Sunday night a crisp wind blew into the kitchen. Yesterday I saw a definitive signal of approaching autumn when I spotted the first tobacco truck laden with it’s burden of golden green leaves. The market is full of bargains as everyone tries to unload their surplus. The man selling chili peppers was hoping I would be seduced by his come-hither hands on his hips pose.

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  The guns are blasting outside, so it must be hunting season in Umbria.  Mushroom hunters battle for territory, clusters of men dressed in camouflage gather on the sides of the road clutching walkie talkies in one hand and the lead of a barking dog in the other. Cinghiale is hunted ‘in battuta’ meaning the…

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