The gloaming time at Spannocchia brings easy laughter and Limoncello, a homemade Italian lemon liqueur that delights all but the teetotalers on the multi-national guest list. Spannocchia is a diamond of a place to stay, half-buried in the Tuscan landscape just outside of Siena, Italy, where they serve  their own farm-raised organic pork products, including the best prosciutto I’ve ever tasted.

Spannocchia Courtyard and Entrance

This 12th Century tenuta, a working farm with connections to America through The Spannocchia Foundation, includes a large, rambling main villa with a Medieval castle tower, chapel and traditional rustic guest rooms, several outlying farmhouses, an organic farm and teaching center, and the wine- making room. But, most memorable of all: the communal meals under a grape arbor-shaded stone patio, and of course, cooking lessons in the authentic Tuscan tradition.

Did I say “perfect” yet? Perfect. And they produce their own luscious organic olive oil. But, back to Limoncello.

Living, even briefly, in a place like Spannocchia leaves behind a persisting ache. Like some kind of phantom limb that itches every now and then and your arm isn’t long enough to scratch it. The locale–its rustic elegance and
contented quiet–got under my skin and in the middle of a meeting or stressful day or a Herculean effort to find time to write, I miss it. So does my writing buddy, Anna, who joined me last summer along with a slew of other writers at the Spalding MFA in Writing Italian international residency.

For eight days, we walked the dirt paths in search of pigs, gathered to sip wine on the soft grass terrace, and marveled at the antiquity and steadfastness of the structures. We had nothing better to do than contemplate the landscape and presence of “now.” This paradise is replete with Limoncello, wine, pork, and homemade pasta. With this constant combination in our bellies, we shed our “other,” more taciturn, selves to discuss the advantages of a commune and the artistry of Fellini films.