Ah, life at Casa Giulia. It is really quite serene, with the wind blowing through the long grasses and chestnut trees, birds chirping, cows mooing in the distance. Until Dino starts screaming because someone has displeased him (how dare they), or someone starts yelling because that’s how Italians have a calm conversation.
My (current) life’s work
Yesterday Giulia, Giacomo, and Vanessa returned from camping. In the morning I sat down with Giulia to discuss my work. “So um, weeding these olive trees is really hard. I can only really work at it for an hour or so, and it takes me 15 minutes per tree,”I told Giulia. Her response was not to worry, and that she could always find me other work. I appreciated her laid back response. “I mean, I like this work, I’m just not sure I’m doing it right. Could Giacomo come take a look and give me some tips?”
Giulia then proceeded to tell me that after the last Workawayer bailed right in the beginning of the busy season, Giacomo lost faith in Workawayers. Plus, weeding the olive trees is really hard work and he didn’t think I could do it. But she would see if he had time in his busy day to come advise me.
Nothing lights a fire under my ass like someone telling me I can’t do something, especially a man who thinks I can’t do a “man’s” work, so I headed out to the field and started tearing shit up. I thought about how when I completed the project, I would thank him profusely for all his help and support. After 20 minutes or so, Giacomo came out. “Very good work,” he said. “No so much,” and showed me that the area I was hoeing around the trees was too big. I instantly liked him. Dammit. All I need is a little pat on the back and to be told to do less work, and you’re a winner in my eyes. Upon understanding that I only needed to hoe a small circle around each tree, and not 5 feet, the idea of actually finishing the 300 trees became much more ascertainable. Plus, I felt my muscles getting stronger and less fatigued, and the callouses in my hands building, so I left the field for the day feeling pretty good.
I don’t think it gets much more Italian than this
Further cementing his place as a good dude in my eyes, Giacomo made a delicious mushroom risotto for lunch, with mushrooms he had foraged when they were camping. We all sat down as a family to eat, complete with a bottle of cold white wine. I could get used to this lifestyle. It’s very romantic in the pastoral sense — olive groves and family lunches with no fewer than three generations, excellent, locally grown food and wine...
After lunch it was decided that we would go to the beach, so after cleaning up and an espresso, we headed out to the beach as a convoy of two cars. We drove along the coastline of the Ionian Sea, which is the arch of the heel of the to the toe of the boot of Italy. What an incredibly special place. The rocky coastline was dotted with little seaside towns, sandy beaches with cafes and beach chairs for rent, gelato shops, pine forests, Ancient Greek and Roman ruins… like, wow. The water was crystal clear and warm. I’m so grateful to be able to spend time here and get to know this part of the world.
In the evening, Giacomo asked me if I would want to harvest olives for olive oil with him. “No today. Post tomorrow.” I think he’s warming up to me, and I to him. We walked around the fields and he showed me which trees we will harvest and which types of olives they were. I had to have Giulia translate, but we set a plan to harvest olives the next day.
Things at Casa Giulia are pretty relaxed, but was going to get busy next week, so the next morning Giulia and I agreed that I would take the day off, to be ready for the work week ahead. The olives would have to wait. Laura was hitching a ride to Lecce with Teresa, and I asked to tag along. Before we left, I made breakfast for myself and then started to do all the dishes in the sink, because at my age you can’t just do your own dishes, especially as a guest in someone else’s home. While I was washing dishes, Giulia came into the kitchen. “Are you washing Giacomo’s dishes?” She asked me. “Huh? I’m just washing the dishes in the sink,” I replied, slightly bewildered. There are 7 people living here and I don’t keep tabs on who’s dishes they are. “You’re contributing to the partiarchy!” Giulia said in her emphatic Italian way. “He will never learn to do his dishes if you wash them for him!” It has since become a running joke to tease anyone who is doing the dishes that they are contributing to the patriarchy. Except if it was Giacomo, but I haven’t seen him do any dishes.
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