The Adriatic is all of the colors of blue and green and coppery brown of the Murano glass beads I bought in Venice last week.

We’ve spent a lovely few days cycling its shores and camping under the big, dome shaped pines that line the beaches. Yesterday was warm enough that the children spent a long afternoon wading and “surfing” and collecting all sorts of shells in the cove near where we are camped. I read two books. Tony baked himself on a piece of white stone and alternately read, people watched, sipped white wine from his water bottle and exclaimed, “Have I mentioned that I LOVE Italy?” He has not yet recovered from the giddiness that found him on the train upon entering the country.

We’ve chosen to cycle the road less traveled. We’re saving the Mediterranian coast of Italy for the spring. We  The Adriatic coast is the quieter side. It gets almost no press in the guide books and that is just fine with us. We haven’t encountered even one huge bus load of late teenagers trampling a swath, en masse, across the shoreline.

There are campsites, and most of these are still open. Alternately, we’ve found the Italian people happy to have us camp on their land… such as the air field, south of Chioggia, where we found ourselves three nights ago. Not a word of English was spoken, but their joy at our arrival was unmistakable. The children took away patches for their jackets, as a love gift from the old grandfather who ran the place, and had the great joy of watching a bright red model plane rip aerobatically through the air the morning that we left. Does it get any better than that?

We’re camped, just now, south of Porto Garibaldi which is north of Ravenna by about 13 km. The children have spent long hours watching the fishermen in town lower their huge, square dip nets into the sea, wait a few minutes, and then crank them back up. They wait with baited breath to see if there are crabs or little silver fish or a great big edible something that is happily scooped out of the net by the fishermen. I bask in the sun and knit while the kids “help” fish.

Tony fields questions about our brood and is learning how to accept the many compliments to his manhood: “Quattro bambini?! Bellisimo!! Bravi!! Complimenti!!”

Old men clap him on the back and cackle as they repeat their congratulations. Young men wink and give him the thumbs up. Old women come over to me and pat my hands and make signs to ask if we’ll have more, or if I’ve cut him off yet! Everyone is delighted by our big brood. This is the first place in the world we’ve ever been where we’ve been so heartily congratulated on this front. In Mexico our big family is par for the course and people are happy to see us and express surprise at an American family with so many kids. But here, it is different. We can’t go two blocks without someone complimenting Tony’s fine accomplishment at producing such strapping sons and such a lovely daughter. (I mentioned to him that it seems to me that I am the one who’s done most of the incubating and hatching of these prime specimines of human beings, but who’s counting?!) The kids giggle at the response to. “Mom, just think how much they’d like the Woods!”-our friends, who are incubating number seven at the moment.

Today we are touring Ravenna.

That is, we will be touring Ravenna if we can ever get out of this internet cafe. The internet laws here preclude us from sliding into McDonalds and hooking up to the free wireless, as has been our habit everywhere else. The children are being as patient as they can: Hannah is telling stories about a rhinoceros, Aesop’s Fables style, to the boys as they sit around us on the floor. Ravenna is home to a ridiculous number of mosaics, which we hope to see this afternoon. And I’m interested in the history related to Dante in the area. I am almost ashamed to say that it is another clear blue, warm day without wind and perfect in every way. We’ll do our best to enjoy it thoroughly and store it away, like Fredrick the Mouse, to get us through a cold winter somewhere down the road.