Moving Week
Standing at the roof shaking a mat this morning, I feel the tiny drops of water that fills up the air on the bare skin of my face and hands. It is, as rather common here, a foggy morning and I have just finished cleaning the kitchen, cleansing all appliances and cabinets, glassware and plates, pots and platters, in making sure to leave the house as nice and tidy as it was when I moved in on August 9th last year. That is almost nine months ago. Feels like yesterday. In some senses at least. However, not when I pack my stuff, for in preparing my move from Ostuni to Casamassella, a small village located further down south, I realize how at home I have come to feel dwelling in this place. Not just in this house as such, but also in this town, for both have become home to me. Sensations of sorrow simultaneously of excitement wash over me as I stand with the mat in my hands at the roof. I no longer shake it, but stand still, looking out over the scenery in front of me. Enjoying the view, limited as it occurs due to the fog, appreciating the fresh atmosphere caused by the water drops as well, I feel as awkward thinking about the fact that I will no longer live in this place as I feel enthusiastic to move into the new one. A few moments pass before I reenter the house, putting the mat into the washing machine and prepare breakfast.
This week, time for relocation as it is, occurs much dedicated my move happening on Saturday. While I over the past month, bit-by-bit, have prepared myself, my stuff and the house for this upcoming move of mine, it is not until now that I engage a more complete cleaning and clearing. It takes some time, let alone energy, cleaning and clearing myself out of this place, for which reason my time allocated for fieldwork occurs a bit cut short this week. That said though, I have nevertheless conducted some fieldwork also this week. I spent for instance the entire day Monday with the producer of Olio Claudio, where I partook in the preparation of grounds for replantation as well as in the practice of putting protective covers onto the base of newly planted Leccino plants. I will further these matters in my next post, for I have over the past eight months followed the process from uprooting desiccated plants via paving way for new ones to the plantation thereof, but for now, I settle with noting two things. Firstly, the ground, rich in shallow limestone as it occurs, must be prepared with a grating sort of machinery for replantation to successfully take place (video and images below). The machine makes rows, approximately 60 cm in depth, and allows for the roots of the plants to become planted there to grow relatively freely, thus, strongly. Secondly, the protective covers, compatible with organic olive cultivation as they are, become placed onto each trunk so to shield from the bug of oziorinco to climb it and reach—eat—the tender leaves, and thereby cause serious damage to its continuous growth. While this was my first time partaking as such protective matters become put onto the trunks, as well as my first time seeing these black slippery plastered tubes kind of protectors, I have previously paid attention to the presence of such material matters, however in the form of white cotton into which the bugs become trapped (visuals of both types below).
Continuing packing and cleaning this afternoon, as well as for the rest of the week, I feel both ready and not ready to experience the new horizons awaiting. For, curious as I am to dwell in a place much characterized by the wake of the plant bacterium of Xylella fastidiosa—that is, to myself experience living an everyday life surrounded by desiccated olive plants and humanly abandoned olive orchards—appalled do I feel about not being surrounded by an ocean of lush olive groves as I am here in Ostuni. I have come habituated to on a daily basis enjoy the olive cultivation of this place. I wonder what I will become habituated to living in Casamassella.
