I encountered this man walking down the ragged, rain-coated steps that lead Marella, O. and me to the house in the succeeding pictures. He and the rest of the men in the tiny mountain town were lingering around the Café bar drinking stinging Grapa and Moscato at 4 in the afternoon as an authentic Italian should.
The House was build into the hillside amongst the old homes that appear to be sinking into the very earth. From the outside it looks 40 plus years old, inside is a balance of modest and venerable architecture that adapts to the terrain rather than carving into it. Of the many houses O. and I photographed in Italy, this was surely my favorite. Overlooking a small valley in the Etruscan Mountains with the sound of rain making rivers in the streets and a glass of red wine warming my lips, I’d have stayed for weeks.
This Family home has been passed down for three generations. I learned the word Tutti here – or at least I think I did – it means all.