My time on the farm was an intense period of reflection. More of a lesson in spirituality than agriculture.
It's not at all what I expected, but I don't think life can prepare you for the phenomena and personalities I witnessed there.
I don't own words to describe what that place was like and the things that I saw. I haven't fully digested it all yet and not sure I ever will. Ask me for details the next time I see you in person. It's a story worth trying to get out of me...trust me.
I used to think I was open minded, but my time in the community and with my fellow WWOOFERs has put a giant crack in a wall I never realized existed in my head.
I'll take with me a belly full of pasta, a new appreciation for good olive oil, a bag full of tasty preserves (a goodbye gift from the farmers) and the ability for complete acceptance...even when it comes to the completely unexpected.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
On Your Mark, Get Set, Andiamo!
Woke up this morning at 5:50 to catch the first bus off the farm. It's about a 20 min walk to the bus stop.
Pouring rain. Pitch black dark...not too many lights on that early when you live on a farm in the hills of nowhere.
As I round a rocky bend up a hill and away from the farm, I realize I have exactly enough time to just barely make it. Speed walking. Flip flops. Giant backpack on a not so giant person.
Look down at my phone. I really don't have enough time to make it.
Running.
Chestnut shells all over the road. Ouch.
Rocky path turns to massive mudslide hill. We're talking thick, gooey mud.
I suddenly feel like I'm on the second leg of some kind of hippie farmer triathlon.
My flip flops aren't cooperating with the mud. My body feels like I'm running, but I'm barely moving. Just sticking and sliding in the mud. Panting in the rain.
Throw the flip flops off. Sprinting barefoot uphill in muddy, rocky darkness. Soggy, heavy bags. Gross.
I find relief for a moment as I splash through a big puddle and some of the sharp pebbles and twigs wash off the squishy coating of mud on the bottoms of my feet.
It starts to rain even harder.
I'm not even sure if I'm running in the right direction when I look up and see the bus stop just ahead....maybe 15 feet in front of me. I made it!
But then....oh...wait....there...goes...the bus.
Arms flailing in the middle of the narrow road, I scream "Stop! Para! Para! Per favore..."(I'm not even sure if that's proper Italian)
But it doesn't matter. It's too late.
I recently learned the Italian hand gesture for "fuck you!" so I put my fingers together in an angry mudra and shake it at the back of the bus as it speeds away.
And now for the last and most important leg of the hippie farmer triathlon: accepting defeat, doing it all over again, and heading back to the farm to wait for the next bus in two hours.
A true hippie yogi would have to see the light in this situation and know that this was somehow meant to be.
So I took a deep sigh, laughed and felt grateful that I could at least go back to wash the mud from my bare feet and enjoy a hot shower and leisurely breakfast with a nice cup of tea.
Plus, the second time around I got a ride to the bus stop.
Pouring rain. Pitch black dark...not too many lights on that early when you live on a farm in the hills of nowhere.
As I round a rocky bend up a hill and away from the farm, I realize I have exactly enough time to just barely make it. Speed walking. Flip flops. Giant backpack on a not so giant person.
Look down at my phone. I really don't have enough time to make it.
Running.
Chestnut shells all over the road. Ouch.
Rocky path turns to massive mudslide hill. We're talking thick, gooey mud.
I suddenly feel like I'm on the second leg of some kind of hippie farmer triathlon.
My flip flops aren't cooperating with the mud. My body feels like I'm running, but I'm barely moving. Just sticking and sliding in the mud. Panting in the rain.
Throw the flip flops off. Sprinting barefoot uphill in muddy, rocky darkness. Soggy, heavy bags. Gross.
I find relief for a moment as I splash through a big puddle and some of the sharp pebbles and twigs wash off the squishy coating of mud on the bottoms of my feet.
It starts to rain even harder.
I'm not even sure if I'm running in the right direction when I look up and see the bus stop just ahead....maybe 15 feet in front of me. I made it!
But then....oh...wait....there...goes...the bus.
Arms flailing in the middle of the narrow road, I scream "Stop! Para! Para! Per favore..."(I'm not even sure if that's proper Italian)
But it doesn't matter. It's too late.
I recently learned the Italian hand gesture for "fuck you!" so I put my fingers together in an angry mudra and shake it at the back of the bus as it speeds away.
And now for the last and most important leg of the hippie farmer triathlon: accepting defeat, doing it all over again, and heading back to the farm to wait for the next bus in two hours.
A true hippie yogi would have to see the light in this situation and know that this was somehow meant to be.
So I took a deep sigh, laughed and felt grateful that I could at least go back to wash the mud from my bare feet and enjoy a hot shower and leisurely breakfast with a nice cup of tea.
Plus, the second time around I got a ride to the bus stop.
A Day in The Life of a Farmer
I remember when I used to go back to BU to do career fairs and speak at meetings. PR students would always enthusiastically ask me, "What's a typical day like for you at a PR agency?"
And I would always enthusiastically answer, "Well, that's a tough question because no day is ever the same!"
But that's not really true. I pretty much just sat at a computer all day everyday sending emails. Sometimes writing press releases. Picking up the phone every now and then. Occasionally visiting a conference room or office.
That's about it.
If a student were to ask me what a typical day of work here is like, that would actually be a tough question. I came here to harvest olives with the farmers, which I've done my fair share of, but they also:
1. Harvest chestnuts (have you ever seen any right off the tree? They're like little balls of porcupines you have to pry apart with gloves that are way too big for you. Ouch.)
2. Make chestnut butter (also available with apple and rum)
3. Make all kinds of preserves (cherry, strawberry, citrus, tomato, apple, plum, mint, etc.)
4. Feed chickens
5. Move rocks and/or dirt (I did tons of this...ended up with bruises all over my hips. An important lesson: don't carry a rock like you would a baby)
6. Clear and build drainage channels
7. Transplant carrots
8. Forage for mushrooms
9. Pick flowers (including saffron!)
10. Eat fruit you randomly stumble across even though you're supposed to be doing farming chores (including persimmons, pomegranates, rosehips, pears, strawberries)
11. Bulldoze things and light fires
All of these I have either done or witnessed during my short stay here.
I honestly still can't say whether I'd prefer life in a cube or on a farm though. My hands and back are probably equally tired...just in different ways. There are still opportunities for creativity and strategic problem solving skills...again, in very different ways.
But it would be hard to give up the two-hour lunches. How could I go back to 15-minutes eating at my desk?
And I would always enthusiastically answer, "Well, that's a tough question because no day is ever the same!"
But that's not really true. I pretty much just sat at a computer all day everyday sending emails. Sometimes writing press releases. Picking up the phone every now and then. Occasionally visiting a conference room or office.
That's about it.
If a student were to ask me what a typical day of work here is like, that would actually be a tough question. I came here to harvest olives with the farmers, which I've done my fair share of, but they also:
1. Harvest chestnuts (have you ever seen any right off the tree? They're like little balls of porcupines you have to pry apart with gloves that are way too big for you. Ouch.)
2. Make chestnut butter (also available with apple and rum)
3. Make all kinds of preserves (cherry, strawberry, citrus, tomato, apple, plum, mint, etc.)
4. Feed chickens
5. Move rocks and/or dirt (I did tons of this...ended up with bruises all over my hips. An important lesson: don't carry a rock like you would a baby)
6. Clear and build drainage channels
7. Transplant carrots
8. Forage for mushrooms
9. Pick flowers (including saffron!)
10. Eat fruit you randomly stumble across even though you're supposed to be doing farming chores (including persimmons, pomegranates, rosehips, pears, strawberries)
11. Bulldoze things and light fires
All of these I have either done or witnessed during my short stay here.
I honestly still can't say whether I'd prefer life in a cube or on a farm though. My hands and back are probably equally tired...just in different ways. There are still opportunities for creativity and strategic problem solving skills...again, in very different ways.
But it would be hard to give up the two-hour lunches. How could I go back to 15-minutes eating at my desk?
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Genoa and My New Foodie Friend
The other day a new WWOOFer arrived on the farm. Julia is a German Jewish Brazilian student at the Culinary Institute of America.
We talk food constantly.
It's fantastic.
We decided to sync our days off together, so we could take a day trip to Genova (or Genoa in English) and enjoy a fabulous lunch and Ligurian sights.
How you fill eight hours in Genova as two hungry tourist girls:
1. Stopped by a little bakery for a croissant filled with cream. Hint of orange. Walking breakfast: cathedrals, palazzos, port.
2. Aquario di Genova: The largest aquarium in Italy. My favorite was the room full of tanks with different types of jellyfish. Felt like a beautiful dream.
Also sharks, crocodiles, dolphins, manatees, chameleons, seahorses, octopuses, turtles, sea urchins, all kinds of colorful, glowing fish, and much more. They even had a Finding Nemo tank filled with most of the cast. Adorable!
Plus a 3D movie called the World of Sharks, which was narrated by an insanely romantic, sexy-voiced Italian man pretending to be a turtle.
3. After all that fish ogling, we were very hungry for some seafood.
Julia's Vino Italiano book (by Mario Batali, David Lynch, Joseph and Lidia Bastanich) and the Lonely Planet guidebook both recommended that we make a stop at a Genovese restaurant and wine shop called Enoteca Sola.
It was a tiny place with only about five other tables, which were all middle-aged Italian men eating alone.
We started with antipasto delle "cose buone dell'enoteca" (which means the good things of the house). Lived up to its name with a delicious assortment of potato salad, anchovy with tomato and some kind of greens, fried artichoke, prosciutto and a spinach frittata.
For our entrees we had rotondino di sitello tonnato insalatina (rolled beef thing with spinach and pinenuts) and frittura di occiugle e calamaretti freschi (fried squid and anchovy with raddichio and tomato salad).
And of course I wouldn't be a Cheng and she wouldn't be a culinary student without a few glasses of vino.
For the fried seafood, we had the Vermentino-Imperia-Vigna U Munte Colle dei Bardellini 08. It's well known in this area for its slightly salty finish, which comes from the seaside air by the Ligurian vineyards...or so say Julia and her wine books.
For the beef dish, we had a Rossese Dolceacqua Riserva- E. Guglielmi 06, which is a big grape varietal from Liguria too. Light. Sweet. Fruity. Pleasant.
Finished off with a plate full of freebie cookies and four types of chocolates. We ate half and stuffed the rest in our pockets.
4. Despite having our fill at lunch, we shopped for a lot of chocolate all day. I'll be living off a bag of mini Kinder eggs for the next few weeks.
5. Caffe Balilla and Gelateria. A week and a half in Italy, and this was my first taste of gelato! I ordered a scoop of panera (I thought this would have something to do with bread, but the gelato lady explained it was just coffee...I still don't get it) and another of crema whisky. Basically Irish coffee in gelato form! An inspired choice if I do say so myself.
6. Mercato Orientale. Maze of stalls with fruits, veggies, nuts, meat, cheese, seafood, flowers. Such beautiful produce!
We talk food constantly.
It's fantastic.
We decided to sync our days off together, so we could take a day trip to Genova (or Genoa in English) and enjoy a fabulous lunch and Ligurian sights.
How you fill eight hours in Genova as two hungry tourist girls:
1. Stopped by a little bakery for a croissant filled with cream. Hint of orange. Walking breakfast: cathedrals, palazzos, port.
2. Aquario di Genova: The largest aquarium in Italy. My favorite was the room full of tanks with different types of jellyfish. Felt like a beautiful dream.
Also sharks, crocodiles, dolphins, manatees, chameleons, seahorses, octopuses, turtles, sea urchins, all kinds of colorful, glowing fish, and much more. They even had a Finding Nemo tank filled with most of the cast. Adorable!
Plus a 3D movie called the World of Sharks, which was narrated by an insanely romantic, sexy-voiced Italian man pretending to be a turtle.
3. After all that fish ogling, we were very hungry for some seafood.
Julia's Vino Italiano book (by Mario Batali, David Lynch, Joseph and Lidia Bastanich) and the Lonely Planet guidebook both recommended that we make a stop at a Genovese restaurant and wine shop called Enoteca Sola.
It was a tiny place with only about five other tables, which were all middle-aged Italian men eating alone.
We started with antipasto delle "cose buone dell'enoteca" (which means the good things of the house). Lived up to its name with a delicious assortment of potato salad, anchovy with tomato and some kind of greens, fried artichoke, prosciutto and a spinach frittata.
For our entrees we had rotondino di sitello tonnato insalatina (rolled beef thing with spinach and pinenuts) and frittura di occiugle e calamaretti freschi (fried squid and anchovy with raddichio and tomato salad).
And of course I wouldn't be a Cheng and she wouldn't be a culinary student without a few glasses of vino.
For the fried seafood, we had the Vermentino-Imperia-Vigna U Munte Colle dei Bardellini 08. It's well known in this area for its slightly salty finish, which comes from the seaside air by the Ligurian vineyards...or so say Julia and her wine books.
For the beef dish, we had a Rossese Dolceacqua Riserva- E. Guglielmi 06, which is a big grape varietal from Liguria too. Light. Sweet. Fruity. Pleasant.
Finished off with a plate full of freebie cookies and four types of chocolates. We ate half and stuffed the rest in our pockets.
4. Despite having our fill at lunch, we shopped for a lot of chocolate all day. I'll be living off a bag of mini Kinder eggs for the next few weeks.
5. Caffe Balilla and Gelateria. A week and a half in Italy, and this was my first taste of gelato! I ordered a scoop of panera (I thought this would have something to do with bread, but the gelato lady explained it was just coffee...I still don't get it) and another of crema whisky. Basically Irish coffee in gelato form! An inspired choice if I do say so myself.
6. Mercato Orientale. Maze of stalls with fruits, veggies, nuts, meat, cheese, seafood, flowers. Such beautiful produce!
Friday, October 30, 2009
In Case You're Ever at an Italian-Themed Trivia Night...
When we go to the olive groves, it takes up to just over an hour one way when we hit traffic -- and especially when Gijo is driving.
That leaves a lot of time to learn some good Italian fun facts from my fellow passengers. Here are a few from yesterday:
1. Did you know that Vespa means wasp? Makes sense, right?
2. Balsamic vinegar is just vinegar until its twelfth birthday. Plus, it must be made in Modena to really count.
3. Blackboard in Italian is "lavagna," which coincidentally is one of the towns we drive through all the time and is known for the tons of slate found naturally there and used for chalkboards. I'm not sure which came first.
4. It takes about 100 kilos of olives to make 20 of oil.
That leaves a lot of time to learn some good Italian fun facts from my fellow passengers. Here are a few from yesterday:
1. Did you know that Vespa means wasp? Makes sense, right?
2. Balsamic vinegar is just vinegar until its twelfth birthday. Plus, it must be made in Modena to really count.
3. Blackboard in Italian is "lavagna," which coincidentally is one of the towns we drive through all the time and is known for the tons of slate found naturally there and used for chalkboards. I'm not sure which came first.
4. It takes about 100 kilos of olives to make 20 of oil.
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