Summer—Precious, fleeting summer
LEARN MORE
This August, as sunlight glints off the pool to nature’s soundtrack of cicadas, the branches of Villa Ardore’s fruit trees are beginning to droop under the weight of their bounty. The mulberry trees have produced more than the birds can eat and can be picked for jam, and oranges and lemons hang heavy on the trees that line the piazza.
But nothing has captured the essence of summer as completely as the peaches at the Castellina-in-Chianti farmers’ market this past Saturday morning. Warmed by the mid-morning sun, their scent drifted more than a meter away from the stall where they were laid out. I asked the young man behind the stall if they were ready to be eaten that day, and he said that most were, adding that those that weren’t would be ready on Sunday. But eat them by Monday, he said, because after that they’ll start to go soft. At his invitation, I picked one up. Even without squeezing it, I could feel its tenderness against my fingertips. Its heaviness relative to its size betrayed the juiciness within.
I bought four and ate two that day. If summer has a flavor, that was it. Peach juice dripped down my arm with each bite. It was only their slight firmness that kept me from eating the other two that Saturday, but they reached the pinnacle of their ripeness on Sunday, and I ate one of them, leaving the other for Monday. I looked forward to eating the fourth with my breakfast on Monday morning. True to the farmer’s prediction, by Monday morning it had lost a bit of its tender firmness. Its flavor suffered nothing from being a little past its best hours but, by Tuesday, it would have been like a half-full water balloon, its flesh having begun turning to juice.
As I ate these peaches, I had the same recurring thought that they were the perfect expression of summer, and I began to wonder why that was. No doubt it was partly because summer is when peaches grow. But there are scores of other things that are specific to summer—certain flowers, late sunsets, and blockbuster films among them—but none of them evoke summer’s essence in the way that those peaches did for me.
The Eternal Beauty of the Fleeting Moment
It was only when I ate that fourth peach on Monday morning, still wonderful but just past the peak of its achingly brief prime, that I began to understand. It is not only peaches’ intense flavor, juiciness, and sweetness that is so evocative of summer; it is their very brevity. Like the freedom of childhood summer vacations and the pangs of a first crush, peaches are like summer days: intense, beautiful, and precious because they are fleeting.
There is a tradition here in Tuscany, and indeed throughout Italy, that recognizes and celebrates the special character of these August days when, like that Monday peach,
summer still feels at its peak but is on the cusp of its end. The days are still hot, but they are noticeably shorter. That first harbinger of autumn, the browning of sycamore leaves, is beginning. It is August 15: Ferragosto, one of the most important holidays in the Italian calendar.
Although it is now a secular holiday, Ferragosto has its roots (like many modern holidays) in a pre-Christian religious tradition. Originally decreed in 18 BCE by the Emperor Augustus to be celebrated on August 1, the holiday was intended to honor Conso, the Roman god of Earth and fertility after the arduous agricultural work of July. In the early medieval period, the Catholic Church moved the holiday’s date to August 15 to coincide with the Assumption of Mary. But just as Christmas is a holiday that stretches beyond the day itself to the entire festive period from Christmas Eve to St. Stephen’s Day, Ferragosto now stretches far beyond August 15 to cover anywhere from several days to most of the month. As recently as fifteen years ago, the vast majority of Italian businesses closed for the entire month of August. Today it is more common for businesses to close, and for families to take holidays together, in the two weeks from August 15 through the end of the month.
Many Italians—it is probably fair to say most of them—plan their August holiday far in advance and look forward to it all year. It is an almost sacrosanct break from the usual routine of work or study. It is a time when nearly the entire nation is on holiday, when workers are not only permitted to take a few weeks dedicated to leisure, but encouraged, and in some cases even required, to do so. This may seem strange to people from cultures in which one’s self-identity is tied to one’s occupation and could easily be misinterpreted to suggest that Italians lack a strong work ethic. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Culturally, Italians have a very strong work ethic and take a lot of pride in the work that they do. Anyone who doubts this hasn’t yet witnessed the intense dedication of the Villa Ardore staff.
But Italy also has a strong family culture, and Ferragosto exists as it does today because of it. The August holiday is a time when families head to the beach or mountains to spend an extended period relaxing, eating, laughing, and simply being together. And not only parents and children, but grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles too. Of course, not all families leave home for the holiday, and even those that do usually do so for only a part of it. But whether at home or away, Ferragosto is a time kept as free as possible from preoccupations that distract from this time specifically set aside to live as though without cares, fully present to family and close friends, fully awake to, and in appreciation of, those things in life that matter most. When one considers how important this is, and how precious, one can appreciate how short a time two weeks at the end of August really is.
It is as brief as the prime of a summer peach.
