Truffle Hunters

The Good Life is more about what we set free than what we hold onto

I’ve been away from my desk for a couple weeks while on vacation. I really unplugged. So this is a different kind of post. The is the kind of post that is like a before-and-after shot - the before being writings from a mind that is busy and overactive, and the after being writings from a mind that has paused from forward momentum and taken time to simply observe how other people live.

My family spent a good bit of our time in Italy. We saw many wonderful sights and did a bunch of touristy stuff, but we all agreed - our favorite experience by far was truffle hunting. We traveled about an hour outside of Florence, on a rainy day, to meet with a truffle hunter named Andrea and his truffle-hunting dogs Giotto and Bruno, two Lagotto Romagnolos. Other dogs can find truffles, too, but the Lagottos are bred for it. They are renowned for their noses, their drive, and their friggin’ cuteness. And unlike pigs, which truffle families hunted with once upon a time, the Lagottos don’t eat the truffles they find - at least, not many of them.

This truffle hunting excursion gave me a window into the life of a truffle hunter, a way of life that clearly brought Andrea immense pride, satisfaction, and peace. It wasn’t an obvious life for him. He’s not a member of the truffle-hunting-for-four-generations Savini family. He chose to truffle hunt, and in the process, chose what to let go of, chose what he would not do. In his case, he decided to let go of the life he had planned for himself, one in which he left Italy, lived abroad, pursued his ambition of making it in the hospitality industry, and much more.

In other words, this life he led was equally the result of choosing what to keep and of choosing what to take away. This makes me think of Michelangelo, who (supposedly) said that he sculpted by focusing on the negative space rather than the positive, by seeing the potential of the stone and knowing what to take away. 'I saw the angel in the marble, and carved until I set him free.’

Our era is one of excess positivity in which we’re constantly aware of what we want, what we need to achieve, and who we need to be. We must accelerate towards these goals. Perhaps that’s why I’m starting to believe that The Good Life is more about what we set free than what we hold onto.

How do I describe this idea? How do I describe how I felt after speaking with Andrea about the Good Life he created for himself, of what he held onto and what he set free? It wasn’t easy for him, that’s for sure, because it’s hard to know how to live.

So I wrote a poem about it. As you’ll see, I’m not really a poet - although aren’t we all poets, waiting to be released from the page :) - but I hope it gives you a sense of what I felt in the rolling hills and valleys, in the misty woods outside of Florence with Andrea and his dogs and the truffles blooming underground.

The Truffle Hunter 

This wasn’t the plan

He was going to travel

Make his own way

But he came back home to work for a summer

At a vinoteca belonging to 

The truffle-hunting Savini family

He is not a Savini

And he did not expect to stay

But in the hills and valleys of Tuscany

In Lucca

Where wolves made a comeback

But not the boars

He began to hunt tartufi

The common nero pregiato

The rare bianco, Trifola d’Alba Madonna

The white prized so much that a single one, large enough

Can buy you a villa

…

He came to know the dogs

Giotto the grandad

And Bruno the pup

Lagotto Romagnolo, princes of the woods

They search, scratch, and dig

They know that tartufi, mycelium buds,

Take root beneath the trees

Oak

Spruce

Willow

…

A Lagotto is never bathed in scented shampoo

So as not to overpower the possibility of smelling truffles

A Lagatto is given truffles with mother’s milk

So he learns that this is the thing that brings

Joy

Satisfaction

Relief

Reward

When Bruno, still in training, just 8 months old, finds a truffle, you must exclaim

Bravo, Bruno!

…

He stayed in these woods because We don’t know how to live

And

Living is hard in this world

But life makes sense on the hunt

When, like a bona fide Savini,

He gently eases the truffles out of 

The sandy, soft earth

On misty mornings

And lush afternoons

Dogs by his side

…

The skin must not be broken

Is it firm?

Does it smell fresh or rotten?

Does it feel solid or light?

Is it already too dry?

You must smell and press 

And wipe the dirt from

The precious little ground dwellers

Wipe the dirt from your hands 

And your pants, where Bruno has jumped up

For love and praise

…

How to live

Is walking 

Among the trees 

On trails barely there

Harvesting

Then remembering to fill in the hole that was dug

So the capillaries return to the ground

For future budding next season

Or the next

…

Giotto, now old at 9 years

Only comes out on cool days

Or in the Fall

For white truffle season

When, flush with success, he eats

Rib eye steak

And lasagna

As rewards for the treasures he finds

…

Giotto works for 4 months, then rests,

Building his energy, but sad

Not to be at work

They must hide from him the fact

Of their expeditions with baby Bruno

Or he will whine at the door for hours

Left behind

…

When Giotto finally retires

He will have a bath with real shampoo

And sleep on the couch

With Andrea

And maybe watch that American film

About truffle hunters