I need a translator.

Just a few miles from where I'm living in Sardinia, there's a tiny village called Sirri. It's remote. At the top of a well-forested, hilly canyon. The first time I went to Sirri last winter, I thought there might be a little restaurant or bar. But turns out Sirri consists only of a few homes. Older homes. Some ramshackle. There's no business. Other than a shepherd or two. Raising sheep and goats. And I'm thinking now there may be no finer place to live. Than Sirri. For a writer, like me. Peace and quiet. Other than the tinkling of bells tied around the necks of animals. And maybe a barking sheep dog. And the rustling of leaves and pine needles in the wind. My only regret: I assume the residents speak only Italian. No English. That's a handicap. Because I'd like to interview everyone of the handful of the inhabitants. So I could learn about their lives. And if they feel blessed. Living in an idyllic setting. Maybe I still can. If I convince my Italian true love to become a translator. --Jim Broede