Sprinting back up the slope after a refreshing November swim off the cliffs surrounding the lighthouse of Giglio island, I meet my classmates, who seem lost as our guide is missing. We’re late. Moments after, our guide emerges through the trees to shepherd us to our next visit. Sweating, panting, and covered in salt water, I enter the vineyard below. A white-haired man greets us with a beaming smile while picking lemons for us in his garden. His bright red dress shirt with small black polkadots makes him stick out like a large ladybug in the surrounding sea of green. As we walk down to meet him, we are received by his older wolf-like hound with the bark of a heavy smoker and his tiny mutt, who we quickly realize is blind. Escorted by his trusty watchdogs, we find him in a decaying white stucco farmhouse with a stone roof and bright green door. He is chopping his lemons and mint to place in glass jugs of water for “his thirsty daughters” as he dubs our group of all women, automatically making us family.
