High Again

I am back in the foothills of the pre-Appeninies near Pescara, Italy, where I did a WorkAway two years ago.  I took care of a one year old and tidied the house and garden.  Anna, my hostess, was gracious and took me to many beautiful places, including the restaurant where I had the best meal of my life (reviewed next post). With views of the Gran Sasso Range and out to the sea on clear days, this is my favorite place that I’ve visited in Italy so far.  The village, Roccamorice, once held 3500 inhabitants, down now to around. 900 after mass migration to Belgium and Canada in the 50s and 60s.  It is quiet, pleasant to stroll through the empty streets, looking at the decrepit houses for sale. Potholed roads are navigated in small, sturdy cars.  Fox, drawn to the many berry bushes that line the streets, dash away as vehicles rumble up and down the mountain.  Sleepy dogs amble out of the way, certain that the drivers see them and will give them wide berth.  No reason to hurry here.  Piano piano.  Slow down. The mountains are silent witnesses to the truth that there is plenty of time.