CdP
28 October 2008
Two days ago I wrote
this, from Rome, then got diverted.
How very long it seems since we were last in CdP. So much
for country life. In fact we did touch base there. When was
it? I think we slept there on Tuesday night. It hadn’t
rained. Everything was so so dry. And we (or rather I; L was
rushing around Capri and the Amalfi Coast) had several days
there between returning from our trip to deliver C to Cambridge
and leaving again, first for two nights in a rather spectacular
new hotel – of which more later – and then to
Rome for the film festival which is where we are now. Rome
I mean. But even when I was there, I was either glued to my
computer screen trying to catch up with long overdue bits
and pieces, or pounding up and down the motorway to the hell-on-earth
that is Guidonia where I am helping Peter C create a tiny
oasis of green where people might want to get married or host
major events. I think I spent not more than two hours in my
garden the whole time I was there.
It has been going for most of the day, on and off. After a shower this morning I was so unconvinced by forecasts of days of rain that I hung up washing to dry on the line that we have strung from the south-west corner of the house across to the field maple on the bank. L cut a wondrous old-fashioned prop with a perfect fork from a sapling down his path into the woods. I still stop each time I have performed the hanging-out and propping-up ceremony to admire the clothes flapping so very picturesquely. But this morning I barely had time to stop and marvel when I had to rush straight back out again and whip everything inside as quickly as possible. I’ve been trying to tot up the rain we’ve had since spring: nothing. Well, nothing to mention. There was a quick splash on August 15 if I remember correctly. On and off through the summer, we watched and listened to huge tempests sweep around from Cetona, pass south of here, then head off towards Tavernelle. Over us, nothing fell. The most we got was the howling, water-laden flap of wind driven by the fast-moving storm. Then back to the scorching sun. I don’t remember any other summer quite like it. So so very dry. The water tables must be all but empty. Lake Trasimeno is hopelessly low. Our well keeps churning out water (which reminds me, if this continues I must, finally, turn off the water system; how ridiculous, having daily watering still going on at the end of October!) but many other people aren’t so lucky and have had to truck water supplies in.
Little as it has done for larger plants, the dew has, of course, dampened shallow-rooted weeds into action. The upside of no summer rain was a remarkable dearth of invaders. Not even couch grass could find the strength and sustenance to poke its head above ground. But now it’s making up for lost time. And I have no time to fight it. What will I do? Hopefully some cold will come swiftly and kill it. (And the cold can come now: for the first time in five years I had the required “annual” check of the boiler done today. And the smoke coming out of the chimney checked. We are, apparently, very clean and all in working order.)
Gardens? My project up in Castiglioncello has come to a slippery halt, grounded by lack of direction I think. The direction should now be coming along, with an architect now having been given the job of drawing the masterplan which I said from the start was so absolutely necessary. Trouble is, he’s doing a masterplan which necessarily takes in areas that don’t even belong to the owner. And which show no sign of being bought. So how does one cope with that? Quite frankly, I’d be happy if we could just arrange a proper well and set ourselves up for an illustrious future. And I would so like to get to work on my Greek theatre overlooking the dramatic Cetona valley. It will be too too beautiful. If it happens of course. Everything there just feels so up in the air.
Less abstract is the garden in Guidonia where Peter C has involved me in the final planting stages. What a place, Guidonia. It’s hell on earth. It’s the epitome of everything that’s bad about communal living: the long straggle of ugly constructions with little but wasteland and waste between them; the squalor and filth and threat the place exudes, it’s quite horrible. I guess there are people there living ordinary lives and going about ordinary businesses but it gives me the feeling of somewhere where no one cares for anything or one except themselves and is willing to ruin things for everyone else in order to create their own, pitiful little bit of space. I have little love for urban living now, and especially not the kind which is not even redeemed by urban beauty.
The garden there surrounds and early 20th century house, built by someone who made his fortune developing weapons systems for Mussolini, and now owned by someone who owns a bank. The latter is the grandson of the former. No one could possibly live there: the awful reality of what lies beyond the walls would make it all too unbearable. But the house is grand and the grounds extensive and it will be a venue for large weddings and other events. The garden will be suitably simple and stately. The wedding photos will come out well.
In Fregene, the family has decided to put off building the pool (too expensive) and just wants me to hand over the project. I’m more than prepared to do that: following the project through to its bitter end would, I fear, have been a lengthy process and frustrating. They are not decisive people. This solution is the best of both worlds.
In Tarquinia, I have finished.
And the future? Well, in this glorious hotel we stayed in recently (www.borgosantopietro.com) there are more bits of gardens to be built, and possibly garden design courses to be organised. Who knows? The very personable owner, who has created an extraordinary interior and a surprisingly unusual exterior, is definitely someone with whom I would be happy to work. We’ll see.