Vine ripened, ready to eat

Growing up on the farm, we had a big garden. Big enough to fill our fruit cellar and deep freeze. Enough to feed our family at every meal,  through the winter, until the garden gave up its bounty again the next year.

One thing we did not grow was melons, though we loved them dearly. Instead, we waited for Dillon Marlow to drive his truck down our lane. Every summer he came, the back of his pickup loaded with melons. And then did we feast! As much watermelon as we wanted, every day until it was gone.

He only brought us watermelon once a year. I never thought much about the fact that he only delivered melons once each summer until we began to grow melons on our acreage a few years ago.

We only plant one hill of cantaloupe and then we wait. We watch the vines branch out and the buds blossom. We watch the melons form and fill out, first green and then yellow. Then all of a sudden, they are ripe. Almost all of them. On the same day!

Of course there is no way for just two of us to eat so many melons, though lord knows we give it our best shot. There is nothing so sweet, so tasty, as a vine-ripened melon. For a week we eat like royalty and share our largesse with friends.

This year, today is the day for melon. I brought in six melons. Several others will ripen over the next week. But then they'll be done for the year.  Unlike other produce, melons don't preserve well. Melon is one of those fruits it's best to eat fresh.

When I carried all the melons into the house today, I thought of my neighbor who came with his truck just once a summer. All of his melons vine ripened and ready eat. At the same time.

Sharing the road

We biked into Lucca this morning – to tour the old city by bike rather than on foot, to eat breakfast at a sidewalk café, to check out the bus schedule to Pisa. Our route takes us across typical country roads, across railroad tracks, through heavy city traffic. A trip of roughly 15 miles round trip.

You may think we are doing something unique by biking as much as we do. But we’re not unique. Not in the least. Not in Italy. Bicycles are everywhere. In small towns. In the country. In the cities. Our landlady keeps a collapsible bike in her car just for getting around easily in Lucca.

I realized as I was pedaling along that my thighs didn’t burn and that my lungs had plenty of capacity. More important, I realized I was no longer afraid of being run down by a car.

In the past three weeks, I’ve come to realize a significant feature of Italian roads and drivers. Everyone shares. It’s not that drivers tolerate bikers. It’s that everyone grants to everyone else an equal right to the road.

Nowhere was this more visible than at a railroad crossing this morning. The crossing guards were down and traffic was backing up. Cars, motorcycles, and bicycles. Cars lined up for a block or more on either side. A dozen motorcycles and bicycles crowded up right next to the crossing guards, spread across all lanes of traffic going in both directions. The longer the rails were down, the more bikers crowded up front.

There is logic to this approach. As the guardrails rise after the train passes, motorcycles and bicycles can slip under and get across before cars are clear to go. It is better for everyone for the bikers to get going and get out of the way.

The amazing thing about this is that no one cursed, or blew their horn, or gave the finger to the bikers. The bikers had just as much right to be there as the cars.

I wish I had a photo to share of the railroad crossing, but I don’t. I was paying attention to getting through the crossing safely.

That’s another thing about Italian drivers. They drive fast, but they pay attention. And that’s another reason I feel safe biking on Italian roads.

Ciao!