Act Two: Lurching About in Italy
Anyone who is a regular reader of this blog has followed the story of our adventures in relocating to Italy. It was not always an easy path, but ultimately we were able to celebrate the sunrise of our new life as we literally watched the sun come up on July 11, 2021. Now we are residents of not only Anghiari, but Italy and the European Union.
Both Terry and I had lived abroad in the past and knew that life in a new place doesn’t promise a continuous fairy tale, even in a country as beautiful and artistically rich as Italy. Deciding to own a home there guarantees a certain number of problems–broken toilets, rehabilitating long neglected or never quite right areas combined with the challenge of when to pay what taxes and to what entity. What we didn’t expect was plant thievery.
Along the front facade of our house lies an embankment built of stone, its original purpose unknown. In the present, though, it has been utilized as a platform for pots of plants, a number of which the previous owner had generously left for us. The centerpiece is a pair of beautiful plumbagos full of blue flowers that bloom through the summer months. Because there was plenty of space between the big pots to add smaller, colorful plants we made repeated trips to the local garden center, bringing home a variety of additional flowers. Some fared well in the bright sun that lit this spot, others were ultimately transferred to my plant hospital where half days of shade saved delicate flowers inclined to wilt during hot afternoons.
One day while watering, I noticed that one of our new plants was missing–easy to spot since we had bought two of the same. A few days later, I saw that another small pot of flowers was gone and before long one of our three lavender plants had also disappeared. Clearly, someone was taking plants, whether to beautify their own premises or simply for the delight of creating mischief wasn’t clear.
The alley on which we live, Vicolo di Monteloro, is a public walk, though it only leads to our house and a few apartments behind it. Tourists frequently stop here to take pictures of themselves and nearly daily high school students buzz up on their scooters and settle on the steps to socialize. Other than a propensity to leave litter behind or on occasion become a bit raucous, the kids are welcome and cause no problems. However, with plants going astray, we had to wonder if a dare or spirit of deviltry might have prompted one, or several, of them to lift our plants.
After our third plant disappeared, Terry talked with neighbors about the problem. To a person, they believed that the high school kids were the culprits. One woman, though, mentioned that plant thievery in the town center and even the cemetery was not unusual but did not attribute it to young people, leaving open the question of who might be responsible. Later that same day, a lady going to the house next door stopped to chat and when we mentioned our missing plants she told us of her own experience. She had gone outside one morning to water plants and discovered a vacant space where the day before a magnificent rose bush in a large pot had stood. Some apparently brawny thief or thieves had slipped in during the night to grab the prize plant, its size so large, she said, that a truck would have been necessary to transport it.
Terry and I felt that, based on her story and the apparently repeated incidences of downtown plant theft, the finger of guilt could not inevitably be pointed at young people. The effort and planning required to haul a large pot filled with a plant seems an unlikely strategy of mischief seeking teenagers and where, after all, would kids take it? To Mom and Dad’s house? To a friend’s house? Moreover, teenagers tend to gather in or near piazzas not in the narrow, winding streets of the historic center where flowers stand invitingly outside doorways. Still, one cannot completely rule out the possibility that the thieves are youthful pranksters.
But we had another suspicion. A little lady who works for our neighbors on occasion, stopped one day to ask me whether a plant on our balcony would flower. When I answered, “no” she apparently thought I didn’t understand her Italian, and went to our entryway where she plucked a blossom from a plant, holding it up to indicate that her word, fiore meant flower. When Terry stepped onto the balcony, she repeated the question to him and he replied, just as I had, the plant does not flower. A few days later, Terry spotted her poking among the potted plants atop our platform. She had, it seemed, an especial interest in our flowers.
The neighbors Terry talked with about the problem advised him to make an official complaint (Denuncia) to local authorities, the municipal police, the carabinieri and the commune office. One of them spoke himself to the Vigili Civile (Civil Guardian) about the problem and let us know he would help in any way possible. Being good neighbors and good people, they were nearly as offended as we were that someone was stealing flowers from us.
We were reluctant to complain to local police or other authorities about the problem and assumed that there is little they could actually do. Our immediate solution, instead, was to relocate smaller pots to our balcony and then head once more to the garden center to buy larger and heavier pots to hold plants we wanted to leave on the platform–too big and too heavy to be carried off easily on a motor scooter or by any but the most determined plant thief.
Anghiari is considered one of the most beautiful hilltop towns in Italy, and pots of flowers juxtaposed with ancient stone walls can take some credit for that. It has always been a pleasure to walk through the streets admiring residents’ contributions to the beauty of our town. Learning that there are those who lack a moral compass and steal that beauty to take it for their own is as offensive to us as our own experience.
Plant thievery when compared with serious crime is minor, but more prevalent than one might expect. An article in The Laidback Gardner titled “Keeping Plant Thieves at Bay,” (March 12, 2018; Source Victor Kerlow) claims that one in seven British households experience plant theft in the course of a year. Decades ago and across the ocean in Lansing, Michigan I remember my mother showing me two holes in the ground where she had planted azaeleas, now simply two empty holes left by the thief who absconded with her azaeleas. More often than not though, thieves do not dig up plants, but run off with potted ones as can be seen in the video below.
Surveillance cameras and other high tech solutions are quite expensive so my first thought on discovering the missing plants was to post a warning sign. Our neighbors cautioned us against doing that since it might actually provoke further mischief, particularly if, as they believed, local kids were involved. However, the article in The Laidback Garnder does suggest a sign could be a deterrant.
Since we had some suspicion that the thief might be the oh-so-interested-in-our-plants lady, Terry resolved to bring the issue up to her, not as an accusation but to assess her response. When he found the moment to mention our stolen plants she came to a full stop and gasped a dramatic, wide-eyed “No!” Terry then asked, “What kind of person would do that?” to which she did not respond. We detected no sign of embarassment or guilt, but were not entirely convinced of her innocence. In any case, prevention rather than retribution is our goal so the matter of who was responsible sinks to the bottom of our concerns.
Though surprised and annoyed over the theft of some of our plants, we do not see it as cause for disaffection with Anghiari. Crime in this small town is almost unknown; people leave homes unlocked, store bicycles outside, and walk the streets at night without fear. Plant theft is a petty crime and we are happy that more serious threats are not a concern here.
Plumbago
Azure floats among the leaves
Beside ancient stairs
Who among those passing by
Ponders transcendence?
T & M
Lurching towards Italy 