Tuscan roads, take me home

Today, my mantra comes from the words of John Denver because he said it best: “Country roads, take me home, to the place I belong.”

While taking advice from this ’70s classic might seem a bit unconventional, there is truth in its lyrics.

Nestled within the Tuscan hillsides, a thought hit me that instantly reminded me of my home nearly 5,000 miles across the Atlantic.

But how could I be nostalgic for the Midwest while I’m among some of the world’s most amazing art, architecture and culinary masterminds?

When I think of Bloomington, a town smack in the middle of our nation’s heartland, I’m reminded of the endless countryside, rustic houses and warm summer evenings when friends gather around a campfire at night, telling jokes and reminiscing about the past.

While people may not see Italy as a likely comparison to the Midwest, there are more similarities than meet the eye.

Last weekend, as I biked down the gentle sloping hills of Chianti, an old woman gathering vegetables from her garden reminded me of the benevolent landscape — how Italy generously bestows a fruitful harvest to her people who have maintained a respect for her natural beauty.

From my seat on the bullet train to Naples, I saw the Tuscan farm country, full of life and color, men greeting the morning sunshine, tending their flocks of sheep in the bucolic surroundings. These men have diligently worked the land — a thin layer of rich soil permanently imbedded within their tan-leathered skin, pressed between every laugh line and wrinkle.

While most tourists seek the more well-known Italian cities like Rome, Florence, Milan and Naples when traveling to Italy, at the heart of this old country is the countryside — the home of families who have produced wine since the mid-1300s, the miles of silver glistening olive trees whose fruit have nourished Italians for centuries, the crumbling villas whose white stucco walls resound with the stories of a girl’s first heartbreak, the cries of a newborn child and the screeching bombs that rattled the town in World War II.

In the Tuscan countryside, a way of life presents itself that isn’t clouded by the material — the lines of two euro shot glasses and miniature copies of the statue of David.

Like the United States, Italy has become commercialized to the point where a traveler may forget the places and people who built and continue to fuel the country.

The pastoral, encapsulated by visions of lush fields, blistered hands and families joining around a wooden table for supper, has become more of a dream than a reality.

Yet, go back to the start of any country or community and you will find the building blocks within the people who diligently worked the land.

It is this heartland that has given us the ability to flourish — this heartland that continues to remind us of our roots, extending back to generations of men and women we never met but who gave us the security and possibility to live an abundant and prosperous life.

Living in Tuscany has taught me to appreciate the art of living simply, to acknowledge and explore the ethereal beauty that exists within the fields, hills and valleys.

While the cities provide us with commerce and industry, it’s the heartland that reminds us of our beginnings.

If you have the chance to wander through the Tuscan countryside or the rural Midwest, let the roads lead you home, to a place where you have and will always belong.