A Strange thing happened on Monday - it rained. Now, I know Irish people tend to touchiness on this subject, but since the end of May, rain has been scarce here. Forest fires have blazed, American tourists have been fined for stripping and climbing into Rome's famous Trevi fountain, while the resident gardeners in this household have resorted to a variety of strategically placed hoses to preserve a smattering of garden green.
I know this hurts, folks, but it's been a long, hot summer in these parts.
Until Monday, the Biros and the plastic containers continued to melt.
Monday, however, came three days after Ferragosto, the Feast of the Assumption and a national holiday which once marked the beginning of a two-week holiday period but which, to keen weather-watchers in northern Lazio, now heralds the advent of the first temporale (summer cloudburst).
Every year, around this time, we have our cloudbursts. Next day, the sky is blue, the garden greener and the air clearer and cooler. Thus begins a gradual descent to an often long, warm autumn. The first temporale is a bit like the beginning of the new soccer season in Italy, a marker that indicates the end of summer and the beginning of the working year.
No one is complaining. Sometimes the first rains come too early and ruin nights like La Notte di San Lorenzo or Ferragosto itself. The night of San Lorenzo, August 10th, is the night when Italians stay out late, walking or lying on a beach in expectation of seeing falling stars and making wishes.
San Lorenzo (St Lawrence) is a Christian martyr who died a fearful death in AD 258, roasted on a gridiron. Our village, Trevignano, last year and this chose to remember the occasion by staging a midnight bonfire-cum-barbecue on the lakeside beach.
The sight of a series of camp fires stretching along the beach was memorable. In the warm evening darkness, with the cars banned and with the smells of cooking and the sound of goodnatured, wine-inspired banter abounding, one was tempted to imagine this was what a Roman army on the march might have looked and sounded like.
But modern times did intervene, this year and last, in the shape of our local reggae band, while several holiday-makers and villagers opted to mark the occasion with a ritual post-midnight swim. The water, by the way, was very warm. Oops, sorry Ireland.
Five nights later came Ferragosto, the annual Trevignano occasion when La Madonna (to whom there are many shrines around the village), takes to the waters.
Mounted on a barge, accompanied by prayers and religious music from a loudspeaker system, she comes out to bless the lake, the fish, the fishermen and Trevignano generally. It's a spectacular ceremony that underlines the lake's traditionally vital role at the centre of village life - as a source of food and, more recently, as a draw for visitors.
When she has done her stuff, pagan man takes over with a noisy fireworks show that rounds off the night's festivities. It is best observed, glass in hand, from someone's rooftop.
If "La Processione" of the Blessed Virgin is a traditional high point of the Trevignano year, and one which attracts up to 30,000 visitors, a new element has been added to the Ferragosto celebrations - Dragon Boat racing. Now you might have thought that Dragon Boat racing was a sport reserved for far-away places like Hong Kong and China. Wrong.
Dragon Boat racing is in its second year in these parts and is flourishing. To the uninitiated, a Dragon Boat looks like a very large canoe with places for all the members of the extended family, and the neighbours too. Up front, one crew member beats out a rhythm on a loud drum while in the boat, the crew is lined out in two rows, sweating it out and rowing furiously.
It may not be the Oxford and Cambridge duel, but it matters to Trevignano, especially when, for the second year running, the home team saw off "hated" local rivals, Anguilara and Bracciano, (the other two villages on the lake).
But the Irish Times man on the scene can reveal the secret of the local team's success. We were in on a final, pre-race session of intensive psychological preparation for at least two team members - an excellent lunch, followed by a session of table tidying and dishwashing, down at Quinto's boat club.
Unlike another recent occasion, the team members in question, Alberto the baker and Costantino, local councillor and hospital functionary, this time paced themselves professionally. They drank just the right amount of wine.
Trevignano rules the waves.