Oh Damiano!!

A 1.4 kilometer walk will buy one a visit to the exquisite site of the church and monastery known as San Damiano.  Built sometime between the 8th and 9th centuries, it was restored by St. Francis in 1205 in response to a message he received in prayer - "Go and repair my church, which as you can see, is in ruins". 

Here, in 1225, Francis composed the beautiful Canticle of the Creatures following a time of personal despair.  Francis, the story goes, spent fifty days at San Damiano, tormented by rodents who deprived him of sleep to say the very least.  He turned his misfortune around, got up one morning, and wrote a beautiful and enduring prayer, praising everything under the sun, moon and stars. One of the more modern rooms that are open to visitors is the Gallery of the Canticle, a "Space of Art and Faith", in which the entire Canticle is laid out in original art pieces that grace the walls.

St. Clare, Francis' best woman-friend, occupied the convent and she, along with her founded order of Poor Ladies of San Damiano (later called the Clarisse), lived there in poverty and simplicity from 1211-1260.  The very spot on which Clare died is preserved as is the refectory where she and her sisters dined (on very little I'm sure).  From 1260, a community of Friars Minor (they were later followers of Francis), was perpetuated.

As you enter the complex, signs direct you through the seven open-for-viewing areas.  On the right side, there is the Chapel of San Girolamo, considered to be part of the original residence of the friars. The Chapel of the Crucifix houses a magnificent 1637 wooden sculpture by friar Innocenzo da Palermo.  It catches your breath and holds it until you reach the courtyard gardens.  Impressions that last a very long time.

In 1983, the convent (here, convents are places where friars live, not necessarily sisters) was sold to the General Curia of the Friars Minor and is currently home to their novitiate. Think brown robes and Birkenstocks and cell phones.

After a lovely visit (not my first, by the way), it was time to walk back up the hill. Story of my life here.  Along the way, I passed an olive harvest underway which is always a treat.  I'm told that the high cost of olive oil (even here) is partially due to the fact that it is difficult to find enough people to do this arduous task.  Basically, olives are hand picked. Shaken from trees in ways that vary between shaking a stick to something that resembles a giant hedge trimmer.  It vibrates, the olives fall onto a big tarp on the ground and that gets scooped up and carted away to a frantoio where the oil is made.