While on Etna recently, I talked to a farmer, Giuseppe. He’s been tending his land for several decades now. He’s not a young man, but he certainly has many years left under the volcano. I asked him about co-habitating with La Muntagna.
“It’s not that the volcano is trying to kill us. It gives us life after all, like our mother. But while it feeds us and nourishes us, it can also punish us from time to time. I don’t take it personally. La Muntagna is more powerful than any of us, it it has its destiny too,” Giuseppe said.
I thought it odd at first, his use of the word destiny. But ask anyone in any way familiar with the soul of a Sicilian, and the subject will ultimately come up over such forces of destiny. Operas have been written about it. It’s seared into our DNA; it runs through the veins of humans and down the slopes of Etna. Where else in the world does something like this eventually become wine? I believe that is one of the reasons, unconscious though it may be, that the wines from Etna are so compelling to both insiders and outsiders. The energy of a transformation, from destiny to this liquid that one can pour into a glass, sit on a porch and watch the world go about its business. It’s one of the things that still drives me to wine.
That was the next foray into our conversation. I asked Giuseppe if he felt the need to tame his little plot or to just “let it be.”
“Look around you. All over it is wild. Those strawberries over there. The cherry tree up the hill. The fig trees, always producing. I’ve gained 9 kilos just because of those darn figs! But everywhere, everything you see is wild. How do you say, feral? Etna is a big giant feral cat. It has sharp talons, and it is smart. But it is also very seductive. I could have gone elsewhere on the island and made much more money farming sunflowers or harvesting salt. But the mountain has a hold on me.”
I understood that “hold” from my youth and my mountain. I got what Giuseppe was saying. But Etna is in a bit of a spotlight right now. The grapes, the wines, the changes, the moment.
Etna is like a giant block of marble. The artist who looks at it sees a finished sculpture inside it. But there are more than one artist, and several views of what Etna and her wines should be. And then there is Etna, who ultimately decides. At least that’s what Giuseppe thinks when he told me so.
“This guy comes in from Milan, this guy from Hollywood. Everyone packs their bags and brings their stuff with them. Meanwhile, Etna, up there ( he points) she is in charge. Not some guy who read about Cornelissen and now wants to be Frank 2.0.”
“Why do they think they can conquer Etna? My family has been here for generations. When the mountain rumbles, we look for cover. These guys, it’s like they read about sharks in the Mediterranean and then they go out swimming to find them. They will find them.”
“Well, something must draw them to this place. Could it be that different from what drew your family to here?” I countered.
Giuseppe leaned on the staff of his hand cultivator and struck a pensive pose. He was quiet. Thinking. It felt like several minutes passed before he spoke. It probably wasn’t that long. But to say it was a pregnant pause would be an understatement.
“I tried, years ago, when I first got into this field, to do battle with the volcano. I was young and brash and thought I had all the answers. I was going to bend Nature to my will, not the other way around. And I tried. But after a few years, I realized this mountain was bigger than any of us, any of all of us combined, over hundreds of years and thousands of souls. Etna is immortal compared to us. She will be here millions of years from now, perhaps. Meanwhile, we will not even be those dark little pellets that rain down upon us here so often. We aren’t even that important. But we go about in our lifetimes thinking we are so important. We fight the volcano with our pride and our dreams of fame and fortune, when what we should be doing is stewarding the land in the time we are here. Do you know we are only farming about 5% of the vineyards that once were planted here on the mountain? That means there might be 95% still waiting to be re-awakened. That means up in those hills and little nooks and crannies all kinds of grapes have gone wild , waiting to be “discovered” again. Who will do that? The folks who are imitating and want to be like Cornelissen or De Grazia, Foti or Benanti? We don’t need imitators or even emulators. We need boots on the ground, rebuilding Etna and working with the volcano, not against it.”
It was quite a speech. Afterwards, he asked me not to use his (or her) real name, as the politics of the mountain have gotten more complicated. I agreed and said I would alter the persona so as not to be traceable. But still, he had a point.
What is Etna here for? Is it to give glory to man’s dreams? Or is man (and woman) here to carry out the plans of La Muntagna? I think we’re seeing (and hearing) that opera playing out in real time, here in Sicily.
As it has always been, as it will always be.