We woke early, as is our custom. The birds were chirping, and the occasional door could be heard opening and closing four floors below us. The drying room is being used. Or so I thought.
We dressed for yoga, ate breakfast, and put on our flower picking hat and shorts and went to the field.
It was there that Gabriella, the matriarch of the family, came through the field dressed for church.
Red shirt, white blazer, beaded necklace, white pants, white leather loafers and red purse, which she promptly tossed into the field so that she could better speak to me. In Italian, which I don’t really understand. But her intent was clear. I didn’t need my translation app to get the message.
It was Sunday. No work can be done on Sunday. When she finished, she asked me to take her picture.
I delivered the message to Jill and showed her the picture. Only then did I wonder how I would get the picture to her flip phone.
We laughed and continued picking for a little bit, and then made our way to the drying room, where we began bagging up the dried sage, which can be a time consuming process. First you have to strip the sage from the stems, place the sage stems in one pile for another use, and then place the sage leaves in the bag.
Gabriella came in again told us to stop working. We were determined to finish the little batch of sage we had before us, but she put her hands on our gloved hands to stop us, looked us in the eyes and said: NO.
So we went for a walk through the valley instead, leaving an open bag and a pile of sage topped with 4 handless gloves.