Joan Marble (1920–2004)

Another set of essays from an older American living in Italy? How odd, but nice nonetheless. This time our narrator is the good Ms. Marble who tells of her years in the Eternal City beginning 1960. And perhaps because of that early date, this turns out to be a vastly different memoir from if it had been written now, of course: already, by the time the early 2000s hit, the traffic snarls are legendary...

But happily, the majority of the book is set in less congested times. The titular terrace is a very fine piece of property indeed, boasting a view of the delightfully-named Chiaso del Amore Divino and being a 10-minute walk from the Vatican. Well, then! That's not enough, no sir, because the good lady is a gardener and consequently has the jealousy-inducing 'rooftop garden' that I can only dream of and which has LEMON TREES IN POTS, I ask you! (This is one of the dreamed-of features in my future home, when I grow a green thumb of course.)

She and Robert are parents to two youngsters and go about life in Italy very much in sync with the local lifestyle. They shop every day for produce, own a country house in Canale (more jealousy surged), navigate the local bureaucracy with the adequate amount of patience, and needless to say speak fluent Italian. The couple comes across as grounded and compassionate, both with an admirable curiosity flashing through that would make them lovely dinner guests.

And with that I will conclude this very inadequate review, for what else is there to say? I enjoyed this slim and refreshing set of vignettes extremely. I wish that we'd done up our balcony already and I'd read this along with a crisp glass of some Italian white. Never mind, it's been far too cold anyway to do that, but now I'm tempted to seek out her "Notes from a Roman Garden" even if it will be very heavy on the green-thumb business.… (plus d'informations)

I'm the daughter of two parents with two green thumbs each: my mother was a florist and my father used to be one of the more well-known orchid breeders in the US. Neither of them could touch any plant without it thriving.

Their daughter had thumbs so black that when my father named an orchid after me, he took a photo of the flower, had it blown up to life-size, framed, and upon gifting it and the naming to me, asked that I stay away from the live specimen and stick to the photo. It was a fair request really, and best for all living things concerned.

Then about 9 years ago I moved to Australia and a substantially different climate than my SW Florida home. We have seasons here, and richer soil; maybe it was just my own maturity. Suddenly I wasn't doing so badly with living things; I could grow a fair few veggies in pots at our rental home and when we bought a house and started a proper garden, I started having more successes than I had failures.

All of this rambling is to say that while I'm certainly not what I'd call a "Gardener", it's definitely one of my interests and I'm enjoying learning more each season so when I saw this book at the FOTL sale, I snapped it up. I enjoyed A Year in Provence and Under the Tuscan Sun and this looked to be similar but with a gardening focus - just the thing to peak my interest.

There are people out there that are just interesting to talk to - not necessarily riveting, but they hold your attention and offer a pleasant way to pass the time. Notes from an Italian Garden offers the same. I looked forward to picking it up and I lost myself enough to regret putting it down. The author and I share an interest in growing unusual plants, heirlooms, food, and occasionally plants that aren't really meant to be grown where we live. (At last count, I'm up to 23 different varieties of fruit - 3 of which I'm definitely not supposed to be able to grow here in Melbourne.) That shared interest kept me more glued to the book than I otherwise might have been.

The only downside of the book: it has done nothing to discourage my fantasy of chucking it all and moving to a sunny part of Europe.… (plus d'informations)