I got to remembering another winter I had spent at Il Poggio-- and this was the winter there was a frost in these Tuscan hills that sadly killed groves of old olive trees.
It was new year's eve but I had gone to bed early as was my habit in those days.
The bed and breakfast hotel rooms were full of paying guests so Elisabetta had moved me into the drying room of the ceramica. That evening she was firing some pieces in her big walk-in gas kiln.
Of course there was a new year celebration party in the main dining room, but I planned to sleep through.
A little after midnight some tipsy part-goers erupted into the room where I was sleeping to wish me a happy new year. I had made my bed up very comfortably near the ceiling on top of some wide drying shelves.
The guests had expected to find me me freezing in some dank cellar and instead found me in the snuggest, warmest situation in the whole medieval stone place.
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