The sun was high and yet the day was cool in the northern Italian farmlands. The harvest was in and the hot days of summer were a thing of the past. There of course were still things that needed to be done around the farm...there were always things that needed to be done on a farm...but the harder work of tending the fields was, at least for a few months, put on hold.
The old man sat in a well-worn wooden rocking chair and gazed over the bustle of his extended family as they prepared for the traditional harvest dinner. Small children ran about playing while being watched by a select few of the older children. His wife oversaw the seeming chaos with a practiced hand.
It was inevitable that his island of quiet would be disturbed as the small children’s tornado of activity made its way toward him. Soon small, gasping faces beamed at him.
“Tell us a story grandpapa”