Micia’s adventures in the vegetable garden, the hayloft and the farmhouse attic.

• 23 October 2026 #22 The Valley of Straw Bales The day after the olive harvest, Micia left the little comb to rest and climbed the path among the oaks. She wanted to see how far she could look from the top of the hill. Golden stubble covered the field. Great round straw bales rested on the slope, their stalks wound into tight spirals. From far away they looked small; up close, one was almost taller than Micia. Beside the biggest bale, she stopped and raised a paw above her eyes to shade them from the sun. Below her lay fields, vineyard rows and little roads. Among the cypresses, she recognised the farmhouse roof. “There you are! From up here, you look like a doll’s house.” Micia took a few steps to examine the bale’s spiral. But when she looked for the roof again, she could no longer see it. She stood on tiptoe. Nothing. She moved toward the oak and peered between the branches. Still nothing. “You can’t have gone away while I was looking at the straw.” Then she lowered her eyes: right in front of her was the side of the great bale, hiding part of the valley. Micia retraced her steps. The roof reappeared beyond the golden edge. She burst out laughing. “Hide-and-seek! But I hadn’t even started counting.” She stayed a while, looking at the other bales scattered down the slope. They all seemed to be waiting quietly for their turn. When she returned to the path, she recognised the fork beneath the oaks and walked calmly home. At the farmhouse, she told Grandma how she had lost sight of it. “To find it again,” she explained, “I only had to take a couple of steps. Luckily, I didn’t have to move the bale!” Read the tale →

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