Harvest Festival 9/29

Summer at Rickatee Ranch

Check out the start of our summer at the ranch.... Quick updates: We started the pumpkin patch when Momma Val came to visit. We planted well over 150 pumpkins so get ready to harvest in Dryden this fall. While you're here, you can check out the Zombie Run we are working on. There will be Zombies and running (more to come). Our newest addition to the farm are our three beautiful sheep Mama Fiona and her girls Tupela and Clementine. They escaped after having them for 12 hours, but with the help of some friends, they are back in the pen and chompin' on all of our grass. They will graze for us and we plan on using their wool. As the flock gets bigger, we will bring the rams to the butcher and use the hides...for whatever you use hides for (more to come). Joe and Jenny came to visit from Brooklyn and they were ready to work. Joe and Rick built the barnyard for the sheep, while Jenny and I planted and herb garden and cooked up some delicious food. We spent the day at Cayuga lake and had a picnic after checking out the farmers market. We got our first ice cream of the season at Toad's Too and the Shaw's had a chance to meet the delightful community in Dryden. Miles was born in February and he is the flyest little dude in town. Our neighbors, Lauren and Jake, share the little man with us as much as they can and it is fantastic. Jake mowed a path to the pond from their house so we can meet up in the field and go for walks in the woods together...it's out of a book. Katie and Evan went with us to Camp Mushroom where we spent the weekend learning all about mushrooms, how to grow and harvest them, how to prepare them, why they cure cancer etc. Day two was innoculating logs and waxing them. We brought home ten logs and then got a whole kit and innoculated 25 more on our own. This time next year we'll have 40lbs of shitakes...or shit takes, as we like to call them. Pre-party for the Avett Brothers at Rhody and Matt's house. The show was fantastic with an acoustic set that blew us away. We danced, sang and Evan asked me 100 times if I was going to Grassroots. Looking forward to having friends visit the farm this summer... we are hoping to have a BBQ in July. You are all welcome ANYTIME....especially if you want to work the farm. We're harvesting kale, broccoli, spinach, arugula, lettuce and some herbs now. Potatoes, tomatoes, asparagus, garlic, onion, peppers, cauliflower, cabbage, and much more to follow. Things are good. Rick and I think of our family and friends every second. We are lovin' life together on the farm.

Anseo in Feckin' Ireland

So here we are, in the Graceland. A lot has happened since I last posted anything…just haven’t had time and energy to sit down and focus on writing I guess. I realized I haven’t spent much time writing on the blog about the work we’ve been up to, but more the sights we see when we have time off. Rest assured, we have been working and learning….almost too much at this point. We are starting to count down the days and research Vanagons for cross country. Seems as though we’re turning into farmers these past few days with sun kissed faces, sore legs and stained teeth.

Our last few weeks in Italy were spent living in a mud hut in the Bay of Baratti on an Etruscan ruin with a Dutch woman who grows flax and cannabis and has yet to wash her clothes in any conventional manner. We built an entire garden from scratch again in the tough clay soil of Tuscany…lettuce, carrots, misticanza (sounds like a porn name right?…its lettuce), beans, peppers, you name it. We got to label the garden and named it ‘Anterif‘. I drew a guy farting on the rock label for the beans…they loved that. We worked with a team of volunteer architects on the construction of a proper Etruscan mud/clay hut that will eventually house an enormous weaving loom where Frida (or the “Fritz” as we later nicknamed her) can spend her days living like an Etruscan weaving clothes out of cannabis, drinking too much wine, pooping into small clay pots and sacrificing small animals. Fritz loves Etruscans….she loves them…she really, really does and they were quite an amazing bunch of civilians but you have to pity people who try so hard to live this ancient, alternative lifestyle. There is a reason behind evolution. It’s similar to the Amish and Republicans…I mean, electricity is great! And a flushable toilet is certainly a real treat.
Of course, everything is a novelty for a weeks time. It’s fun to cook over fire and live by candlelight…poop in the woods, shower under a hose stream of ice cold rain water, plant and harvest for dinner, barter with the neighbors for wine and eggs, etc. Makes you really appreciate what you have IN YOUR HUGE REFRIGERATOR back home.

Fritz’s Dutch accent (paired with her outlandish and never-ending storytelling sessions), the arrival of Antonio, a drunk Italian 40yr. old Wwoofer (who looked exactly like the scary old man in Scooby Doo), combined with the process of wiping and placing your toilet paper in a separate basket (which was no fun to accidentally peak into) and the relentless mosquitoes…really made the final weeks in Italy a painful slide into a pool of homesickness. We longed for public toilets, airport food and speaking English…maybe even telling a joke or making a witty remark under your breathe to share a bit of laughter with some stranger. Landed in Dublin, ran to a pub for a pint and chicken wings and hopped on a train headed west to Sligo county.

As soon as we sat down to out first meal in Ireland, we missed Italy. Not that we wanted to go back….but my God the Irish can’t cook. They don’t spend any time eating together, preparing or presenting the food they boil….and they don’t drink wine with every meal. I think we just miss home…we miss the idea of doing all of these things back in our kitchen and in our own house.

We are on an organic farm now that grows crop to bring to market. We’ve been learning a lot about how the Irish compost, we are building polytunnels, sowing, planting, harvesting….cleaning plots of land planting potatoes…eating potatoes…learning a lot.

Started reading more Irish authors and I found ‘Murphy’ by Samuel Beckett at one farm to take with me on the bus. I must say the first page of the novel is probably my favorite of all time…and maybe it’s just because it was so definitive of where we’re at right now…or maybe it’s because of the way it sounds like a poem when you read it out loud…either way, I love it. The books not bad either. Irish writers are in a realm of their own…they know some secret about fiction and how to manipulate the language to fit a thought exactly….

‘The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new. Murphy sat out of it, as though he were free, in a mew in West Brompton. Here for what might have been six months he had eaten, drunk, slept, and put his clothes on and off, in a medium-sized cage of north-western aspect commanding an unbroken view of medium-sized cages of south-eastern aspect. Soon he would have to make other arrangements, for the mew had been condemned. Soon he would have to buckle to and start eating, drinking, sleeping and putting his clothes on and off, in quite alien surroundings.’

Maybe the directional’s are a bit off, but I feel like this is part of what this trip has done for us (taken out of context of course because this is describing something with a completely different meaning in the story). Being far away from who you are and where you live makes the view so much better. We can’t wait to return home and look at America with different eyes. America is friggin awesome. There is this gradual point that we have reached where we can see an unbroken view of how we live, where we live it…with who we choose to surround ourselves…etc. And it is surely, now more than ever, “unbroken.” Our lives, sitting far away, have this different light on them…the same size cage as any other life around the world, but ours looks absolutely perfect from where we are. Finished, polished, brand new…we will be returning to a place we know nothing and everything about.

Shit…the green acres call….I could write about these feelings all day…but I have to get out to the farm. Rick will be getting some photos up soon, hopefully before we get home. We’re replanting cabbage, broccoli and carrots, rebuilding a shed and possibly going bogging for turf today…then climbing some mountain where you can see Scotland from the top…yippy skippy.

Cinque Terre pics

It was like we were on vacation. Probably the most beautiful place we have ever been.

Riccia.... 2 months later

OK, OK... We are a little behind on the pictures. We have about 30 gigs of photos and videos stored on my ipod. But we have been really, really, really enjoying ourselves, and have been without the internet most of the time. Who uses dial-up anymore?

Here, we have a bunch of pictures of our family in Riccia during Easter week. Absolutely wonderful. Enjoy.

The Gravity of the Pot

2009-06-04

Today was one of the best days of our lives. But let me start with yesterday.

Yesterday, we spent the morning finishing up some painting in one of the bedrooms. This house, like many of the houses in Italy, is ancient….centuries and centuries old. It is an old farmhouse, which always consist of two levels. The top floor was where the family lived and the bottom floor was the stable where the animals live. Near the kitchen, there is a huge gaping hole that is covered by a cellar door. Here, the farmer could throw food down to the animals. Because they were eating organically in those days, the shit smell was not as fierce, apparently close to nothing at all (which I find difficult to believe after scraping shit off the floor of an old barn…that 16th century shit resonating underneath was certainly there and smelled a lot like…well, 21st century shit.) The animals presence also kept the house warm and acted as central heating in the winter. One big happy family. Most farmhouses like this are now bi-level homes. Italy likes their bureaucracy and makes it very difficult for people to alter anything has withstood the test of time. If there are seven rocks placed ever so structurally sound, as to resemble a wall or perhaps a terrace, you will spend your first 4 years of ownership begging the municipality to look at your plans to build 3 other walls and make a home.

As for Anagrazia, she spent 6 years waiting on lines and greasing the palms of local decision makers to create this masterpiece in the Cinque Terra National Park. She chose to simply leave the hole dividing the two floors (which is now blocked for privacy) and not put a staircase in…but she rarely throws scraps down here and Ricks farts don’t heat up the place like a barnyard animal might.

A side note, Italians are also not very fond of their country. It is really fun to think about and discuss with them (however briefly)…but they could give two flying cow patties about their country…they have no pride in what they stand for, who represents them…I would venture to guess that a home-grown Italian doesn’t even know the colors of the nations flag. Pride in their food on the other hand…pride in the cleanliness of their bathroom….pride in not showing up anywhere on time and not working more than 3 straight hours on any given day…this is where Italians shine! Rick and I were so excited to be ambassadors for the US…to boast about our new president and how we would once again embrace the power of hope and change and bring the world at large to peace everlasting…and we found out, rather quickly…that Italians couldn’t give a shit. Yeah, they are psyched we finally got our heads on straight and got rid of GW, but they have no concern with changing the world…for proving that they carry the torch for world peace…or for shouting from the mountaintops that they dodge their taxes. They just want al dente pasta, banana hammocks on the beach and the 10 hour work week with health benefits. Simple.

So, to say the least….we are enjoying this kind of lifestyle. Anagrazia brought us with her to Vernazza yesterday to be part of her yoga class. We meditated for two hours in an old church on top of a mountain in one of the most quaint and colourful villages in Cinque Terra. Anagrazia translated for us which made it even more pleasant. Her Italian is like a soft, poppy, love song and even when she speaks English it seems to flow together without any harsh vowels or monotones. Always up and down with her stories…her voice fluctuates and creates mini music scales…honest, every time she gets on the phone its like someone is running their finger up and down the keys on the piano…I wonder if she’s constantly telling stories that begin with deep insight and end with a joke…and vice versa….so, inside this church, the floor was cold marble, Anagrazia set up her tapestry on the floor where the priest would deliver the Eucharist and we created a circle in places of the pews. The statues had no arms and faded color with chunks of stone missing from their faces. It was spooky…and at one point before I closed my eyes and saw St. Francis staring at me with one eye and no limbs, it was intimidating. I felt as though my religion was falling apart. All this talk of energy, the world being created from atoms and plants….it started to make me question what I believe in. But that is another story all together…I am happily married to faith of any kind right now….considering where I am. We just returned from our private beach. Our own private stretch of the Mediterranean. I only wish I could describe it in words…The setting, like the sunset and the stars, has never been the same on this mountain. It changes every day. Today, the waves were fantastic. They were enormous. They took my breathe away! We went down our zig zag path covered in landslides, through countless spider webs silhouetted in the sun wondering when the boulder would come crashing down on us…getting closer and closer, the waves getting louder and finally the beach is in view. Down at the bottom of the mountain we can see the huge transparent waves crashing on the dinosaur egg rocks. A beach of the smoothest, roundest rocks. The path ends and we head into some pine and brush…then we scale the cliff face very carefully down to the beach. The rocks are being pulled so strongly that they sound like thunder. Not rainstorm thunder….the thunder that you hear when the electricity cuts out…the roar of thunder that scares your father from the television. They pull the rocks off the shore just as quickly as they dump huge boulders onto the surface. It is so scary that it is beautiful. You can see directly through the emerald waves, 12 feet high…straight to the horizon. The sea, at a distance is so choppy…it looks like God is shaking out the sea like we shake out the sheets. Huge swells of wavy water chopping up and down making a mist that coats the sky, the sun and the mountain and makes it all look as if none of it is real. Its off with the clothes and into ridiculous mode, jumping from rock to rock in your bare feet balancing yourself to get to the water and dodging the waves. It is impossible to look cool walking around on a rocky beach…but none of that matters…we are absolutely alone…no one in sight for miles…and even if there is, we don’t care, we cant care….its far too perfect to worry about anything but being completely butt naked jumping from rock to rock under the Mediterranean sun. There was no chance of a swim today…not with the waves dropping off boulders imported from France…so we sat with our backs to the sea and let the waves crash in over our heads. Covered in salt, we took pictures in the sun, silhouettes of our bodies with the sun glowing behind us. It started to set and the moon showed up pulling at the waves even stronger. When we left the sky was turning pink and purple…orange and yellow...the sun was headed for the horizon and the path was shady and cool.

We tried to cook for Ana…she lets us cook with her every meal which is very relaxing, but typically she just cooks for us. We were excited to show our new skills…but our frittata didn’t flip and got stuck to the pan so we just had a scrambled omelette instead…she didn’t seem to mind, but I bet she told her friends about it and had a laugh. Anagrazia really loves us. We work in the garden, let the wind swing us on the hammocks under the pine trees, make flower arrangements, paint, build fires, make rock gardens, clean gutters….we laugh, we sing and we eat…all day. She asked us to come back next summer and help prepare the house for the market and get things ready for her move to the Philippines. I lost track of what she was saying after that….I could only imagine returning to this place and sharing more of these sunsets over the sea and that secret, sacred beach with her for just one more month…maybe we will.

Plenty of pictures on the way...hopefully we can get around to it tonight...we are back in Tuscany now in the toy shop...but we have markets every night in small beach towns. We actually sold a couple of the toys we made...

Tuscany-Pisa-Cinque Terre...Back to Tuscany

I have written so very much about Tuscany…its long shadows and hills that catch the sunset like a hammock…the secret garden that Katrina brought us to with caravans, honeybees, bamboo forests and elderflower (that we picked baskets of to make a sweet drink) and a hidden lake with a rickety old dock for the perfect cannonball, about picking cherries and tending the raspberry garden, about making toys and hiking with our dog Cindy….but I will have to save that chapter for the book so I can bring you up to speed.

Here we are in Levanto…region Liguria in the Cinque Terra National Park region. Anatheia is the name of the organic farm where we now live with host AnaGrazia our ex-physicist, professional sailor, permaculture specialist, published author of Bach-flower remedies, herbalist, yoga teacher, technology consultant, vegetarian...plus she can cook! She doesnt care if her car gets a bit dirty, which is one of the seven deadly sins in Italy, she loves to tell us stories about the moon and the stars and her sailing adventures…oh yeah, she is a sailor too. She plans on selling this gorgeous plot of land in the next five years to build a 20 foot sailboat in the Phillipines and sail around the world with friends spreading the word about how to live organic. She is worried about this life change…she thinks about it sometimes she says with difficulty…but she breathes and she finds strength and decides she can do whatever she likes. If you think you can do it or if you think you can not do it, you are right. She is a hippie…and we love her. She has given us all kinds of advice about life, spirituality, gardening…she is patient…an ex-teacher as well. She is smart and doesn’t make you feel stupid (a wonderful and very rare quality) and she has a sense of humour…an old-fashioned one…but she laughs nonetheless and her broken English makes you want to squeeze her cheeks and pat her on the head.

Her book is written in Italian, but part of it says….The Project (what we are working on at the farm) The Garden of the Flowers for the Psyche….The garden is the metaphysical place where we softly meet ourselves; it is the mountain, the hill, the wood, the field and the sea where we contemplate the nature; it is to ask the help of the flowers to know ourselves, it is Anatheia, it is the earth. Anatheia is two Greek words combined anthesis which means the blossom of flower and eia! Which means oh wonder!. Pretty deep stuff. We awake to the sun behind the mountain preparing the coast with a soft hazy light. It is completely quiet here until around 9:00am when the hikers start using the footpaths above some of the terraces. We work in the gardens and here them pass…Germans, Italians, Americans…they are typically the loudest. It is nice to hear them chattering far away sometimes, only voices, not a word can be deciphered. Every now and again we here the neighbors chickens cawing as well, but not much at all. The wind takes the pollen from the pines and sweeps it around the sky in faint yellow swirls. The air is clearly different. It is clean and fresh and smells of absolutely nothing. Sometimes I feel like I am in a Petri dish….so tiny next to the sea. The waves crash down below and the shore seems a stones throw away, but we are hidden deep in the mountain on a bed of terraces underneath the olive trees. Mid-day, we are napping in a hammock or hiking to one of the five towns of Cinque Terre. Afternoons we spend on the land taking breaks to laugh and talk about what our farm will be like. Its just us…no other Wwoofers…and AnaGrazia leaves us on our own. When the sun starts to set over the mountain, we set the table where the view is just perfect and eat our dinner. Tonight, a bed of asparagus with two eggs over easy on top. Salt, pepper. Some bread and mascarpone. It is delicious and simple. Rick and I volunteer for dishes and sneak some cookies…by the time we are finished, the moon and the stars are bright enough to light up the mountain…we are the only living souls in the darkness and we are completely surrounded by fireflies. They go off like fireworks all over the land. The army of frogs sing for hours as soon as the last ray of sun disappears behind the mountain. There are a few distant sailboats…the waves are calming down.

Hiked to Levanto, slept in the park after gelati. Schools out…the sound of kids on bikes, running to the playground, watching them learn how to do cartweels. Screaming at each other in their little Italian dialect. Parents and grandparents sitting on park benches…they always are frantically talking with their hands and seem so upset about something and then, out of no where in the conversation, with no change in intonation or any exclamation, they break out in laughter. Every story is a tragic comedy….and every instant in their lives is extreme grief and guilt mixed with fall to the floor contagious laughter.

Clouds rolled in, and I could feel the shade on my face and the cold breeze from the ocean…but no rain.

The footpaths in Cinque Terra are very well-maintained and we can hike everywhere. Days are busy…but there is so much time to think, relax, write, read….and we are taking it all in. We feel home tugging at us sometimes. Drinks with friends, everyday conversation with family that you don’t have to work at…laughing so hard your stomach hurts and your eyes water…

L'Apergina-The Queen Bee

Been reading like crazy. Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde (which I never read in school) and enjoyed on the train ride. With all the different people coming on and off the train I could accuse each of dual personality syndrome and wonder what each side was like. We hopped the train and lucked out the first time with ticket check. The second time not so lucky…but we dodged the fine…the guy that checks tickets seemed angry at first, but after we told him we were volunteering in Abruzzo (near the earthquake) he threw us a smile and helped us out. The Yacoubian Building is another good book I read at the farm. Sebastiano recommended it. The book focuses on life in an apartment complex in Egypt. It’s wonderful…sharing books. I had two from the last farm to give to Sebastiano and he recommended two from his library that I could take for trade.

As we head toward the Adriatic, there are more and more castles (there are castles everywhere) but these seem to be growing, like grass, out of the rocks. We arrive at the station, hop a bus and Marino and Elide pick us up right on time at Torre Dei Passeri. No English. We show off some of the Italian skills (not much) we learned as we head to our new home far away from the city lights. No bees now because of the weather…shit. The next morning, the sun lights up the farm…Abruzzo is magnificent. We sit on top of the valley in the Gran Sasso (Big Stone) Mountains. We eat homemade honey and jams on handmade bread…with our coffee….for breakfast and spend some time with Marino learning about the farm. We are taking notes…we want to bring all of this home. Some raking needs to be done so, while we tour around,, we clean up some wet leaves and pile them up for the compost. Marino speaks slowly and stops to talk. Italians typically do everything at once….but talking…they stop. They can’t walk and talk at the same time. It’s strange. And for this reason, we walk around for hours with Marino and learn everythin’ they is to know about Abruzzo and L’Apergina….and Italian.

For dinner, Elide arrives home and Marino fires up the grill. He cooks his homemade sausage outside while we listen to Edith Piaf and watch the clouds dance over the mountains.

We noticed…like we sometimes do while camping, that you quickly realize the clock and the calendar of nature. Where the moon is, when the sun rises…without a watch and TV, you pick up on everything that’s happening around you. The spider outside our room just finished his web and some wild bees finally broke into the side of the kitchen to build a home. There is a fox we have been hunting that arrives at the same time every nite to attack our neatly stacked compost. Marino prepares his gun and we sit in rocking chairs under a moon that lights up the house like the sun. Unfortunately, it doesn’t shine on the compost and we’ve yet to shoot the fox.

We've since left L'Apergina but there is more to tell...we were not allowed to use the dial up internet...our room necame infested with ants and the farmer did not want to heat our room any longer because of the expense. We fled. More to come...we are currently living with the most amazing family in Tuscany. They are Scottish natives that moved to Sasetta 28 years ago to renovate an old stable that they now call home. God is good...life is grand...Tuscany is heaven.

Mozzarella in the Blue Grotto

On our last Sunday in Sapri we decided to split the day up…the beach in the morning and the mountain in the afternoon. A busy day….the hike to the beach started with a walk down to the water where we met Sebastiano and Baikal (the dog). Sebastiano loves his dog more than his mother and talks to him like a child…but other wise he is such a man…with his raspy cigarette voice and colorful jumpers. When he goes driving, he wears a brilliant straw cap, with a short brim and a solid color border at the base. But only on the weekends. His 1940’s enormous yellow rain slicker is always prepared for rainy days…he looks a the boat captain…minus the beard and the cigar.

We stopped at a market for some bread, cheese and tomatoes and started our ‘walk’ to the beach. This walk, turned into a treacherous, cliff-jumping, tree-swinging, holding hands with death hike. The cliffs of the mountain have clearly marked trails, but the property that Sebastiano owns, the area where we need to be, is not only filled with brush, but it has fallen victim to countless landslides that start at the very top of the mountain. When we look up from a huge boulder, we can see the enormous chunk of mountain missing from the land and the line of trees that it took down with it. The path is covered in rosemary and wild orchids and with each deep breath of salty air, the day changes. It’s fresh soil and sunshine when we approach a lookout point and then inside the groves of the cliff under the thick trees, it’s damp with the smell of limestone and charcoal trees that they harvest. It’s cold enough to see your breathe, and followed brief openings of blinding sunshine that bring on the sweat.



We reach an area of ruins deep in the woods where Sebastiano would like to restore the olive mill that was once supplying the region with its oil. We each find a shady spot and have some water before we descend the mountain to enjoy lunch. At this point, we are all exhausted from working all week on the farm and walking all morning to Sapri…but the day has yet to begin. Turns out, the mountain is completely vertical. We must swing, like monkeys, from tree to tree in order to get down. If you miss a limb, you slide on your heine (sp?) until you reach a strong enough root of rosemary to save you…but don’t grab the prickers and bramble! It seemed crazy but there was absolutely no apprehension, no one even looked at each other, we just wiped the sweat off our foreheads and headed for the waves we could hear crashing below…last one to the bottom gets less mozzarella with their tomatoes. We threw ourselves down the side of the cliff and as the smell of salt grew stronger, the faster we all went. The trees finally disappeared and we stumbled out onto thousands of huge rocks along the coast of the Meditteranean. Somehow, I managed to draw the most blood on the way down but a quick bath in the salty sea cleared it right up. We laid out the food and picked at it together watching the waves come in closer and closer on the burnt orange rocks where we sat. A few came to close and we would scream like babies at the cold. We basked in the sun … laid out on the rocks licking our salty lips over and over again. Laying with my eyes closed, I can hear some chit chat every so often, some laughter, the crashing waves on the hollow grottos…everything combined sounds like an earthquake…sometimes Baical approaches and pants heavily near my face…not sure if he’s drooling on me or the waves are sprinkling the shoreline. There is no sand. At first, the rocks are tough, uncomfortable and nearly impossible to walk on…but some sense of strength…dirty, farmer strength…helps me look past all that and I’m a little kid again. Covered in dirt, blood…and salty water. Ricks in his white undies…drenched…and we sit and wait for the biggest wave to wash us off.



Climbing the mountain is just as tough..keeping your feet and pulling yourself up the trees…but we make it back and Sevarrio meets us at the top to pick us up (on his day off). We drive off and he blasts (all treble) his Italian accordian music..thank God he knows all the lyrics. When we pass tourists starting the hike, he makes it louder and yells at them in Italian…saluting them…smiling….laughing. The windows are wide open and there are five of us in his 3 seater Panda. He wants, so badly, for us to go to the bar….he asks four or five times…but we tell him tomorrow will be better…we must climb the mountain.

And we do. Exhausted, we get back to the farm, change our socks and head to the mountain. It is straight up…the tallest mountain in the region…we grab sticks in case we meet any sheep dogs and begin. It’s a slow start…I repeatedly trip on my feet because I can’t pick them up over the rubble. We get to a portion of stairs built into the cliff…I’m convinced Shelob is at the top…“Up up, up the stairs” we go. There are goats everywhere, staring down at us, wondering why the hell we decided to meet them. They run away and their loud bells clank back and forth. They baaaaaaaa….and it is so quiet, you can even hear them chew. The temperature drops and the sun starts to set. I seriously contemplate giving up halfway up the mountain. “This view is perfect, I’ll wait here…really, this is great. You go ahead to the top’’ The support group kicks in and assures me the hike through the rock garden ahead is worth it….and, of course, it is. You can see the entire bottom of the boot of Italy. The WHOLE thing. From the shin to the tip of the toe and all the water that surrounds it. We could see it on the beach, but this….this spot…you can see it all. It’s freezing at the top and my knees start to give, but none of that matters. We did it!

We get home and Pasta Fagioli with oversized Peroni’s and vino await. The perfect day…again.



Sevarrio invited us to his house for dinner and music. He played the accordian all nite and we danced around his tiny house together. He had a bagpipe hung on the wall and the skin was shaped exactly like a goat…a blue goat. They use the entire body as the bag, the pipes come out where the head would be. He takes if off the wall, tunes each of the pipes…and we all stare with our mouths open at the sound of the bag pipes and the thunder and lightning outside. I have never….ever…in my life…seen anyone play an instrument and sing with such passion. It was almost as if we shouldn’t have been watching…like he was making love…it was a private moment…but when he had his eyes closed we were staring and smiling…and when he sang….we danced We danced and clapped…and sang our own words. Baical came too…but he passed out under the table after dinner, I guess he’s all too familiar with Sevarrio’s music.

Che Cazzo State?

We were going to try and sleep in a bit this morning...Sebastiano had an early appointment to get surgery on his carpal tunnel and wouldn't be back until noon. Instead...we were startled into sunshine by the techno shepherd.

When you imagine a shepherd, you probably picture a man with tough skin, one whos face you can barely make out because his hood comes over it...it is a wooly, pilled gray cloak and, along with his woven mocassins, it is coverd in dry dirt and grass stains. His shepherd hook is stood planted by his side pointing straight to the sky.

The shepherd at Policastro is a bit different. He is Giovanni, Sevvario's son and he shows up at 9am every morning in his tiny red fiat. You can hear the bass from his Italian techno music bumping from about 2 miles away and as he gets closer...we are usually standing at the door getting ready to walk to the farm and as he races by you can catch a glimpse of his angry, early morning, teenage face. My guess, he didn't want to leave the club to shovel shit and round up sheep. Rather than the traditional goat garb...Giovanni sports the latest deisel shoes (which makes it difficult for him to jump like a fairy between shit piles as to save them from getting messy), tight (nut-hugging), dark Italian denim and, I'm taking a wild guess at the brand here, but a torn up, vintage Deisel top. To top it all off...his silver mirrored sunglasses. He exits the car in slow motion, as if he is ready to take the runway in a walk off, but when the scene finally speeds up, he heads directly into the shit covered stalls where his sheep await. Techno Shepherd.

The girls show up a little while after...they are the farmers daughters Laura and Luanna along with there mother Maria and grandmother Angela. They holler across the field to us ''Che Cazzo State?'' How the Fuck Are You? (Literally, How the penis are you?) We all reply in unison ''Cazzo bene'' Fuckin' good. And they always laugh so loudly it echoes off the farmhouse and we all stop our work and smile and wave to them. They head to the house and start feeding the animals and preparing our lunch.

Shine on you Crazy Diamond

I've got it! I know why I love to travel all the time. All we do is tell stories of life back home...of what we have and what we miss. It's building appreciation and patience. Appreciation of the life you have, no matter how capitalist...simple...typical...it's always better than what everyone else around you has. The patience that you never thought you had for what other people believe and how it changes your pattern of thought...patience to grow and change, not just the crops, but my entire language. Patience to appreciate everything I truly believe in and live for.

You think...ahhhh, a farm in southern Italy...an inheritance of millions surrounded by thousands of old books...a dog who thinks the world of you as your sole companion...and it pales in comparison to everything you ever had AT HOME. It all seems magnificent at first...but they don't have my stories...and I suppose everyone can say the same. Maybe it's a bit ignorant...selfish, but I'm not bothered.

Too much wine at dinner and an empty spot at the computer...=)

Dentist in Sapri

After riding around in trailers all day gathering stones and pulling bramble, Sebastiano took me into Sapri to get my tooth checked out by a dentist. Part of my cap fell off...gross. I mentioned it at dinner and everyone said ''you have real teeth?!?!'' Each person then pulled back their cheeks to show off all of their capped and/or fake teeth while Rick and I sat like the two kids at school without a Jeep/Ferrari Powerwheel.

The dentist was like any other routine visit except...I didn't pay a dime. I walked in, sat patiently in the waiting room...Dentist Teresa came out and welcomed me into room number one...she checked my out, filed the cap down, checked for infection and told me not to worry. No insurance...no money exchange...just some free peace of mind. Sebastiano stopped a pasticerria on the way back to celebrate...and to meet with the owner (the head of 'Slow Foods' for the region) about the farm becoming chief supplier of ricotta for his bakery. We sat and talked about some of his new ideas that he has yet to trademark...if my italian is correct, he is attempting a lavender flavored ice cream. I smiled and said ''wow, genius! That will taste amazing'' but I'll stick with nocciola.

Yesterday was our day off and we all walked to the beach together and picked up some things at the supermarket to have a picnic on the rocks by the sea. We are positioned at the bottom of the boot...right where the front of the ankle would meet the foot. So, when you look out at the sea, you can see the whole front tip of the boot curling up. It almost defines Italy. Like the witch in the Wizard of Oz, when her toes curl up...that's what you are looking at...and on a clear day, you can see it kicking Sicily like a soccer ball. It's brilliant. Small waves come in and, although its overcast with a few showers now and again, we sit on the rocks and enjoy the view. We talked briefly about ''My Super Sweet 16'' that stupid show on MTV about lavish birthday parties that the rich and famous throw their children. ''No white tiger mom...this is bullshit!'' We really had a good laugh about it and we all agreed that we were spoiled enough NOT having a life like that...Thank God my parents never bought me a Powerwheel (I broke the girls around the corner instead) and thank God my parents dragged me to church, fed me fried bologna and tucked me in every night. Whenever I'm away, I talk about my family and friends more and more to define myself...and I must say...Rick and I are pretty friggin' cool.

Tonight, over our seafood pasta dinner, we talked about the extinction of honey bees and Einsteins theory that the world will end with the absence of bees...I talked about my family as usual...recipes...music (Sebastiano loves southern rock and blasts the Allman Brothers while he cooks).

Second Farm Wwoofing in Italy

Check out our new video of the Second Farm where we are wwoofing. We will be here for one more week, and then we head to the Abruzzo region for another Wwoof adventure.

Policastro on the Amalfi Coast

Five hours on the train to Policastro from Riccia...we played gin rummy (I'm kickin' Rick's ass...very rare occasion, but I'm enjoying it!). The landscape goes from rain, forest, grassy hills and snow capped mountains...to palm trees, small beaches, sandy hills and sparce, stone mountains. The sun seems brighter and the trains local. Like when I started using the red line on the west side in Manhattan as opposed to the green line...but...even more urine and gum on the seats.

We're learning that Wwoofing is difficult to describe because the experience is just so different every time. We are working with a married couple of Wwoofers now who came from a farm that had one teepee to share with the farmer, his wife and their two kids. They had a dry bathroom...a hole in the ground about 50 meters from the teepee that they used until it was completely filled. They said they enjoyed having a poo and watching the stars. The boy of 2 was scared to walk there alone so he would poo in a pot in the kitchen with them and they would later dump it out. A bit more extreme than where we are now. A 16th century mansion on the Amalfi Coast.

We drove up to the farm in Sebastiano's two seater Fiat. I was in the trunk with our packs...alone, bouncing around, staring at the sea moving away from us. I felt like a migrant worker...a slab of meat...a couple extra hands being transported to the farm.

The most difficult part about Wwoofing is arriving, meeting your co-workers over dinner and then being expected to fall asleep not knowing what tomorrow will bring. Dinner our first night, Sebastiano found wild leeks growing on his property and cooked them up in an omellete. It was his first time ever eating them (ours too) so we, in Italy, you are allowed to make one BIG wish the first time you try something new. We paused for a good 5 minutes for everyone to gather their wish....then we ate the shit out of that omellette and agreed to pick more leek in the morning. My wish...I can't tell you!

The characters that you meet are so much fun. Kyle, from Chicago, Sebille, from France...they met in Istanbul as teachers and were married 5 years ago. For Easter, Kyle helped slaughter a baby goat with Salvario (the native farmer to the propery...Sebastiano is more of the money and brains...but a good farmer and amazing chef too). He explained how it was quick and effiicient, the whole process. They attach an enormous air compressor to the goat to separate the skin from the muscle....when they get to the horns, there's a brief struggle to and when it finally gives, the face of the goat is removed like a mask. A gift for Easter. Kyle said he was shocked at how clean the insides were and how fast it all happened. He said is was humbling...that he was excited to enjoy the goat with them at dinner because they had worked so hard at preparing it for the holiday. Mark, who just flew in from Guam after studying there. He fled his last farm at 4am because they were so terrible. Baical to dog...you know...Baical...like the lake in Siberia...The biggest lake in the world that hold 1/4 of the earths natural water. A mile deep...and a very cool dog.

The family that lives on the farm and makes cheese (which we got to do as well!!) does not speak Italian, but a dialect...a language of itself. We sit in on the lessons that Kyle is giving them after lunch to learn English...it helps with our Italian. I'm thinking of starting to read some books in Italian. The cheese it made from a mix of goat and sheeps milk and a splash of retin (the insides of a goats stomach...basically to make the milk curdle). The ricotta is made from all the leftover milky water goodness after the cheese is formed.

Simple things, things that we plan on bringing home and practicing, are becoming less shocking and more a part of our everyday lifestyles. We haven't dried our clothes in a drier since we arrived in Europe. We line dry...always. It just makes more sense. If it's raining...we don't wash our clothes that day. Simple. We rinse our glasses without soap. A glass becomes our own and we watch out for it...if it gets filthy we use a bit of soap, but for the most part...nothing...no soap, just a nice rinse. We seperate everything after meals. Plastics, compost, pig food, tin, glass...and the rest is typically burned in the fire where we cook. We shut off the water while we lather in the shower, we pee outside...everywhere....nothing is thrown away.

We are also learning that in every instance, it is important evaluate your situation...always work smarter and with the right tools rather than work harder. After the first week, we picked up on this...we were exhausted and almost unable to work. Take it easy. Enjoy your work...and enjoy your wine.

Some other small things we're picked up...Fig trees rock. They make excellent jam and, althought they smell amazing, the bark from the tree does not create a lot of heat...it's more for potpourri. We harvest and planted coriander, parsley, mustard seed, garlic, wild asparagus, calendula, borage, sattiva and hops. Wild aspargus likes to grow under the olive trees....so do snakes... We work so hard together and we relax together too...people are the spice of life...but my favorite spices are harvested back home. Before I fall asleep every nite, I miss everyone back home...but I have to stop myself so I can get enough sleep for work in the morning.

Mia Famiglia in Riccia

We made it to our next farm, but before any of that, I had some journal entries I wanted to share..most of which are jotted thoughts and ideas that came up while spending time with the cousins....some of which are also not very well thought out...but Riccia was more like a vacation point in the trip so I had time to write for the sake of writing. Riccia houses my colorful, generous...PATIENT family of cousins, a populous of 3k and 7 Catholic churches all within 4 blocks of each other. Each of my family members has a defined characteristic just like every other family. The comedian, the cook, the cop, the nerd, the fashionista, the shy, the addicted, the list goes on and on.

ie: Woke up this morning at 7am in Riccia to the church bells ringing...again. At first, I would wake up and think...how beautiful, the singing of the bells...this is great, I will be able to tell what time it is without opening my eyes. Ding...Dong....Ding...Dong (a brief unidentified melody) Ding....Dong....Here it comes....Ding....Ding...Ding...Ding...Ding...Ding...It must be 6am...No wait....Ding Dong Ding Dong (repeat for one solid hour...straight). No exaggeration. Continuous church bells...STOP! OK, that is selfish, I should be basking in the glory that is ''Riccia in the Morning'' but I am tired. This happened again on Easter morning...around 9am and I didn't mind so much. I laid there, staring at the ceiling listening to streets start to fill. It is directly across the street so you can hear the echos of a mass, that is sung in its entirety by the priest, broadcast through the entire town. It is the most soothing, spine tingling sensation in the world. Like closing your eyes on the beach...like the first few seconds after putting on earmuffs...like a kiss on the forehead. It's perfect. After realizing my face is completely emotionless...I grin from ear to ear. On the Friday before, the procession in town featured a Christ statue laid on a bed of roses followed my the statue of Mary in mourning. The entire town of Riccia is dressed in black and follows behind...a band plays the same somber tune over and over again...I can still hum it now. The people are crying, the older women are sobbing and the children are asleep in their carriages.

Marieucch (my Great-Grandmother Carmela's brothers' daughter) and her husband Giovanni take us to the small city of Campobasso to show us their house and show us some more churches. Upon arrival, immediately to the bar. ''Gelati or caffe?'' Like you even have to ask. Rick and I rushed over to the ice cream counter and chose our top 3 flavors which were then...not scooped...but delicately pasted atop one another on sugary cone. Did you ever see someone apply plaster? When my father has his tools all set up...the way he scoops it and manipulates the plaster...thats how the creamy ice cream treats are served in Italy...The cousins shoot their coffee and we are out into the streets again, still quiet from siesta so no one can see Rick and I dripping ice cream all over ourselves like 12 yr olds. We pass a small street sale in the town center and off to the side there are some games for the kids. The first game I spot is the scale...ya know the weight scale....and I think...come on. Really? They have them all over...on the boardwalk, at movie theatres...who the hell wants to cough up a dollar to have a colorful machine tell them they're a fat ass? That's not a game...not one bit. The whole crowd doesn't gather around to see how much you weigh...they wanna see you try and grab a stuffed animal with an oversized, mehanical claw! I'll save my dollar for a chance bop some groundhogs on the head and weigh myself in the privacy of my own bathroom so I can cry over the sink.

The first couple days are tough because of the dialect in Riccia, they simply cut words in half...it's really another language entirely. Speaking to Aida one morning was like Win, Lose, or Draw.
Aida: ''Fuore, cane y gatto''
Me: ''Oh, yeah...lots of cats and dogs outside''
Aida: ''No, No....molto cane y gatto''
Me: ''Si, Si. MOLTO cane y gatto. Crazy. Lots of cats and dogs out there.'' (Meanwhile...there are no cats and dogs in the streets in Riccia)
Aida: (smiles and laughs) ''Teresa...Allora. Fuore, in il ciello...pioggia...cane y gatto.''
Me: (blushing and laughing) ''Ahhh...'It's raining cats and dogs!' I didn't know it did that in Italy.''

By the end of the week, I can finally speak some serious Italian...I'm laughing at jokes and getting stamps at the post office. Rick is famous for his beautiful eyes, tall stature, Italian accent and bottomless stomach. Riccia is like home. I can see my American cousins faces and mannerisms in each of the characters in Italy...especially mom. We would hang out at the bar, play cards, roam around small alley ways...eat. Eat a lot. Leaving is difficult...we cry...agree to be penpals so we can learn each language...and it's on the train. The 5-hour train ride (no direct route to Salerno) to the next farm in Policastro...and what a farm it is....

Atop La Piazza De Spagna and more....

Made it back to Rome. The anticipation to get to the countryside and start working is unbearable. We can hardly speak at dinner. There are moments when I think about what is going on back home & then I realize that nothing has changed…things are spinning on without us. I do miss all of our characters…but I know that what we’ll bring back to them is far more important than any feeling of lonliness. We watched some RAI news at the Hotel Principessa Tea (they have news stations from around the world and the one that represents the US….FOX. No wonder everyone thinks we’re idiots) and they featured a news story on Latvia. Not only is Latvia an impoverished eastern European nation, but they are setting some pretty infamous records as of late. Turns out, they are quite a few strides ahead of the entire world in the financial meltdown…they will soon be the first country to go completely bankrupt. I have never even seen a picture of Latvia, so watching the live footage of their city streets, the polluted city center, the gray skies and the impoverished, cigarette smoking race of Latvians…my first impression of the area was that it has always been in bad shape. Seeing it also reminded me of what little importance American media puts on eastern Europe…and pretty much every country that does not contribute our economy.
The country is about to be entirely bankrupt. So what matters after that…after the country is completely spent? With no money, I assume complete devastation. Do people riot? Do they fight the police? Do police even go to work anymore? Does the population cease to exist? Do we erase Latvia on the new world maps? Do they migrate and lose their entire race and culture? Or…do they simply go on living like they always have? Do they find a plot of land to grow food and continue to provide for their families? Do they look to trade and barter what they have left? Do they change their values & seek the finer things in life that never required a lavish back account? Clearly they must. When money didn’t exist, is this not how life was? Patient, artistic, filled with faith that God put us here to create love, peace & life.
It’s so easy to turn to religion in Rome. Buildings that took over 90 years to complete all in the name of Christ, churches blanketed in gold and marble…but maybe that’s why money started to eat away at everyone…money for salvation and sacrifice…woah. I imagine I’ll return to this faith on the farm…praying for rain so we can eat, surviving only to provide food & wine to share, learning to simply live and to live simply.
…There is a girl on the steps below crying. She took a call on her phone & excused herself. A Parisian girl & her two friends that I saw earlier today near our hotel (Rome is rather small and happens to create lots of familiar faces) and our eyes connected like we’d met before. I see her now, again, from a distance & her friends are consoling her. Amid all the map reading, kids counting steps, the “say cheese‘s”, maybe someone passed away back home…maybe, while she was exploring outside of France, the world went on without her. Someone left, her lover found someone else, an unfortunate prognosis…what would a French, 20-something year old be crying about?
A father photographs his family, a couple finds each other from across the square and meets to kiss in front of the fountain, an Indian man harasses a girl to buy roses, a dozen German boys slurp up triple layer ice cream cones...the steps that link the piazza to the church are bustling and it never stops…I love it…and I can’t wait to get away from it.
We arrived in Napoli Centrale by train and went directly to the Star Hotel Terminus as instructed. 3:45 was the meeting time. At 3:52 Rosanna and Jean Franco picked us up at Star Hotel and greeted us with kisses and hugs. We headed into the crowded city streets of Napoli. They were ecstatic to see us…speaking in Italian with some English words here and there, they told us we would take a quick tour of the city and we would head to Rosanna and Salvatorre’s house for the night….it was too late to head to the farm. She let us know how much she loved America and Americans…that there were 2 Wwoofers on the farm that we would meet tomorrow from PA…a couple from Japan and one from Australia. We would get to choose what we like to do for work and we would also choose what we like to do after work. Excuse the literal translation…but this is what I picked up from her Italian.
We could ride horses, a black and a brown one that they own from Spain. Practice archery, ride quads, learn to cook from Salvatore, work with flowers, plants, tend to the animals…whatever we would like. “Seems to be more like vacation“ I tried to tell her. Then, there it was “CRUNCH!“ In a traffic rush, a big (not half the size of trucks at home) cement truck hit’s bumper of our car. “MaFungulo!“ Jean Franco was pretty pissed and I was pretty nervous. I immediately assumed the worst…do they have fist fights when they get into accidents here? Is this a setup for us to get kidnapped? Are there boxing gloves in the glove compartment? Will there be a high speed pursuit if we drive away? Turns out, it’s pretty similar to accidents back home. Cement truck driver guy was pretty impatient and wanted to get the hell outta there before the cops showed up…but Rosanna…instead of calling the cops, called her lawyer Bruno….Bruno shows up on his vespa, diffuses the situation, assures everyone everything is cool and we head off. We follow Bruno to his office on a tiny side street of Naples. Italian lawyer number two comes out…takes a couple photos of the dented up fender…they talk, they laugh, smoke a couple cigarettes…forget about the car…bullshit some more, sign some papers and we hop back in and head home. First impression of Naples, it‘s a metropolis….a filthy, ancient metropolis…Then we arrived at their palace. Yeah, that’s right. They live in a palace from the 1700’s… they own all four floors in the heart of Naples. It is gorgeous. Antique…like a museum. Dual doors with huge knockers open to a garage like entrance with a lift that fits one, maybe two people comfortably. It’s all grey with that yellowish flourescent lighting…the kind of light that is always buzzing and flickers a bit before it turns on. “Molto vecchio” Very, very old. We take separate rides up to the fourth floor…A long corridor into the sitting room with two pianos, antiques from Zimbabwe, old photos of family, art and plants everywhere. In the kitchen, she prepares 3 small glasses of cherries…cherries pickled in vodka and cinnamon. Hard to swallow, but I pretended it was delicious and ate all of them and shortly after found myself drunk. Rosanna put out some biscotti and Perugina chocolates and poured Jean, Rick and myself some wine (she just met Jean today…at the barber…he wants to be a fashion designer and she likes fashion so she brought him with us…she seems to know and befriend everyone) and we headed out to the terrace. Brava! The city of Napoli…second impression….friggin awesome. Less commotion, no death defying stunt car driving, nearly killing pedestrians, taking out vespas and side swiping cars…just a colorful view of the crowded buildings…eight million windows. In the distance, you can see the business district which looks like a mini-Chicago. Then, to the rooftop garden. Rosanna and Salvatore own the highest palace in Napoli. It sits on top of the city. From here you can see Mt. Vesuvius, the Isle of Capri, Sorrento, and everything in between. It is breathtaking. Foreign police sirens in the street, the smell of cigarettes, the sun setting on another perfect day in Italia.
We haven’t even arrived on our first farm and I know why this is a secret….I plan to write about it in my prologue…why there are no books written abut Wwoofing….I don’t think anyone wants to spoil this. I think it’s supposed to be a secret…and, as much as I might regret spilling the beans, I would feel guilty if I didn’t share this with everyone…if I didn’t convince at least 100 people to do this. To leave, to jump into a strangers car and go and work on their farm for a week, a month, a year. This is beyond anything I could have ever imagined. This country, these people…the idea of all of this. Tonight, Salvatore is cooking us dinner. Tomorrow we will take out the horses in the morning and make marmalade. The hospitality is outrageous….all I can imagine doing at this point is giving it back….going home and taking the Rosanna and Salvatore side…inviting some Perusian Wwoofers into my home and cooking them grilled cheese and drinking Budweiser. Showing them how to play horseshoes and make honey…and giving them a comfy place on the couchbed to rest so we can make apple sauce and carve pumpkins the next day. It’s so damn simple…so full of life and ingenuity. Absolute reciprocity…no more, no less. I teach you the life I live and you help me live it….we’ll enjoy the fruits of our labor together.

4.5.09

I can’t believe I’ve waited this long to write but I have just been so busy and so very tired each night. I also have been rather selfish after a long days work and have been enjoying many books. Switch Bitch by Roald Dahl is a collection of short stories previously published in Playboy magazine. A fun read….but beyond that, I want to tell you everything…everything you can and cannot imagine about this place. Although, I was told that writers do not tell their story, but rather, show their story. I will try my best and, although I may miss chunks of the experience, it is the best I can do with only an hour before dinner.
We left Salvatore’s for the farm the following morning. We drove out of Naples and he told us about his life, where he grew up, his family. His father worked for Alfa Romeo and passed away this past June. He said, if we would not mind, he would like to stop at the church in his mothers town for the remass (? Not sure if that is the correct name…The Catholic ceremony held every 30 days after ones death to celebrate their life). A small village on the way to Bosco Morrone (the farm), it was 10:00 and people were just getting started with mass and then off to work until 1:00. Whenever we arrive, people know we are there…their seems to be a stir in the town, people opening windows and slowing their cars to catch a glimpse of the outsiders. The church looked like any other small square building but had a very small cross on top. Inside, a pastel pink church with cracked walls and a Padre Pio statue. Toward the end, we waited outside for Salvatore so he could be alone with his mother. When they finally came outside, his mother grabbed my arm and asked me to walk her back to her apartment. Dressed in black with swollen feet, she was a storybook cutout of an old Italian widow. She kissed us both and treated us like old friends. “Andiamo, mia casa por un caffe” Salvatore rolled his eyes and insisted we go with her…so….off we went and all the while she was squeezing my hand and my arm so tight…I felt like she really needed me. Hoofs up four flights of stairs, God Bless her and welcomes us into her home. Pictures are strewn about, collage style….everywhere…and she shows us ALL of them, kissing every one of her husband and pointing to heaven…smiling and laughing at her lot of nieces and nephews, bubbling with pride and blushing at pictures of her at her wedding. Already sparking up a conversation with the neighbors, Salvatore is waiting outside. Mom decides she wants to cook for us tonight at the farm…so we shoot some espresso, she packs a bag of her meds and we latch arms again for the descent. We all pack in the car and head to the farm. But wait, another stop for smokes for Andrea….ok, almost there. We arrive….stumbling down a small country road surrounded by vineyards and mountains….“Prego” Welcome to Bosco Morrone. Salvatore shouts to Andrea in the vineyard and throws his cigarettes over the fence. Andrea is an Albanian immigrant on the farm who works and lives at Bosco Morrone. He loves wine, wrestlemania and smoking really fat brown cigarettes. Andrea has one massive black eyebrow, a faded to white sailors cap, old man sweaters, rotten teeth, a drinking problem and a difficult Italian/Albanian accent. Andrea, like the rest of the characters we work with, have become our comrades…we work hard together, and when we sit to eat and drink wine on our breaks…we go all out. Language barriers don’t mean shit. We laugh through them and drink more wine. Each of us has our own task during the day, sometimes we work together, but we are always anxious to retire together and make fun of each other.
Rosa and Renatta are two Wwoofers from Pittsburgh that have been at the farm for 3 weeks. They show us to our room and give us the grand tour. Answer questions about the work load and what’s in store. It’s pretty laid back…if you want to do something, do it. If you think a cactus should be planted next to the chicken coop….plant it. If you have a project that needs tending you can get up and get started…or sleep til’ 10am, have breakfast and then get moving. Stetska, a Bulgarian woman works in the kitchen. The type of woman who is always working so hard that she doesn’t smile….she seems a bit rough round the edges, but once we threw some American charm at her she showed us her gold trimmed front teeth. She’s a sweetheart, really. Her husband Georgio….well, lets be honest…he probably beats her…but they’re a great couple and they hate each other equally. Georgio always seems uptight…but I think he just has a very bad nicotine addiction. Best explanation for his personality…when all of us were watching Rocky the other night, he laughed the entire time. I mean, Sly is a comical guy, but Rocky isn’t all laughs…right? Girogio is very….Eastern European. That is ignorant to say isn’t it…but I’ll say it anyway for lack of a better description. He, too, is a big fan of the WWF.
Brings me to Kumar. A short, tri-lingual Indian man who has an expired Visa and a shitty salary. He runs the show…feeds all the animals, fixes all that is broken, watches everyone’s back. When there is a drop of wine left, he looks to see if everyone has red lips before pouring himself a glass. He is the only man besides Rick, who does not assume all women are inadequate. That is a problem for me here. I have to force Salvatore to assign tasks for me outside of the kitchen…or make my own projects by following the boys around. I belong over the stove or in the sink pulling food out of the drain and washing dishes. They sincerely feel that women can not and should not be working outside with them. There are times when I see Rick with four logs on his shoulders and I have one log in both arms and I understand they have a very valid point…but I just don’t want to sit inside all day. That’s a whole different story, a whole different (and boring) 60’s phenom book about burning bras that I don’t care to write about, but it is certainly present in this country….or at least on this farm…the woman walks behind the man.
Very first day, we headed to the vineyard to remove all of the old logs holding up the vines. We will put 200 new ones in the ground and tie the vines to each one to hold it up. We pulled piles and piles and piles of weeds and prickers from the side of the vineyard and built a retaining wall to hold up the loose dirt. Salvatore wants to make it presentable for visitors to the farm. Every Sunday, there are about 65 guests that we cook for, serve and entertain. The kids ride the horses and play soccer in the fields, we grill, serve 7 plates (antipasti, pasta, meat, pasta, salad, soup, sweets)…it’s an agriturist restaurant away from the city of Naples…although, Salvatore does not use all organic ingredients. We replanted a bunch of huge cacti and tended to a garden with a rake for about 3 hours. Another day we did demolition on an old horse stable, we set up a chain of people and took it down one stone at a time. Another day, we picked ticks out of Poofala (the dog), bundled bamboo, made flower arrangements for the tables, weed whacked the entire vineyard, rode bikes to town to look for a non-existent internet, cut rope for the vineyard, made little log fences to accent different parts of the vineyard and so much more. Sometimes I would sneak away and feed the horses apples and try and talk to them in Italian. We have a small cabin to ourselves (until the last day when Susanna from Austria came to the farm) with a stinky septic problem (our bathroom smells like Secaucus in mid-July) and about 7 minutes worth of hot water each day. It’s perfect.

4.7.09

Said our goodbyes and caught the 1:00 train to Campobasso where Tullio picked us up and we headed to Riccia. At the cousins…we feel like we are home again…they are honestly the most amazing people on earth. Nicolina welcomed us with pasta, pane, vino (our regiment for the past week) with rice balls, fried pork, broccoli…a black currant pie for dessert…homemade. God is good. Too tired to write any more.

Oh, Hello There

Yeah, so Theresa has been doing all the writing, so I figured that I would put in my view of our first two weeks. I have been really busy with drinking and hiking, and making videos that I have no time to write. And our laptop is ridiculously small, so typing on it is a pain. But it gets the job done.

We are leaving for Italy in about an hour. It is 3am UK time. We just moved the clocks ahead for their "Summer Hours". I thought we were the only country that did that, but sure enough the UK does it as well. Some things of mention about the UK that I will vainly describe. Everything is smaller here. And why wouldn't it be? The cars are smaller, the houses are smaller, and their clothes dryers are non existant. They save a lot of money by air drying their clothes. Everyone owns a terrier, and they absolutely love their sweets. Ridiculous. Their children are a lot worse off than ours. It just seems that every story in the paper is about how the country is losing their children to sex and drugs. 12 year olds are becoming dads. Weird.

All I can think about is our time on the farms. Then our trip will really kick in. We have been hanging out with friends for the past 2 weeks. So it seems like our usual everyday life, we just dont go to work. Which is probably the best part of this whole gig. And I dont have a cellphone. For the first few days, I would feel a slight vibration and reach for my phone in my pocket, and then realize that no one in the world can get a hold of me right now. It is pretty liberating.

I will post some more videos, and photos. We have a bunch. mostly of us hiking, and getting drunk. not really impressive stuff yet. But just you wait...

A Walk in The Woods

I spilled water on my journal. When I saw the ink starting to run down the page I was upset, but now that the pages have dried and yellowed a bit, the moleskin has a worn, rugged feel to it that I quite like. The pages seem to have been read a hundred times and they sound like crunchy autumn leaves...I love timing my steps right to get the chance to crunch those wrinkly leaves...similar to getting the three entwined potato chips in a bag. There is something about that crispy texture and the sound that it makes. I imagine it's the same sensation that an obsessive compulsive would feel at those integral moments that keep them from losing their sanity. The triumph...that sense of accomplishment from such a ridiculous, tiny habit that you get to line up and knock down....wait...am I obsessed with crunchiness? Nevermind...


My journal....I can't believe its been a week...a couple of days ago we went back up to our old campus. Everything seems even smaller than I remember. Kids waiting outside the college bar....drunk at noon with piles of books in hand, cherry lollipops, rolled cigarettes, foul mouths and rubbernecks. I want to punch each of them directly in the mouth. No, that's extreme. They just seem so naive. Then I remember, I was outside that same bar 4 years ago not giving a shit about what anyone thought. Booking flights to Amsterdam in the library with Rick, taking the train to Liverpool together for Thorntons ice cream, playing musical chairs in the common room...part of me still can not believe we met so far away from home and made it back together.

We went on a 12 mile hike yesterday to Parbold and got a chance to hang out with some sheep and a couple bulls. The public footpaths go right through their favorite places to graze. I feel bad walking in on them, but they really don't seem to mind, they continue with lunch...chewing like old men without there teeth in...mouth wide open, jaw moving sloppily from side to side. A momma sheep was eating with the kids...they couldn't have been more than a week old with knobby knees and wobbly steps. A big "19" spray painted in blue on both their backs. Farmer graffiti. Pheasants everywhere...they are pretty skiddish and take off like the road runner when you get within 20 feet. The Fairy Glen hike was about 3 miles through a creepy forest where everything, again, is covered in moss. The wind was so strong it was actually tough to walk at some spots but it wasn't loud enough to drowned the sound of the waterfalls and hundreds of Magpies. Magpies are cleptomaniacs. A small black and white bird that actually seeks out and thieves shiny objects. We weren't attacked but I could feel them sizin me up...

Tried thumbin' a ride home but just got some dodgy stares and old women shakin' their heads in shame at us. Just when we'd lost hope, a bus to Ormskirk pulled up...we were ready for the driver to be dressed in purple with a top hat and loads of candy...but he was just an old bus driver. Back at the flat, Marty greets us with "We were thinkin' a fish fry for dinner?" YES! Fish, Chips in vinegar, Mushy peas....beddy bye.

Off to Rome, gotta be at the airport for 4am. Looks like rain but we head to Naples mid-week and get on our first farm just outside Riccia. http://www.boscomerrone.it/index_EN.php

Good News about the Recession

We get this newsletter from Chris Gullibeau, a blogger who describes his writing here: "The Art of Nonconformity (AONC) project chronicles my writing on how to change the world by achieving significant, personal goals while helping others at the same time. In the battle against conventional beliefs, I focus on three areas: Life, Work, and Travel." His newsletters and posts so far have been very supportive of our decisions, this one we received today hit home and I wanted to share.

Rainy Days and Sunshine

Woke up this morning after watching films all night and NOT drinking to a rainy day in England. The rain is so intense. It hits in every direction like its painting murals on the window. Whatever direction, it drips down so slowly, then fast, then slow...you can feel the cold air come in the cracks and through the glass. It looks so sad, but when the smell hits you can't help being overcome with...well....happiness. Where have all my adjectives gone...I need to get outside!

That was about an hour ago and now the sun is shining the brightest its been since we arrived. It never rains all day...just once or twice followed by bursts of sunshine. As much as it messes with your emotions, it really is worth it. The whole earth is covered in moss. All the trees and rocks...even the cars. Surrounded by every shade of green...neon green, sea foam green, yellowish green, royal green, chartreuse, emerald, harlequin. It's endless and full of energy.

This week intermission before our first farm is getting us a bit antsy. I've been dreaming of rolling in the mud and tending the flock. Our first farm just emailed back this morning. Salvatore is picking us up in Naples outside of the Star Termini station and we are heading to his B&B/farm to help him bottle olive oil and cook for his guests in brick oven fireplaces. Salvatore has dogs, goats, horses, pigs, sheep and cows. Looks like there will be time for some gardening as well. When the week is up, we plan on hiking to the cousins house in Riccia through the Italian countryside. About 8 hours as the nazgul flies so about a 12 hour hike, we'll probably call them halfway and ask them to pick us up.

For today, the wait continues. The sun just invited us out so we are headed on a hike to a haunted mansion in Radcliffe. On a side note, I do wish we could bring Marty and Tash home with us...just so they could sit around all day and make us laugh. We have done nothing but laugh since we got here, my stomach actually hurts.