10/08/2025
The Mountain That Knew My Name🥹
Some people search their whole lives for a place that truly feels like home. A sanctuary where the world slows, where the heart finds peace, where the soul feels as though it has always belonged. I found mine in southern Italy, in the breathtaking region of Abruzzo.
Our home at Oliveto Grande, sits in a small village near the historic town, wrapped in the embrace of a thousand ancient olive trees. Beyond them, the mighty Gran Sasso and Maiella mountains stand watch over the land. Yet, from the moment I arrived, it was one particular mountain that drew me in as if it had been waiting for me all along.
But the truth is, it had.
When I was sixteen, I stretched a linen canvas across a wooden frame, ready to paint but I had no idea what would fill its empty space. Dipping my brush into deep blues and greens, I let instinct guide me. Slowly, a vast mountain emerged, rising toward the sky, kissed by wisps of white clouds.
It was simple just a mountain and a sky. Nothing else. My uncle, Franciszek Maśluszczak, who is well known artist studied my work and suggested adding trees, animals something to give it life.
But I refused.
Years passed. The painting faded into memory, swallowed by the tides of time. I forgot about it entirely.
Then, decades later, my husband stumbled upon a property in Italy—secluded, beautiful, wrapped in nature’s arms. Despite the pandemic slowing our plans, we pursued it, knowing it would one day be ours.
Finally, in May 2022, the long-awaited call arrived the house was ready. But as fate would have it, that same day, our son and daughter-in-law welcomed their first child into the world. My heart was torn between two great beginnings the birth of my grandson and the birth of a new chapter in Italy.
I chose to stay with this young family a little longer, supporting them through those first precious days, and told my husband to go ahead, finalize the purchase, and collect the keys to our new home. On May 29th, I followed.
Arriving at Oliveto Grande, I was enchanted. The house, with its rustic charm and stone archways, felt like stepping into a dream. Sleep was impossible that first night my mind raced with possibilities, with wonder, with the feeling that I had stepped into something bigger than myself.
And then came the sunrise.
As the golden light poured over the hills, I stepped outside and time stopped.
Before me stood a mountain. A monumental giant, reaching toward an endless blue sky, no distractions just the mountain and the sky.
Exactly as I had painted it 35 years ago.
I gasped. It was not coincidence. It was not chance. This was something greater a premonition, a whisper across time, a quiet promise that I would one day stand here.
At sixteen, I had unknowingly painted my destiny.
At last, I understood. Some places are meant for us long before we know it. Some journeys begin long before we take the first step. Some connections are written in the stars, waiting patiently for the day we finally recognize them.
Oliveto Grande is not just my home. It is my heart. It is the place that waited for me long before I ever knew I was coming.
