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LETTERS FROM TUSCANY Spring 2010
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O DIO, SUBITO SUBITO! Better get a move on. Spring officially sprang sprung springed whatever a couple of days ago and I haven't ordered my wolf pee yet. Piscia di lupo. New saviour. So the snow has finally melted and bulbs planted in November, the tulips and the daffs and those other little ones, forget their names, are up and glorious. Waiting for the anemone, my favourites with all their rich colours reminders of ancient affrescos, which will soon welcome us at the doorstep and on the window-sills. The almond has bloomed its soft pink and the walnut its cloudy white, then the apricot its deeper tone and now we see the bright cherry. Perhaps 'la coda del scorpione' the scorpion's tail will not strike this year with a late sleet wind from Siberia! How good a fresh apricot would taste! And walking in the woods we find the tiny wild cyclamen. And the grape vines are budding. But no! Remember to order the wolf pee! Let me tell you about Trove our ancient farm nestled in the Tuscan hills near a river read 'trickle' called by the same name 'Trove' which in the Etruscan language about 3,000 years ago meant 'water'. The fields are small, easy to work with a bullock and wooden plough but a bit tricky with an 80 horsepower tractor which prefers to work on open plainland. However there’s a nice little vineyard with the traditional San Giovese grape and newcomers Cabernet and Merlot for our red, and Trebbiano plus the marvellous Malvasia for our white. We do like to mention the quality of the grapes which we crush and cellar ourselves. Not that anything gets laid down for posterity – our friends and guests and ourselves look after that problem. Let me tell you about our real problem as vinters: not the drinkers, or the damp in the cellar, or the leaf mould, the drought, the birds and all the usual things. Let me tell you about the 'caprioli' wild deer and 'cinghiali' wild boar. A couple of years ago we were left with a few demijohns of wine, usual amount 1000 or more litres (yes we’re small but hey). No the culprits weren't our guests but the caprioli. We're in a Game Reserve which is wonderful with hare, pheasants, doves, deer and boar joining us during our daily life But they love grapes just as we do and come to eat the bunches night and day before harvest. Damn!! So try electric fences, try dogs, try prayers but I don’t think there's a Saint of Vineyards, try anything! Then Domenico and Rinaldo, two smart brothers running an agricultural and general shop in a local town, mention the word 'pisciadilupo'. I could smell it – smoky insidious wild. Well French really as they’d come up with the idea, trust the French! |
"I'll take all you've got," I said. A month before harvest when the grapes are ripening and perfect for wine and wild animals, me and my trusty Helpers plus some wonderful young locals tore up every old sheet and rag available, knotted them, hung them among the vines and dipped them in 'pisciadilupo'. Not a fence but an invisible wall of an ancient scent wild and wonderful. 1000 litres later ... Tomorrow I’m going to order my next lot of pisciadilupo ... Watch this space. Barbara |
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