Travelling to Israel with the Kids, Leaving Winter Behind with Joy and Pulling Up Weeds with a Fork

Wandering Roots - February and March 2025 (it's another 2 in 1....)

Mar 31, 2025

Forget roots this month, look at those leaves… These are the most stunning, geometrically proportioned weeds!

Welcome to Wandering Roots, a monthly newsletter from me, A Woman Who Wanders.

After buying a house at the beginning of June, I had a slight wobble regarding my identity (online and otherwise.)

Am I still a woman who wanders? I asked, and it turns out that I am, but I am also, now, a woman who roots. This newsletter will offer updates on my progress, as I marry my wandering and rooting together.

You can expect to read about:

The ongoing journey of adjusting to life in rural Italy (learning the language, adapting to the culture)
The renovation of my Italian house
Mothering abroad (and in general)
Learning how to grow plants (lots of them edible, I hope)
How I’m figuring out a makeshift career while I don’t have a strong proficiency in the language that surrounds me
Plus recommendations for things I’m enjoying, in Italy, and online.

Hello my dearest wanderers! It’s another two months squashed into one special… You might want to grab a cup of tea.

Sunshine Jelly

One of the things I love about Italy is the length of the winter. It’s that little bit shorter, compared to the UK. Sure, February is still winter but also, not quite. The days start to get a little longer and there is hope in the air. It’s a far cry from the dark, near-suicidal Februarys I experienced (or escaped from) in London.

I managed to get my hands on a crate of organic oranges from Sicily which really added to the sunshine in winter vibe. They were spectacular. I made sunshine jelly with the kids; freshly-squeezed orange juice, agar agar and a dash of honey. It was pure joy and I reckon joy + vitamin C is a great way to stay sane and healthy for the last weeks of winter.

A Visit to Israel

At the end of February we went to visit my in-laws for the first time in a year and a half. My husband’s family are Palestinians who live in Israel; a population that is often referred to as Arab Israelis or ‘48 Arabs. Basically, they’re among a minority of Palestinians in Israel whose homes were not stolen or destroyed in 1948. They have Israeli citizenship and live within the state of Israel and yes, I think it probably requires some next-level psychological gymnastics to make that work.

Arriving at the check-in desk for our 6am flight with two children under five, we discovered a new travel requirement for non-Israeli citizens. I needed a pre-authorisation to travel. So did the kids. It involved entering passport details and payment details into an online form and waiting for an e-mail response. Times three. We had no idea whether we’d actually make it onto the flight. In fact, the check-in desk closed while we were halfway through check-in and it had to be manually re-opened for us. Never a dull moment…

The flight itself and the arrival at the airport is always a little bit tense. One never feels exactly welcomed although, since having the kids, the journey through passport control goes a lot smoother than the times I travelled before children.

Once we leave the airport and head to the village, it’s like entering another world entirely. The welcome couldn’t be warmer. M’s family are a constant party. He’s one of four siblings. His mother is one of eight and his father is one of nine. The family is huge. The eldest cousin has adult grandchildren and the youngest cousin is four, the same age as our daughter. Wherever we go we bump into a family member, or an old friend or a teacher from M’s youth.

I love visiting in February. The weather is cool in the evenings but, if the sun comes out, it gets lovely and warm during the day.

We were there during the release of hostages. The TV was on constantly. Whether it was the Hebrew news channel or the Arabic news channel, the reporting was the same. Initially, I would supplement the TV news with some other sources. Al-Jazeera, for example. However, after a day or two a mysterious technical error prevented me from accessing the site. I could see the headlines on Google but whenever I clicked through I got the same error message that wasn’t resolved until I returned to Italy.

But following news headlines was not the purpose of my visit.

The purpose of my visit was realised when my two-year-old disappeared into an orchard with his father’s cousin and came back with a bag of pomelos. When his uncle took him to see the horses and made his lifelong dream of riding on one a reality.

The purpose of my visit was to walk behind my mother-in-law, with both my hands free, as my children each clasped one of hers. A moment that pleased us all.

The purpose was to see my daughter, side by side with her cousin. They share the exact same birthday but not a language.

The purpose was to see my husband laugh and joke and fully express himself and be welcomed and adored for it (and sometimes not).

The purpose was nourishment.

A breakfast of cornflakes while Teta prepares food for later is a daily routine. Here we have mana’ish.

One morning, while he was still half asleep, my son said to me “Mama…? You and me, we are both inside this family,” and I knew exactly what he meant. He understood that his family was bigger than a Mum and a Dad and a Sister. We’re inside of something much bigger than that. We’re all a part of a much bigger whole.

Clearing the Weeds

We arrived back to Spring, and Ramadan. It was a glorious week with clear skies allowing for views of the snow-capped Alps.

In the grey days of winter I had kept saying to myself that I wanted to weed the flowerbed in front of the house. It seemed a manageable size for me, to get started with growing, and it’s right in front of the kitchen door which is a convenient spot for a kitchen garden.

Unfortunately, I didn’t act on this desire in winter and so, when the sunny weather arrived the patch began to get pretty overwhelming. I don’t own any gardening tools which was the main excuse holding me back…

One morning, with dinner already prepared and the sun beckoning me outdoors I decided to just get started with what I had; a spoon and a fork. It was tough work.

As I was crouching down awkwardly with my fork and spoon my neighbour came out.

Stai togliendo l'erba?” she asked. “Con una forchetta??”

Yes, I explained, in broken Italian. I am weeding with a fork. I simply had to get started.

She disappeared into the shed and came back with una zappa, a hoe. She showed me how to cut right into the earth and under the roots of huge chunks at a time without breaking my back. Then she went to prepare lunch and I got to work.

Just before lunchtime her husband returned from the field where he had also been working all morning. He too encouraged me and suggested that I might also like to prune the tree there.

Come lo faccio? I asked. I didn’t have a clue how.

Off he went to the shed and came back with some clippers. He proceeded to show me which branches needed to go in order for the tree to flourish again. I snipped at the tree enthusiastically with those clippers and when there was one branch that was too much for the clippers he came back with a saw.

The satisfaction was unreal. To move from fork, to hoe, to clippers, to saw in the space of three hours?? I was wildly encouraged and deeply proud.

I was out again the next day, and the next. Despite the fact that I was fasting and the sun was beating down, I felt energised and alive and useful. My neighbour Giuseppe reckons it’s this kind of work that keeps him so mobile at his age (he’s 84!)

I was truly amazed by how much it was possible to achieve in one day. I was reminded that life doesn’t necessarily move forward like a smooth, even line graph. There are times when things are at a complete standstill and times when they lurch forward suddenly.

Start before you’re ready, they say.

In a way, I did. I mean, I don’t know how to garden. I can’t really communicate well with the people around me and yet, in the space of 3 hours, I started to do both.

I now know how to weed with a hoe. I know something about how to prune a tree. I know that a zappa is a hoe. I know that togliendo l’erba is weeding. I demonstrated hard work, and a willingness to learn, to my children. I strengthened my relationship with my neighbours. All because I left my phone inside for once and was willing to get started with a spoon and a fork.

But also, I was ready to start. I was ready to look like a ridiculously foolish beginner. I was ready to be seen. To be caught red-handed with a fork in the mud. I was ready to speak terrible Italian. It’s taken me years to get here.

The Pride That Comes with Seeing a Small Baby Grow into an Impressive Young Woman

My youngest sister, Naima, is fourteen years younger than me. I remember when she was born. I remember volunteering to rock her while my mum ate dinner because it meant I could watch Dawson’s Creek instead of staying at the dinner table. I remember taking her to nursery school.

Now she’s a grown adult woman.

She was with me the first time I gave birth and has been pursuing a career with birthing women since then.

Last year she completed her midwifery degree, but she couldn't, in good conscience, continue to work within the mainstream medical system where she had witnessed such a disregard for all that is sacred in birth.

She now offers holistic birth support outside of the system and I couldn't be more proud!

She has a few birth debrief sessions available for free, as part of her training. Check her out at birthinbloom.co.uk or on instagram @birth_in_bloom. You can also contact her at birthwithnaima@gmail.com if you're interested in booking a session or curious to know more.

We’re Getting Somewhere With That Upstairs Bathroom!

The latest update on the house is…. the floor tiles went down in the upstairs bathroom last week. It’s ridiculously exciting.

Now there’s even a shower plate. This looks like it really could be a little mini bathroom one day!

Do You Want to Come and Visit Me?

Finally, if you have kids between 4 and 14 years old and you like the sound of visiting rural Italy in July, Village Forest School’s summer camp takes place on the other side of the valley from me. It looks like it’s going to be particularly good this year.

There are specialists coming from all over the world to offer what looks like a great programme.

Most people come for a week or two but there are four weeks available. It’s always fun to meet the families that come from all over the globe with all sorts of crazy stories.

You can learn more here: VFS Summer Camp

(Be warned, the temperature at that time is around 30 degrees Celsius and the mosquitoes are plentiful… It’s not for the faint of heart, but come and have a go if you think you’re hardy enough).

Until next time,

Keep wandering, my friends, in body, heart or mind.

(And Eid Mubarak to all my Muslim readers. May we carry the benefits of this Ramadan forward with us into the next year and may we live to experience many more)

Rahma x

A Woman Who Wanders