For the Legacy of Olive Oil
Unpacked and somewhat settled in here in Casamassella — where I have lived for just over a week now and where I will stay for the remainder of my fieldwork — I have allocated some time to work through the efforts undertaken by one of the key participant of this research project. I am referring to Giorgio; this young and utmost passionate maker of olive oil who currently runs the family business Olio Claudio. Or rather, who works hard for securing its legacy beyond the tragic and quite uncanny presence of Xylella fastidiosa (a plant bacterium spreading here in Salento). I have followed his devoted ambition for almost a year and a half now, and it is with an impressive loyalty to the inheritance of his work that he keeps on; working on a daily basis to defy this unprecedented and rather disastrous challenge that his continuous cultivation of the family heritage faces.
Giorgio and I first met during my second reconnaissance trip. It took place in December of 2019, and it was during this primary encounter that he — while taking me for a drive through some of the 60 hectares of olive orchards of the company, of which most are completely desiccated from the bacterium — introduced his plans to safeguard the future of Olio Cladio’s olive oil production. There have been many drives since, and I have with great curiosity and admiration tagged along on this caring and craving journey of his. In one way, it has thus also become an intricate part of the research journey of mine.
What follows are particular means and practices, described mostly through visuals, by which his work for a future olive oil making becomes realized. Gathered through the ethnographic work of mine, the post exemplifies how the legacy of a family company, one dating back to 1742, becomes cared for to grow on; such as by navigating tricky terrains of bureaucracy and enacting its premises; such as by making huge investments in hiring an agronomist to plan for the uprooting of desiccated olive plants and pave way for the replantation of new ones; such as by making it happen despite the hardships it comes with emotionally and economically; such as by decisively and strenuously approaching one’s heritage as that of one’s future.
At the azienda, administering work in hope
for a continuous legacy
As hinted above, the work of paving way for replantations corresponds to huge costs and dedicated efforts; it entails loads of regulations to consider and bureaucratic drama to deal with. More than that, it takes time to plan and to execute. Giorgio has let me in on some of these dynamics, but it has been of more importance for him to have me feel the lived issues in the orchards and surrounding areas than to “bore“ me with burdens of paperwork going back and forth between agencies of sorts.
To live through the desiccation of this patrimonial landscape is heartfelt and devastational. It was for instance noted by my neighbour, an 85+ lady who has lived here for all of her life, that when the place one holds dear to the heart — tengo stretto al cuore — appears to die, parts of oneself dies with it. This is the earnest sentiment and experience of this place: it is felt to slowly disappear in spirit and to become lost in sorrow. Many orchards stand abandoned due to the long-suffered diligence and extensive expenses needed to care for an ongoing of these histories. More importantly, and especially for laymen cultivators, the bureaucracy that it all comes with seems an unjust circumstance for continuing seemingly lost livelihoods.
For those who despite all the painstaking work and precarious wait took their chances, such as Giorgio did, EU-money finally arrived this winter. The funding has been awaited for a couple of years, only to cover parts of the fees associated with the work of reconstruction the olive culture that once flourished here. Yet the happiness to get to work by means of the funding hides no eager; not in Giorgio’s case nor in that of other practitioners who went through similar procedures. Rather, having planned and prepared for this moment to arrive, such as by having all papers in order once money was granted, reconstruction took place in a instance-of-a-second turning wheels: from one week to another, hectares of land were uprooted, fields prepared, and olive trees replanted. Reinvigorated in spirit, the young trees come with a hope to yield oil within a few years and to revive the vibrancy of this landscape. Most significantly though, they animate remembrances of histories and traditions moving along in the future.
At Macche: Marking, Burning, Watering
The orchard of Macche was one of those that Giorgio had reinvigorated. I participated in marking out one of its four borders. This was done to signify to the uprooting-company where to stop clearing the field; such as it, the field that is, had been demarcated by the agronomist. It was an interesting experience in many respects, and especially with reference to the fact that the trees themselves knew no such (mapped) borders. Plants live organically, and though these trees grew (upwards) in the neatly squared configurations through which they once had been planted, their roots spread dynamically within the ground. I jotted in my fieldnotes that the roots and the soils sustaining them live beyond the bounded notions of human cultivators. I also noted that the devastation that our marking was based on was partial, based mainly on that which could be seen, but also on the readily felt lack of olives to make oil from. The trees namely dieback, meaning that they desiccate from the canopies down. Meanwhile, the roots many times remain alive. Intriguingly enough, it was for the purpose of keeping the roots of olive culture alive that the marking, uprooting, and replantation materialized.
Some hours worth of work later, one border of the 14 hectares of land had been marked, subsequently for it all to be uprooted and replanted. It had back then an underground irrigation system, but once replanted, it stood void thereof, as such an installation would add another € 100 000 to the bill. Desiccated orchards are much but a lucrative business, and considering the already high expenses paid, it was out of the question to add yet another cost. Hence the manual work with the water pump and the watering alike. This is pictured below. So is the burning of some remains from that which had been, and the hope of that to (once again) become. Though it might be hard to imagine from a (digital) distance, all photos feature Macche before, during, and after.
At Pagliara: Preparations
and Replantations Observed
This orchard, located nearby Castri di Lecce, is one where I with quite some sadness, confusement, astonishment, and critical exploration got first-hand experience of procedures involved in practices of replantation. I partook for example the removal of destroyed irrigation tubes, only to a couple of days later curiously observe the slow-motioned grinding of limestone. The latter is done to pave way for vigorous growth, and without it, the trees will not become properly rooted. They can namely not spread their roots through the dense limestone. It is also here at Pagliara that I witnessed how the replantation of some 250 plants had to be done all over again as the lines, which should be perfectly straight in all directions—horizontally, vertically, diagonally—appeared off. The askewness is not visible to the human eye before several rows have been put into place, and though it was hardly noticeable also then, it nonetheless appeared of importance to be corrected. I stood confused, thinking about the organic growth of plants and the skewed notion that they ought to be planted in perfectly straight rows. Perplexed as I were, I considered the fact that the roots of many plants became partially destroyed as they were uprooted. Would it not have been better to just leave them be than to focus on some sort of imagined perfection? At the same time, it stood clear that this meticulous work had little to do with the plants and their wellbeing. For, while they need space to grow without competing with one another for water, nutrition, light, air, and other necessities, their growth is not dependent on a perfectly squared plantation pattern. Neither is the vibrancy of olive culture, yet perfection seemed to be of essence. I could not help to think that the redoing reflected values of human-laden concerns; perhaps those founded in industrial bureaucracies and engineered technicalities. Much more so than in lived olive culture practicalities. Meanwhile, the actual replantation, however engineered it took place, stood essential for olive culture; the legacies it carried forward.
