Gloria, our housekeeper, appears on my back door step to announce that there is a mushroom festival in a little town called Sipicciano.  A village not far from Orvieto in Umbria.  This village does not appear on any map I own.  It is perched on the edge of the Tiber Valley right on the border of Umbria and the Lazio. Like an ancient eagle, it looks down from its aery onto vineyards and olive groves  and over in the far distance towards all the traffic speeding  between Rome and Florence.