Under the Tuscan Sun

The middle portion of our trip to Tuscany brought us to a 17th-century farm that has only been in the hands of three families over the course of three hundred years. 

It was just us. 

And 12 giggly, Canadian seniors in the big villa.

And the wild boars. (It is truffle season, after all).

It's a small farm, but cared for with lots of love. Many of the workers were actually born on the farm, and have been tending to the olive trees for generations.

We were lucky enough to be there during harvest time. The olives are basically combed off the trees with a large tool and drop onto a net where they can dry and any loose bits can be shaken out.

Then, the olives are brought up to a drying room using this old-fashioned conveyor belt.

The drying room for olives and walnuts.  They dry on racks of bamboo.

The little house where we stayed used to be workers' quarters back in the 17th century. The workers lived on the second floor and the animals and tools were stored below. You can see AKS reading at a table in the grassy area in front of our house, which was also adjacent to the drying room:

It was love at first sight.

This cat, named Monroe, even stayed in our house each night.

Loved the morning fog.

 

Three hundred years ago, farms were small villages onto themselves. In Italy, you can find them perched on top of all those hills.

During that time, it was common to have a private chapel, and the one on our farm is practically untouched since then:

Lots of UNO and soccer playing:

Goodnight moon. Goodbye Monroe.