I lived the past two years in Pavia, Italy. In the enjoyment of eating far too much pizza and traveling to idyllic scenes balanced with the stresses of cultural differences and language barriers, this was where I called home. It was a very small apartment (probably could fall within the trend of “tiny house living” if it had been stand alone) within a quiet and inviting courtyard. I was blessed to have found a location in a historic area of town and, although I have never been an immense fan of city dwelling, this particular location was a haven away from the noise and business of the streets.
With great optimism, I purchased planters and all the necessary tools for gardening. I planted basil, tea roses, daises, succulents, and many other flowers that I cannot remember the names. And with great determination, the flowers wilted and died very well. I went through a couple cycles of this process in my time in Italy. I’ll admit- I was never the best mother of vegetation.
Despite my lack of a green thumb, I can clearly recall days when the sun would shine through and the courtyard would be filled with birds flying back and forth and chirping away. Looking out at my balcony and tiny garden attached to my tiny apartment always gave me a glimmer of contentment and pleasure. La dolce vita- being grateful for the small things day by day.