Dreaming of life in the flesh

A future worth savoring and saving

Even if they don’t come true, dreaming is what dreamers do.

My boot heels struck the cobblestone street loudly, echoing through the small alley-way that leads from our house to the vegetable market, not more than five hundred yards into the heart of the village. Passing a favorite cappuccino spot, I turned over my shoulder to wave at Patrizia who was helping a customer from behind her small coffee bar. A cappuccino at her bar cost a euro fifty. To say I’ve become a frequent customer may be a slight understatement.

Walking further up into the village, my scarf waving gently in the cool breeze sweeping through the medieval village and bouncing off the red brick houses, I offer a few more waves to village locals that have come to expect my daily journey to-and-fro. Alone at the moment, I begin to take notice of activities around me: shop keepers sweeping off the sidewalk, construction workers stretching out plastic orange netting as they begin mixing mortar, the vegetable suppliers that comes to the village on Wednesday and Thursday setting up shop for the morning next to la chiesa, a group of locals gathered outside the newspaper stand, and new mothers pushing strollers on their way to the supermarket.

What I notice, primarily, is the lack of phones. Espresso bars are for catching up quickly with friends, perhaps lingering over a cornetto if the morning allows. In these hallowed spaces, one rarely finds laptops or scrolling, instead often finding a group of girlfriends chatting loudly or an elderly couple making their morning outing. Work is reserved for work, play for play. This delineation seems clear and important culturally. Perhaps it’s a means of preserving a piece of humanness…. or finding a valuable identity outside of what’s on our business card.

Naturally, being a fairly reflective person, I ask myself:

is this the future for those who chose it?

Like the many traditional societies that live amongst us, will those of us who chose a life in the flesh become an ancient relic - seen as those to be pitied? Or less than?

While our fellow man will fills his home with smart-devices, trading dirty hands and sweat-equity for the luxuries technology offers, will we become a time-capsule into how life used to be, over time creating a chasm of what we consider “normal”?

I continue my walk slightly up hill, nearing the vegetable market that I’ve set my eyes on. Today, I’ll be picking up some cavolfiore and olio for a salad to go with tonight’s roast. Though the past few days have been sunny and warm, today reminds me that it’s only March in the Umbrian hills, and I wrap my button up coat tighter around me with my arms. Looking up, I try to decode this new piece of sky that I've called home for the past few weeks. I’m guessing, but I sense rain - a gift we don’t often receive in the high-deserts of central Washington.

Though I’m living quite the “city life” in this village of 9,000 people currently, my heart remains in the campagna, that is the country. My soul holds space for a rooster crowing, a garden to water, an animal to milk, and jars of jam to make. These are my delights and my gifts. This being the case, I continually think of an expanded future in person. Where more people belly up to my table, their hands dusted with flour as they shape pasta or loaves of bread. I think of empty bottles of wine, the fragrance of bouquets of herbs cut from the garden, a roasted chicken - raised, harvested, and enjoyed on the very same land.

I’m sure in the future, we’ll be able to share(?) a meal through halogen-versions of ourselves. Even now, I can show you how to shape a loaf right here on the internet - and praise God for that. This is a wonderful place for us to gather, find community, and learn.

But my prayer for the future is more physical. Where humans and experiences are most welcomed. Where there are hugs and handshakes. Where there is the literal breaking of bread.

By sharing our recipes with our Cooking Community, and by our members adapting these in their own kitchen, we meet them in a physical way. Our online store, Limone, was also created to give individuals a tangible point of connection. As were our Che Vita Getaways which serve as an opportunity to share meals with you in the flesh, where we sip the same wine, breathe the same air, let the same music dance over our ears.

This is all very, very intentional towards a future I want to be a part of. The dreams don’t stop there. But dreams need time to grow.

Looking into a future where advancing technology could easily rob us of our important pieces of our humanness, old-fashioned dreamers like me will continue to work towards a future where our food is raised in soil, our animals have names, our table is worn and our eggs gather in baskets. And we’re alongside others who feel the same.

I’ve now made the final steps up the hill and arrived at the market. Azzura greets me and we begin the dance of gathering up vegetables, grown on the farm less than a mile away. Today’s basket is laden with oranges, fennel, onions, cauliflower, and baby artichokes. I add a dozen eggs into the basket at the last minute and we spend over fifteen minutes conversing in my broken Italian about our children, the attraction (or lack thereof) of the big cities, the mouth feel of butter versus olive oil, and how to best prepare the cauliflower salad I’m keen on making.

Bag in hand and buzzing from the conversation, I find myself trekking down the hill towards home, giving thanks to God for the humanness that makes our life messy, tangled, vibrant, chaotic, emotional, and so incredibly beautiful.

I saw some grey hairs in the mirror today and frankly, felt gratitude for those too. Twenty-year-old Shaye who visited Italy for the first time would have been proud of thirty-eight-year-old Shaye continuing to dream here. Even if they don’t come true.

And now, it’s raining ❤️