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.