This story began seven years ago when I spent time at a villa in Italy whose owners had opened their doors to communally-minded wanderers who, in turn, tended the land and renovated buildings. Much about the living made sense; in particular, the midday pause to cook and eat together at a long table under a tree. Much did not make sense and one day I understood why. Whilst weeding I felt a pang of longing and I knew that I needed to be home, in Britain.
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