our 4th of July (a week late in telling)

It all began on an uneventful Monday morn in the tent of the Blaines on the Eastern coast of Italy after a night of makings s'mores and staying up way too late.

"Mom!" proclaimed the young boy.

"Yes dear?"

"I am all wet. I think I got really sweaty in the night."

"Uh-oh. Hmmm, let's see. Yep, you're wet alright. Wow. That is a lot of sweat. Hmmm, let me smell it. Oh. Dear. That smells like pee."

"I didn't pee! I didn't pee!"

"Okay, okay, well, it sure does stink, and I don't know how in the world we are going to clean it."

Suddenly, the always logical, good-looking, young father piped up and said, "We'll just have to take down camp and sleep somewhere else tonight. Like at an agritourismo or something. It will be fine. Let's go to the beach first, though."

"Great idea, Honey!"

"Yay! The beach! What's an agritourismo?" asked the boy.

"It's like a hotel on a farm," explained the father.

"Oh boy!"

So, the Blaines ventured off to the beach to enjoy a lovely morning of jogging and swimming until it was time for them to break down their stinky tent, load up, and head into the coastal town of Vieste.

While there, they wandered aimlessly and enjoyed the charming streets and beautiful views, but eventually grew tired and hungry and decided to set out to the mountains toward their next destination.

 

On account of the windy roads making the young mother nauseous and the fact that the boy had to pee several times, the family stopped far more times than anticipated.

After getting run off from one agritourismo for asking to stay just one night, rather than at least a week, the Blaines became discouraged when signs for more agritourismos suddenly stopped appearing on their route.

While deciding that maybe they would just have to stay in the next town, there appeared a sign for "Monte Sacro Agritourismo."

 

Bells were ringing, birds were chirping, and there was a sweet breeze in the air. The Blaines had solved their problem. Until, they read that the agritourismo was another six kilometers up a very steep and windy road. They became scared that perhaps this place would not rent them a room for just one night and didn't want to make the drive up for nothing. Not knowing whether to turn and make the accent, or keep going into the next town, the young parents did what they always tend to do when they cannot make up their minds. They asked their son, "What should we do?"

"Let's just... go up there," he decided.

And so they did. They went up there. They encountered herds of goats on the road. The young mother became more nauseous and hungry at the same time. All they could do was hope that the place would be open.

 

And they were. Open. And willing to give the Blaines a very comfortable room and an exceptional meal for the evening.

It was like staying at an Italian grandparent's home. It was like Heaven.



The next morning, the Blaines enjoyed a tour of the farm from one of the young farmhands.





They had to prematurely end the tour so that the farmhand did not destroy anything in his attempt to show off.



That is where the story ends, I guess. Seems kind of abrupt. Let's try a more soothing ending.

Here we go:

And so, my friends, that is how the Blaines came to spend their 4th of July in the middle-of-nowhere, Italy.

Of course, naturally, they lived happily ever after and dreamed of one day having an agritourismo of their own.



The end.