What began as a call to a local electrician ended up in figs multiplying like fish in the age-old story. 

I was waxing lyrically at the multiple electronic issues I have with the house to a friend and it was shared that Sergio, ‘did I know him?’ was a retired electrician. Was Sergio the man who’d helped me lop off a neighbor’s 20’ tree last year to restore my view out over the Tuscan countryside?  Of course, they were not home and never are, so I took my view into my own hands. 

And yes it was Sergio, by way of kindness, and for a somewhat minor monthly fee, who had agreed to store the car for the few months in 2019 that I would be away. Who knew Covid would hit and the car would occupy his garage (aka wine cantina) for more than 2 years! Yes, I did know Sergio but not as an electrician. Off I went to ring Sergio for some assistance and before I could hang up, he arrived, screwdriver in hand. 

First was the issue of the light at my front door, on all night attracting the most ugly, scary calabrone a large thing so ugly and nasty at first, I did not recognize it as a hornet!  In my defense, these are 2” long hornets that could carry me away on their back and when 3 or more are swirling in ecstasy in the wash of said light, I shrink with fear that they will eat thought the glass and it will be the end of me.

In any case, we go to investigate where the possible motion sensor might be and after a good bit of searching, out comes the ladder and up we go. The light is positioned above the door and just above what might be safely reached by my 3-step ladder. Precariously perched in the narrow porch, teetering over a 20 foot drop below down to the stony, rustico drive, Sergio unscrews the lightbulb thinking that it might just be the culprit.

After searching the dusty bag in the closet for available options, we change it to another type of bulb that to me looks like it belongs in the refrigerator. Could simply changing a bulb can change a light from light-sensitive to a simple on/off? Hopefully yes. I am given strict instructions to make sure to look tonight to see that all is dark.

Given that task is now at bay for some time, we move to the next challenge, my receiver in the stereo system will not turn on. Trusted screwdriver in hand, we pull out the large credenza that holds the stereo. Probing all orifices of the system with tiny tool elicits a beam from the handle signaling power. After a good bit, he pulls it our even further and tells me to look, tapping the back of the receiver. I stare at what I think is a mass of wires, that I cannot understand and the whole reason for calling him in the first place.  Tapping again and waiting for me to look and look again, he begins to get frustrated. I finally understand his dismay; can an electrical cord be missing? 

Now we need to get to his workshop to find a proper power cord, we stop for a quick tour of the garden. After balancing across a stone rail to squeeze by the bee boxes, we visit the 15 or so rabbits ready to eat, week by week, one at a time, happily hopping to and fro in their multi-tiered cage until their number comes up. Passing too numerous to count artichoke plants, we see the heavily laden persimmon; orange balls dangling in their plump glory all ready to eat. And yes, I love them so we gather a few only to pass the never-ending fig tree. Do I like figs? Of course, popping a few in my mouth as I pass by but careful not to pick the last ones as it’s late in the season now. Chickens, eggs all scattered about, ducks, a menagerie!

A myriad of other vegetables line the paths up the hill to our final goal, a tiny garage door that when raised, reveals an enormously deep cave, Carrara marble-lined floor to ceiling (yikes! He laid the floor himself with scraps from another project, each piece carefully nestled into another, a masterpiece). Inside is a maze of parts, floor to ceiling encompassing every spare electrical part one could imagine. Tools galore, wires of all shapes and sizes, gadgets and gismos that would make any Lowe’s manager green with envy. Alas, no cord that fits my stereo however. 

And did I say I liked figs?? ‘Wait’ he says and wanders toward the back, the room angles to an area where, on a precarious tilt and wedged into a corner, sits a very old freezer with a cord tie for a handle. Wood board to keep the top ajar and Ecco li!! FIGS!!!! I am gifted a long slender packet of dried figs, carefully sliced in half and stacked and well wrapped for storage, with fresh walnut pieces embedded into the fleshy part of the fruit.  And not only one for me, but peering inside the freezer are packets and packets, about 20 figs in each; I’d say enough to winter over the Roman army! Yes, he agrees, he likes figs too. 

Too bad there are no photos of this excursion as I did not want to embarrass my tour guide but needless to say more, it was quite the journey.

Update: Light still on; Calabrone still swirling; no music yet.