving espresso and  cappuccino. As I imagine all the wonderful things that create my Italian addiction, however, there is one thing that quickly takes center stage. Art. 

In Italy, one breathes Art. In the tiniest of towns can be found the greatest of masterpieces. Take Panicale, a small hilltop medieval borgo (village) that overlooks Lago Trasimeno, just 10 minutes from my home. Walking into the town, there is an exquisite view of the lake. But what makes the view for me even more enchanting is to know that Pietro Vannucci, Il Perugino, must have loved the view just as much as I. Here he was inspired to include this very same vista in his painting  “The Martyrdome of San Sebastian”, which can be seen at the Church of San Sebastian, in Panicale.

Perugino’s name may not be as well-known as Michaelangelo or Raphael, and art historians like to talk about how his work degenerated in the later years of his life. But for me, Perugino is a huge inspiration. He made great contributions to the artistic development of the Renaissance, and passed on his skills to one of the greatest artistic geniuses western civilization has known, Raphael. But even more, while I bicycle through the very same hills where he traveled, and I walk down some of the same streets where he walked, I am able to clearly see his greatness. Yes, he accurately painted the shapes and colors of the world where he lived, but he succeeded where so many artists fail. In his paintings, he was able to capture and communicate the serenity and quiet beauty of the Umbrian countryside. In other words, when we look at many of Perugino's paintings, we not only see what he saw, but we are able to feel what he saw. 

Change In Plans

 

Normally at this time of year, I start hearing Italian words in my head and begin dreaming of olive trees and vineyards. My husband, Phil, and I begin our annual ritual of preparing to spend our summer and autumn in one of our favorite corners of the world, Umbria. But this year, Phil got this brilliant idea that working on a construction project in 100 degree Texan scorching heat was a good plan, and would I mind going to Italy a little later. Before I had time to even consider the insanity of the proposal, Popcorn also decided that maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to experience our first Texan summer---this way, she would be close to her favorite vet here in Dallas, where we have been making way too many trips recently. 

Thirteen years of an energetic poodle life, racing around the table 20 times, barking, begging for some biscotti  (yes, Popcorn just loves Italian biscotti), and starting (and losing) fights with her Chihuahua cousin, have taken a toll on her tiny 4.5 lb body. So keeping Popcorn cooped up for 15 hours in a Sherpa travel bag while flight attendants scold me when I sneak her out for a few minutes seems rather stressful, if not downright cruel, for a little dog who doesn’t feel well.  So Phil and Popcorn won out--100+ temps it will be this summer, and I get to figure out how I am going to make a nice cool lemonade out of this lemon. 

So… I decided to move ahead my schedule and start exploring this very large piece of real estate that is called the Lone Star State. My first destination was based on a tip from my neighbor with a giant green thumb, Dustin (more on Dustin later). I headed towards Tyler, Texas, which is known as the “rose capital of the nation” due to the minor accomplishment of being responsible for at least 1/3 of the nations Rose bushes. We started at the Rose Museum and were greeted by Sylvia, who proudly told us all about the history of Tyler’s Rose industry—she should know, because she grew up working in a rose nursery and many of the photos in the museum came from her own personal collection.

It was here that I learned of some Tyler magic. Being surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of beautiful roses, I became so absorbed with all the amazing varieties and colors that I no longer was conscious of the rising thermometer. It was a thrill to walk down and notice the different types, some of them being called “antique varieties” because they go back to the 1800’s.  I guess there must be something addicting about all these roses, because with all the species that already exist, at the Municipal Rose Garden they test for even more varieties, giving the best of the best the seal of approval (AARS).