DAY 12, JULY 19, 2013
The day started out slowly again. Last night after we returned form the concert the kids all went swimming. I went to bed. The hands on the clock had already touched one. By my way of thinking that meant it was already the next day.
By the time all of us got up it was the pool that held the day's best option.
One by one each of us slid into our bathing suits and walked or dove into the aquaness of the Fattoria Armena's backyard.
We had replenished the volleyballs and beach balls that had been deflated by a team of Armena dogs hungry for playtime but not knowing the consequences of canines biting into a thin layer of rubber. We played for hours, old bones and young bones getting a workout with the simplest of toys.
Sometime in the late afternoon another storm rolled into the Eastern part of Tuscany. Roiling clouds turned the sky a violent blue-grey and muted the landscape to a blur of monochromatic shapes and forms. Out of nowhere gusts of wind strong enough to slam shut doors that had previously remained still and open whipped up the heated air and made the leaves sing a song of combat.
You could hear the thunder's distant crackle like a fighter jet doing an overhead pass. After a day of sun there was tremendous beauty in the storm that followed.
After the storm no was in the mood to cook. The storm's energy had blown our energy away with it. About four kilometers outside Buonconvento lies the small town of Bibiano, a scattering of a few houses and one Pizzaria noted for its tremendous selection of Belgian beers. Their beer collection is so famous each a year a festival is held in honor of the beer.
The tavern is very simple except for the shelves of empty bottles of all their beers that line the walls and an old projection screen at the far end of the dining hall that runs a stream of music videos from the sixties through the nineties of bands long forgotten and totally unfamiliar to our kids.
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