Weathering Storms
Unlike life in California, each season in Tuscany is punctuated with incredible thunderstorms. Having lived in the midwest for a short time, and Mark having grown up in Michigan, we are familiar with the tell tale signs of an angry Mother Nature in the form of thunderstorms and violent weather.
I always thought big puffy white clouds in a clear blue sky were ‘pretty’ until Mark made it clear that they are actually ‘thunderheads’ and a massive storm was about to be unleashed along with those distant clouds. Funny how deceiving even Mother Nature can be. So beautiful and calm from one vantage point, dark and destructive from another.
The storms here definitely rival the midwest, which make storms in California just seem like child’s play. In Spring, we can tell a storm is coming by the green air and rise in humidity (just like our Kansas Oz storms). In Summer, a temperature drop and thunderhead cloud in the clear blue sky, warns of an impending downpour. In Fall, the sky is blanketed in grey, punctuated with darker grey ‘clouds of doom’. All result in rumbling thunder and lightening with a nice dose of precipitation. In Summer, an occasional storm is welcome as the crops need water (Chianti Classico is not allowed to be manually watered), but as Fall turns to Winter, and they become more frequent; the less welcome these storms become.
So it seems that weathering storms is a part of life here. Some more devastating than others.
Mark is somewhat addicted to weather. He studied atmospheric science and as a cyclist originally from the midwest, his ‘extreme’ monitoring of the weather radar is logical. He’s like my personal weatherman. Before bed the other night, he checks the doppler radar and tells me, somewhat anxiously, “it’s going to be a bad night” and flashes an image of two very large red and orange blobs my direction. Then he checks our commune webpage, “Yep, Giallo warning…extreme maltempo”. We nod off anyway. This isn’t our first rodeo (‘midwest pun’ intended).
We manage to sleep through the howling winds, thunder and torrential rain but, the sound of our phone charger beeping on and off to let us know our power is on and off, wakes us up. Power out. I get up to unplug everything for fear of a surge when the power comes back on, but alas, it doesn’t. Morning arrives and all is still and silent. I walk Elliot and upon seeing us, windows and doors fling open and a group meeting ensues. Everyone reporting power and water is out, the carabinieri have told of damages nearby, and the one phrase being repeated is ‘Tromba d’aria’. Of course, I have not heard this term before and was puzzled. A trumpet of air??? What???
Leave it to Italians to name a ‘severe blow of air’ aka ‘downdraft’ aka ‘tornado’, something more descriptive. So it seems, we suffered a tornado overnight. Our neighboring village sustained tremendous damage with people losing their roofs, buildings collapsed and trees uprooted. Thankfully, everyone was okay. Everyone except the iconic and symbolic cypress trees. Not just fallen, but snapped at their base.
These trees ARE Tuscany. The original inhabitants of this land, the Etruscans, believed the trees to be spiritual. The cypress tree’s longevity (they can live hundreds of years), the fact that it remained evergreen throughout the harsh winters and it’s heady resinous scent, earned the tree a divine status that remains today. They are said to have been planted as a symbols to ward off evil in crossing to the underworld. Today, they continue to frame the landscape, like tall slender soldiers protecting villas and the gravel white roads (strade bianche) making our countryside unique.
It takes a lot to fell a cipresso. Strong and hardy, it takes a significant storm to snap them to the ground. Waking to the image of these damaged trees was devastating. Symbolic in so many ways, but in this pandemic year, a certain irony weighs down on the befallen giants. Their steadfast, exacting height, equidistant, perfect line ruined for eternity.
We all have weathered storms - big, small, physically, mentally, metaphorically. Even the strongest of us has the propensity to fall. Some of us are able to rise, some of us not. Sometimes we see the storm coming, other times we see them and are able to prepare, and yet others, as we have learned the world over, through a storm of pandemic proportions, can blindside us. Beautiful white fluffy clouds may carry a hidden darkness. Big red and orange blobs on a radar may be a warning, but of what we don’t actually know. A sudden trumpet of air, downburst of massive force, can hit at any time and change the landscape forever.
As with any storm, time - short or long, will heal it’s destruction. Just as we got our power and water back, Mother Nature will heal the land, albeit not over night. With patience, care and hope, these befallen trees will find new life with it’s trunk and branches reworked into new shape and form (hopefully sturdy furniture admired for generations). With patience, care and hope, I have faith we all can weather our storms and perhaps take the opportunity to transform (maybe even for the benefit of generations to come).
Visit our unique countryside with a ride or drive amongst our cipressi. Find more information on our websites, BICI ITALIA for private cycling tours, Bella Vita Vacations for custom tours and The Conciergist for all your Italy travel needs.
