The Yale expositor., 1919-01-09

W WAS the vintage time, and i
tried to forget that half of Chris
tendon was plunged in a great
war. Leaving the fighting line, ]
wandered about in the lovely freedom
of the hill country of Tuscany, past viii
las which are surmised rather than
seen through the long vistas Of grave,
still expresses and around smiling, sill
vergreen olive slopes from whose sum-
mits beckOn dignified palace fortresses
of the Medicis or sterner and more
aged ivy-decked towers, writes a Tus-
cany correspondent of the New York
Evening Post. Finally, reached the
road Of my mornings quest and
stopped where high wall, after many
turns and twists, suddenly opened to
a vision of green terraces. 1t was the
gate to the podere upon which Ton
ino and his forebears have labored for
the last century and half-the fam
lily "going to the land" not as serfs,
but as willing servants of the soil.
Entering the terraced farm, I skirt
ed a stout wall with ivy spreading low
ingly over its gray stones; hedge Of
winter roses followed me in fragrant
companionship all the way to Tonino's
farmhouse, a structure poised bravely
over a preclpitous ledge of rocks.
The house itself might be called an
architectural slant of walls, chimneys,
stone flags and steps running off and
down in all directions till they seem to
merge with the vines and the olive
tree and the green sod. Fingered mo-
ment, then followed in the wake of a
primitive oxcart, painted bright red,
on which the empty grape watts rumb-
bled sonorously as the plodding beasts
dragged their draft over the stony
road.
Harvesting the Grape Crop.
1t was pagan-almost bacchanalian
picture, as those huge cattle, white
and big-horned, moved slowly and pro-
cessionally down the way, fianked by
crane vines in endless, festive wreaths
and festoons strung from tree to tree.
At the lower terrace host of neigh
bors was busily at work cutting the
dew-moist grapes, dropping the lus-
cious punches into picturesque bas-
kets lying all about. The sun played
in glad, shifting shadows in and out
of the vines and olive trees, while the
damp soil, drinking in the solar
warmth, exuded q moisture heavily
odorous with the Astounding vitality
of Mother Earth.
The harvesters included many wom-
N. some territorial soldiers on leave
nd a few children. No one, old or
,oung, gave signs of fatigue; the labor
vas pursued slowly and easily, not at
Ill as a struggle in overcoming time,
Or resistance. 1t was this seeming
slowness of the laborers in Italy which
often gives to the outsider, especially
to the nervous and strenuous Ameri-
can observer, the impression of q
wastage of time in the accomplishment
Of things. This apparent slowness,
however, is rather a wise restraint and
distribution Of effort, coupled with ira
1itional skill or special hardness,
which bring about. results by deftness
as well as by mere expenditure of
forcn.
So, at this harvesting. all of that
crowded, terraced acreage had been
shorn of its grapes by shutdown, and
all the fruit carried away to the wine
press.
Supper for Tonino's Laborers.
At nine In the evening we gathered
at Tonino's house for the harvest sup
per, to which, by immemorial custom,
everyone who has labored in the vine
yards must be invited. We entered by
the kitchen door. near which hung a
little oil lamp patterned after those
of the Etruscans; at the long table In
the main room of this casa colonica
sat three generations of harvesters-
"a men, women and children.
A warm. soothing, natural" odor OF
oxen and stable came thinly and not
unpleasantly into the feast chamber
which had that dignity of proportion
and fine simplicity of lines which
speaks of Tuscan taste, even in these
humble quarters. A light hung from
the center OF the ceiling threw a rath
er dim illumination over the festive
board. but amply sufficient for us tc
see all the good things which awaited
our impending attack. First soup was
served from huge bowls into deep. ca