One of the advantages of having Sicilian blood and being raised in California in the latter half of the 20th century is the uncanny capacity to listen to life forms other than humans. I first found out about this ability at university, when a palm tree told me the story of its life one evening as I was sitting up against it. It was a fascinating experience and one that was apparently not singular. So, when I was on Mt. Etna recently, I happened upon a very old grape vine, well over 100 years old, up in one of the vineyards I visited. It was at the end of the day, and the vineyard was a short walk from where we were staying, so I asked my minder to allow me to stay awhile and make my own way back. I’d heard about this old vine from a winemaker friend who intimated that I might be interested in hearing its story one-on-one. Said winemaker knew about my propensity to channel other life forms on earth as we once talked about it and he understood completely what I was talking about. As I’ve mentioned before in these reports, Californians and Sicilians are kindred souls. And seeing as I’m a hybrid, I reckon my openness to these kind of interchanges is facilitated by that. So, here goes. I was standing there when she made contact, we’ll call her Dora, or as she more than once said, Nonna Dora (ND).
ND: Seeing as we are communicating through Mind, you’ll understand that our language is neither Italian nor English. But you already know that. As your friend told you, my name is Dora and I have been living on this hill since the end of the 19th century. That makes me over 100 years old in the way your life forms measure time. I am old, but there are those on this mountain older than me. But they are more introverted and quieter than I am. Thank you for visiting me.
AC: Thank you for communicating with me. It’s an honor. I’ve heard so much about you from my friend. Where do we start?
ND: Seeing as we are nearing harvest time and I am still producing grapes, my energy levels aren’t what they used to be 50 years ago. But I want to talk about something that has been worrying me a little.
AC: What so? Please, feel free to speak freely.
ND: One of my concerns has been with a couple of young winemakers who have access to this very old vineyard we are in right now. They belong to the school of thought that a wine should make itself, and that anything not natural is not a good part of their regimen. I am not against natural winemaking. After all, when I was in my youthful stage, much of the wine that was made from harvesting me and my fellow vines were made in a very natural way. It was all our winemakers knew back then. But we also witnessed a sort of progress in their winemaking after the end of the 2nd Great War. Our grapes were bolder, richer, and the wines from them were cleaner, fresher. They were fruitier. They were lovely. That lasted for a generation or so, and then something happened. Can you tell me, were there outside influences?
AC: Most likely there were. There was a natural wine movement that became fashionable. And it transitioned to a form of winemaking they noted as non-interventionist. “Let the wine make itself,” was the mantra.
ND: You’ve got to be kidding me! What do grapes know about making wine? How did this happen?
AC: It was a movement, a fashion of sorts. It still lingers in some parts, and in some areas, it can produce good results. But it depends on the intentions of the winemaker and what kind of wine they are looking to make and present to their clients. Some have said that the realm of deliciousness has been abandoned by many so-called natural winemakers, but that hasn’t been my experience. There are people who know how to make wine and there are those who do not. And even if one is of the philosophy that the wine makes itself, it’s a little like being a shepherd. One still must provide guidance to make sure everyone gets home safe and sound. And so, in wine, the idea of a sound wine is coming back into focus. Along with deliciousness.
ND: How odd. I remember one of the winemakers talking about making wine in clay amphoras. And of course, when I was a wee young’un, that was something we heard a lot about on the mountain. Those who came before us passed down the ancient stories from many generations ago, when that was all they did. But like I said, after that last big war, we heard a lot about progress and technology. We heard different sounds coming from the Palmentos. The noise of the industrial century. And we heard that the wines were different, maybe even better, than they had ever been.
AC: Yes, that was a movement in Italy and other countries and it changed wine forever. Some say for the better. But the up-and-coming generations wanted to try some of the older methods. That might be why you are hearing some of the terms that you heard when you were younger. I don’t think it is a problem. There are a lot of people on the mountain experimenting with how to make Etna wine. And even though there isn’t a consistent method or application in the present, I sense there is a moving forward. There is also a great thirst for the older things – the lost grapes, the lost techniques, the older ways – it’s kind of a time of nostalgia. Which bodes well for you older vines, as there is interest in you.
ND: Well, that’s good news, I suppose. You know, when you get as old as I am, you lose some of your vigor. What you don’t lose, if you are lucky enough to have it, is your resilience and your desire to put your best foot forward, to borrow a phrase from your species. Here we are firmly planted on our earth and the only travel we do is not with our feet, but with our arms and our tendrils. We reach out. But when you get to be over 100 years old, the reaching diminishes. Our output too. But our grapes still have unique character.
AC: That’s why you old-timers are so coveted, especially here on Etna. And if you are old enough to have remained on your original root stock, even more so. You are historic, and also you survived a great plague which almost wiped out all the grape vines which produce wine, in that last century or so.
ND: So I’ve heard. Up in the higher ranges where the vines have gone untended and become feral, there are scores of different types of grapes on their own legs, as we say. Occasionally we hear about someone finding a lost vineyard, but there are more lost than found. We used to be a huge community, now we are about one fifth of what we were when I was young.
AC: I have a question for you. Many winemakers are lamenting that last year the harvest on the mountain was diminished by something called peronospora, or downy mildew. Did that affect you older ones as badly?
ND: Funny you would mention that. Some of us elders were recently discussing that. We did not seem to be as affected as the younger vines. But our vigor, as I already mentioned, is lower and perhaps not as attractive to the pathogen, which might be looking for more robust leaves and shoots. In any case, no, were not hurt. But the younger vines were all howling last year, it was quite unnerving, as it seemed to have gone deep into the vine community and caused a lot of suffering. And, after all, we are all connected.
AC: Indeed, we are. Well, I see the sun is setting and I must get back to my hotel. Thank you for speaking with me.
ND: Come back anytime. We’ll probably be here for some time. Or as long as the fire in the mountain allows us to be.