Il Poeta Agriturismo

It was a little easier to travel when I lived in Chicago. When people ask where you are from, they know Chicago. Now the conversation is a little more complicated. The point of recognition usually comes with “Happy Days? Fonzie?” Oh yes! Milwaukee.
Fonzie is a phenomenon. Never mind that Henry Winkler is Jewish and prefers Shakespeare. Fonzie lives on in cheese snacks, posters and playing cards. The Italians know Fonzie. Come to the land of Michelangelo, Julius Caesar and the Pope and reference your home by Fonzie. I feel a little silly.
We are tucked away from crowds for a few days about 10 miles outside of the town San Rufino. On the weekends, this agritourismo fills with Europeans. They come for a country get-a-way and horseback riding. It runs like a bed and breakfast. With a day’s notice, our host will provide any meal. The farm is 7 hectors & includes 2 horses, 2 ponies, donkeys, goats, ducks and chickens. They also produce their own wine, olive oil and honey. Our host speaks 4 languages, as do most of the guests.
They farm on terraces set into the side of the hill/mountain. We intentionally cheated ourselves out of the Wisconsin winter and are here for their spring. This is the first time we’ve encountered rain on our trip. The mountains are misty with fog, the ground is muddy but we crave the green terrain. Brett is up for a 3 hour hike in the mountains. He settles for ½ an hour with each of us, one at a time along the same path to and from our apartment. We are located about 1 mile from the top of this hill/mountain. He said J needed to be carried most of the way. I was able to go on my own power, but barely. Is it the breathtaking view or am I just out of breath?
I spend much of the afternoon feeling like a pioneer girl. I have a rustic kitchen with a gas stove that shoots flames up 3 feet when first lit. I’m a little lost without my cookbooks but manage to make a Sunday dinner of chicken and potatoes. At one point in the day our water stops flowing. “Well is empty. Wait 20 minutes it will fill again.”
We relax in the main dining room to try out the board games- Scrabio, Monopolino and Riskio. It feels like a lumberjack camp with a long wooden table, exposed beams and horse photos on the wall. There is also an open-fire chimney and dusty wine rack of 100 bottles along the wall. Dinner is served in this room at 19:30. We can’t quite adjust to the Italian meal times. By then we’ve eaten and are ready for bed. We hear our neighbors return from dinner at about 10:00-10:30. Bet the wine was good. We’re half asleep…I faintly here the Italian, French, German as they move past our apartment. Did they say Fonzie?