Nanna Francesca and ‘posse’ outside the Fossa house in 1975 (including Pierina, far left, Nonno Anni’s cousin, born the same year he was, who lived in his family’s house after they’d migrated to Australia).
As I got older, I learnt how it felt to be the younger woman, standing amid the older women but just that little bit behind, waiting for your turn to step forward. The same way, as you sat together in conversation, the older women’s talk would dominate – topics hurtling from food to people to unfamiliar happenings and I’d be grasping to hold on as we were whisked away into another story.
There were times I’d get restless and think I’d much rather be off somewhere else, or seeing what Nonno Anni and ‘the men’ were up to, but Nanna Francesca would weld me with her eyes to stay put and for that I’m grateful now. It was then that I learnt to listen, sitting quietly, and now I realise the value of basking in the company of older women who’ve seen much, dealt with much and have so much precious experience to impart – as well as perhaps that ciambella cake recipe. 😘✨💛
Still, it’s lovely to look back, especially to see Nanna Francesca and Nonno Anni next to me on the front steps the day I arrived as well as beautiful Fossa when there was no hint of the earthquake to come more than a decade later. And I still can’t get over the rich blueness of the sky some days up there in the Apennine Mountains! No filters or tricks on these photos, just nature at its most exquisite. Thank you for taking the Mezza Italiana journey with me and for sharing your stories too. Grazie infinite cari amici! Zoe xx
Walking around Fossa, along lanes that become so steep and narrow they merge into steps or descend into tunnels, I began to notice all the different doors I passed. Some with stylised, door furniture of lion heads or dragons and beautifully varnished wood, others crude, weathered timber, or painted mission brown.
The steeple of Santa Maria Assunta in Fossa… the church that sits opposite my family’s house in Abruzzo. It was lovely to walk along the lanes below and listen to the bell tolling the time of day or to hear it from afar when you were on your way back to the village.
This window in the small house in Italy, that has sheltered different generations of my family for centuries, is my favourite. It is the tiniest and gives a view out over the village of Fossa like peering from a cubby house. I also love that it shows how thick the stone walls are.
Zoë Boccabella 