“A house that is uninhabited falls to pieces.” ~ Donata Origo
Our group met Donata Origo, Iris Origo’s youngest daughter, on a golden day, the breeze tinged with lavender. She greeted us in the stone courtyard of her home, Chiarentana, where at seventy+ years old, she continues to oversee the olive oil production of the estate. Chiarentana produces award winning olive oils, and after walking through the estate, past the grove of olives, we were to sit for a tasting of various oils paired with small dishes of Tuscan treats.
As we stood in the courtyard, I turned in a full circle to take it all in–the ivy covered exterior of the main house, the surrounding outbuildings (now apartments for holiday rentals), earthy terra cotta tiles, stone stairwells leading up and up again, and in the center a single tree beneath which Donata’s dog panted in the shade.
I stood surrounded by stone and creeping vines and I felt held in the warmth of the sun radiating from every crevice. The main manor, now Donata’s home, had originally been a medieval castle offering shelter to pilgrims on their way to Rome. It had fallen into disrepair by the time the Origo’s purchased the estate in the 1920’s. Donata reminded us why physical places need tending, “A house that is uninhabited falls to pieces,” she said.
The Origo’s rebuilt the castle and the buildings creating the courtyard, and they replanted the barren landscape with a variety of olive trees, their silver leaves a gentle flare against a bright sky. The uninhabited home once again held life in the form of tenant farmers and sharecroppers, until most sharecroppers began to leave the countryside for the promised land of city life and regular work. Their way of life disappeared, and Chiarentana was once again left to slowly fall apart, stone by stone.
Donata completed another series of renovations years later, transforming the former pilgrim’s place of rest into her family home, as well as providing properties for holiday rent. Once again, weary travelers find rest and life abounds on the grounds of Chiarentana. As she spoke of empty houses and disrepair, it struck something in me. I know this to be true of my own home, of course, but what of the home my soul dwells in? What of my body? What of the state of my soul? These too need careful tending. These too are a habitation.
What am I housing, what am I tending well, what needs resurrecting? These questions unfolded slowly as we walked across the great lawn to the olive trees.
Like the manor, the olive groves, if left untended, also fall to pieces, to wildness, and fruitlessness. According to Donata, when they assess the orchards before harvest, each tree must be individually evaluated for maturity. Not the section. Not the variety. Each individual tree must be deemed ready for harvest. It brought to mind the words of John, “Every branch in me that does not bear fruit he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit.”
Another question to answer–What needs to die within me?
As I’ve thought more about Chiarentana, I see a connection between the habitation and the tending and the pruning required. They are dependent on one another. They’re dependent on a careful, caring master and a willingness to be inhabited, to be loved, to be pruned. When a place or a person is lived in, cared for, and tended to in the most individual, intimate ways, Life is always the result. Abundant, vibrant, lavender scented, sun drenched, oil anointed Life.
After a tour of the property, my fellow travelers and I sat around tables and swirled olive oil in small communion-sized cups between our palms. We placed our noses in the cup and inhaled the delicate scents of pepper, sage, and grass. We then sipped the oil and let it flow over our tongues and roll back, creating the most delicious scratch in the back of our throats.
As I sat surrounded by ancient stone and replenished land and the kindest of companions, I felt cared for and tended to in a way I haven’t experienced for a long time. I count myself among the many pilgrims for whom Chiarentana was a place of rest, a place of pilgrimage, a place of passing through.
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Recommended reading: Caroline Moorehead’s autobiography, Iris Origo: Marchesa of Val D’Orcia, gives readers an excellent portrait of Donata Origo’s mother Iris and their life at La Foce.
Next week in this series: The Nostra Vita Vineyard and the impact of a family’s legacy.
Want to catch up on this series? Click the links below.
Making Meaning: Stories for the Armchair Traveler
