Le Signore di San Bartolo

From my earliest days at Poggio, I would listen with curiosity to the voices coming from the road of San Bartolo: local women with a small knife and a basket, gathering wild greens that would later become a simple, delicious meal, perhaps sautéed and served with a couple of fresh eggs from the henhouse.

Back then, I didn’t know the word alimurgia. I only sensed that what they were doing was not a hobby, but knowledge — a way of reading the land and responding to what it offered in that precise moment of the year. Those walks were acts of necessity, care, and quiet intelligence, rooted in an intimate relationship with the territory.

Today, that memory still guides the way we move at Poggio. We walk slowly, observe before touching, and gather only what is truly needed. Some areas remain untouched, out of respect and learning. Leaves, flowers, and herbs become simple dishes or warm herbal infusions, prepared with what the season allows.

It is a way of staying connected — to the women of San Bartolo, to the land they knew so well, and to an ancient rhythm where nothing was taken without meaning, and everything had its place.