I Was Supposed to Fall in Love with Tuscany
Alas.
I was supposed to fall in love with Tuscany. I was primed to believe that Tuscan food is extraordinary, the landscapes are magical, the architecture is world-class, and the history is alive, evident, everywhere.
Even the light itself is different. Like millions of people, I read Frances Mayes’s mesmerizing book, Under the Tuscan Sun, when it came out in 1996. Mayes, a college professor, purchased a villa in Tuscany and began to restore it. “I had the urge to examine my life in another culture and move beyond what I knew,” she wrote. From Mayes I learned how incommensurably the light falls in the south of Italy, and everybody else seemed to be in agreement.
A different light is irrefutable. A different light explains the Macchiaioli, Italian impressionists working in the last half of the nineteenth century. A unique, striking light falling on ancient olive orchards explains why Tuscan bread soaked in olive oil is so deeply satisfying. It explains why Tuscan wine has depth of character.
Except the Light Wasn’t Different
I traveled a long, long way from the pinewoods of South Georgia, and I looked hard for this Tuscan sunlight the entire time I was visiting.
Alas, for me the landscapes of the south of Italy and the light that falls on them pale in comparison to the landscapes and light of souega1.
Forgive me. I’ve always been an outlaw.
Proof
But look at this photo of the light across our north pasture.
Or this photo of a double rainbow in the northeastern sky.
My “Frightening & Alien” Landscape
While I was abroad, an editor sent me an email. He planned on publishing a short essay about southern Georgia and since the piece mentioned me, he wanted to make sure I wasn’t offended. In the piece the writer has hesitated to read my work, fearing that I might match that “frightening and alien landscape.”
I found the guy on socials. He looked like a heckuva nice guy with a beautiful wife and some fun-looking kids. I liked the guy’s writing, his conversational tone and the light-hearted seriousness of it. I was proud of him for seeking something and looking for it even if he didn’t know what it was.
“I’m not offended,” I wrote the editor. “I hope you publish this.”
However, you can only imagine how much I hate this attitude about southern Georgia, that it is a frightening and alien landscape. That glance gets thrown at all of rural America, especially the rural South, and most especially southern Georgia.
Love from Rural Mississippi
On the other hand, last week I read a lovely Substack out of rural Mississippi called
. I haven’t figured it out completely, but I think the newsletter comes from a band called Church Goin’ Mule, and somebody writes it as if they were the mule, or an invisible third party.Last week the newsletter contained this paragraph. I want you to read the last line.
“It seems like maybe the land really does love us, we have almost witnessed the land long enough for it to witness us.”
What a line. I am slammed with envy. I wish I had written it.
That love. That belonging. That seeing & being seen.
That’s what I’m talking about.
The Light of Southern Georgia
For all its romanticization, I looked around at Tuscany and thought, The south of Georgia is a nicer place than this. Our food is better, no doubt of that. Food at my house in South Georgia is thousands of times better than the food I ate in Tuscany.
What we don’t have is marble and stone, and we don’t have centuries of built environment, like Medieval castles and stone towers. We don’t have centuries of art and architecture.
But the light of southern Georgia is better than the famous light of Tuscany.
It’s weird but TRUE.
Romanticizing Places
See, in the same way we romanticize places, we de-romanticize them.
Where Mayes Was Born
In a strange coincidence of life, I should tell you that Frances Mayes was born in the south of Georgia, in a town called Fitzgerald. She writes about this in her less-well-known book Under Magnolia. In fact, at the end of October she’ll be inducted into the Georgia Writer’s Hall of Fame, and I’m happy to say I’ve purchased a ticket to go hear her. I’m excited.
Coming Up
I’m working on a newsletter of environmental thoughts following my journeys in Europe. I’ll warn you that my recent travel left me less optimistic about the future of the planet. That essay will be coming up soon.
I Witness You & Shower You With Gratitude
Thank you again for reading
. Your presence here is a beautiful gift to me. I am grateful grateful grateful for your time, your attention, your thinking, your comments, your love of the earth, your support of me.sow-ee-juh (south east Georgia). I think the term was coined by my friend Brandon Chonko, who writes jaw-dropping IG posts from #souega. You can find him on IG at grassrootsfarms.
As you know, I'm going to Florence soon. I'm trying to get excited about it. You're not helping. But every time I go somewhere and feel that pang of not wanting to leave, like now with the light of my woodstove (it's chilly today! 55F!) I remember something my Momma told me when I was going headed off to try living in Santo Domingo. She said, remember so many would love to go the places you go and so many people would love to come home to the place you come home too. Man-- old people and their wisdom.
On my way back from Sapelo yesterday, I stopped outside of Cobbtown, where 152 crosses the Ohoopee River at Collins Bridge. I stood on the bank in the flooded bottom watching little offshoots of tannic water roll over white sand and thought, this is the most beautiful place, the most glorious dancing light, I've ever seen. The older I get, the more I long to be nearer to that river, where I swam as a kid. Thank you for this, Janisse. I don't know where we'd be without you. If you hear of any writer's shacks for sale in Tattnall County, please let me know.