The cold, windy rains of November are a stark contrast to the endless sunny autumn we enjoyed in September and October. But it's exciting to see another season take shape amid the vineyards. In the morning, we can sometimes hear the blasts of pheasant hunters on the surrounding hillsides. Tilled fields which only weeks ago were dusty rolling grids of plow lines are greening up with a winter crop. The air has an edge to it, with the sort of moisture that cuts through the sweater when we go for walks. It's a New England sort of cold. And, while the flame colored leaves that carpet the road are mostly grape and laurel rather than maple and oak, it reminds me of the signs of the approaching holiday season from when I was a boy, and in some way a similar excitement simmers in me.
With only a few weeks left, we're trying not to wish away our remaining time here and focus too much on our rising desire to return home. We're trying to think of the present, rather than the presents, if you will. But as Christmas decorations start to appear around us, we can't help but dream about getting back home to family and friends for the holidays.
As our remaining days on the calendar fall toward the single digits, I also have new energy for getting up with the sunrise to wander backroads and take pictures. Yesterday I woke to rain and a deep fog that had settled into the valleys around us. But with the rain and clouds come nicely saturated greens and yellows, so off I went, hoping to be somewhere scenic when the sun finally burned through.
I headed south, along now-familiar roads through Castelnuovo. I knew every turn and twist and even recognized some of the farmers and regulars milling about the village. When I got to the obvious turn toward Siena, though, I continued straight instead, following roads that decreased in size until they became gravel and I was weaving around potholes still full from the night's rain. I passed a trio of wet dogs guarding a small herd of roadside sheep. I dropped through a river valley where a man was returning his shotgun to the trunk of his car, a pair of pheasants lying on the tailgate. And I climbed my way up the winding road past a deserted hilltop chapel, until something felt oddly familiar and I realized I had actually found the course of the L'Eroica bike ride, only in reverse. As I crested the hill, the sun won its battle with the fog and came to light on the adjacent hillside, highlighting a small farm. I stopped to take some pictures. I was as excited about the scenery as I was the day we arrived here.
As I drove back, though, I reflected about the fact that even the incredible vistas have become part of the everyday backdrop to school and work and drives to the market. Not that they have become mundane, but that they are just there, to either be celebrated or ignored. And, I wondered why it is that we tend to pay the closest attention to things when they are brand new or about to be gone? And, why we often look back when things are gone and long for them, wishing we could turn the clock back and be grateful in the moment rather than after the fact.
As this phase of our trip winds down, I realize, it's not so much the views that I will miss but the time we are having together. The daily walks with Kel. The adventures Hannah and I take, while Kel and Lindsay get their last hour of sleep. The times Lindsay sits down next to me simply to talk. Those are the things I cherish. And, I also realize, those are the gifts we have come to find here that we can bring home and continue to unpack each and every day.