Matthew and Sarah shared a loaded look, recognising in unison the importance and history of the land under their feet – and in turn, in their care.
The grass, still damp with spring morning dew, clung to their ankles and calves. ‘Everything needs a good cut,’ Matthew pointed out.
‘Sì. You need to wake the earth from its slumber. This land has not been cared for properly for decades.’ He drew in a deep breath, filling his lungs contentedly. ‘This entire property used to thrive. It was bursting with life. Now, it’s asleep. Hibernating.’ Angelo carefully bent over and tugged at the long grass, eager to study the soil it was hiding. After a moment, he half chuckled to himself.
‘What’s so funny?’ Sarah asked, bobbing down beside him.
Interest piqued, Matthew joined her.
With one hand pulling back the grass, Angelo used the other to point to bright green young undergrowth. ‘Guardate,’ he said. ‘Stanno arrivando. . . And early, too.’
‘What’s coming?’ Matthew asked, now peering over Angelo’s narrow frame.
‘Le viole.’ He smiled, and reached across to squeeze Sarah’s hand. ‘In a few weeks all this land and the open plains will be purple. It’s as if they knew you were coming.’ Balancing his weight against Matthew, he rose to his feet and said, ‘The land. She knows everything.’
Sarah’s heart swelled with wonder at the thought of their all-knowing welcoming land. It brought back memories of her childhood and rural Australian farm life, and suddenly, she felt a little more at home.
Angelo looked back up the ridge to Convento delle Viole. ‘Now, I’ll take you to meet your neighbours.’
‘Neighbours? Around here?’ asked Matthew. There were no neighbouring properties in sight.
Angelo gestured for them to follow him. ‘But of course. Dante and Beatrice. I told them you were coming. Follow me.’
The acrid smell of animal excrement greeted them from the stables at the rear of Convento delle Viole, suggesting that perhaps their ‘neighbours’ weren’t of the human-kind. Soft bleating could be heard on approach, and Matthew and Sarah were surprised to find two sweet-faced white goats waiting for them.
‘How precious,’ Sarah cooed, gently stroking the head of the one which had approached to investigate the visitors. The goat manoeuvred itself so that Sarah could reach further down into the wooden pen and catch its chin in her palm. She gave it a tender caress and the goat bleated contentedly.
Angelo beamed with pride, ‘Ah, Dantemio. He likes you, Sarah.’ There was a playful tone to his comment. Dante kicked backwards and rose to rest his hooves on one of the higher wooden planks of the pen fencing. He was now at shoulder-height with Sarah, and nuzzled as close to her as the pen would allow.
‘Now, now, Dante,’ Matthew warned. ‘Don’t get any ideas about my wife, mister.’
Hearing Matthew’s protective tone made Sarah blush slightly, and she didn’t dare turn to face him.My wife. She wondered when the W-word might stop sounding so foreign. ‘He’s just got good taste,’ Sarah joked, giving Dante a playful scratch on the crown of his head. ‘Sweet boy.’
‘This is Beatrice,’ announced Angelo as the shorter, rounder of the two goats made her way to join them at the fence. ‘She’s expecting. I think she is carrying three kids this pregnancy. Her last was only two. She’s bigger this time. We keep them for milk, and to help manage the grass, then they move on.’
Beatrice’s bleat was softer than Dante’s. She nuzzled into Sarah’s open palm at the fence. Completely smitten, Sarah was ready to make herself comfortable and settle in for a morning in the stables. ‘You guys can just leave me here for the year. I’m quite happy in their company.’
Angelo threw his head back and laughed. ‘Ancora no, Sarah. There is more to show you.’ Just as Angelo made to usher them from the stables, Matthew offered his palm over the fence, hoping to give both goats a friendly pat too. Dante bucked his hind legs and snorted in warning, startling Beatrice into retreat.
‘So that’s how it’s going to be, hey?’ Matthew gave him a cheeky disapproving shake of the head. ‘I know where you live, buddy. Just watch out, else I’ll start charging you and your missus rent.’
‘Looks like you don’t have the magic touch, honey,’ Sarah teased as they followed Angelo from the stables.
‘What he doesn’t know is that I’m very partial to goat curry.’
Angelo’s tour continued around the back of the building. He showed them the chicken coup which housed at least ten chickens, some white with black spots, others grey or black, promising a daily yield of close to a dozen eggs.
Beside the chicken coup, in the most sun-drenched pocket of the rear courtyard, sat a series of raised garden beds, each several metres in length. The beds were tidy and well-kept, which immediately distinguished them from the rest of the garden spaces on the property.
‘Ecco, l’orto,’ Angelo gestured. ‘In this one, you will find herbs and small plants. Some chillies, onions and garlic. In the second are the zucchini, cucumbers, eggplants and others that are still juvenile. They will mature in the months to come. And in the third, we will plant the leafy greens: spinach, silver beet, eccetera. It’s still too early, though. Now, let me give you the grand tour of theconvento.’
The three walked back across the rear courtyard to the kitchen door.
‘We had a quick poke through all the rooms yesterday, but honestly, there’s so much mess and work to be done, I don’t know how well it’s all registered with us.’ Matthew’s honesty and worry for the workload was splashed across his face.
‘Tranquillo,’ Angelo reassured him with a caring hand, just as his daughter had done with Sarah the day before. ‘Ce la possiamo fare.’ His unwavering faith in their ability to get the job done was comforting, yet Matthew feared it was also somewhat romanticised.
‘Why don’t you join us for a coffee first?’ Sarah suggested, gesturing for Angelo and Matthew to take a seat at the kitchen bench. ‘There’s plenty of time to worry about the building. Talk now, disaster later. Ok?’
