A CONVERSATION WITH OLIVE TREES - by Sabbia Auriti, Ph.D
Who have we become? Social Anthropologists compare immigration to the life of an olive tree which with age splits creating new roots. Although linked to the core of the father tree, the newly created branches grow and produce new trees, while the original trunk does not die, but rather feeds the young off springs. Can we apply the concept of the "nomadic" tree to that of the Italian Diaspora in the world? Are we like an olive tree?
Olive trees grow very slowly. It begins bearing fruits only when well into its third year of life. With passing of decades the trunk begins to twist, as if pulled in different directions. It begins to split at the base and drying out. Just like an aging man who is deformed by arthritis and pains, the tree fights its aging process and looks for survival. Its life has been long, many summers and winters have gone by. It has produced wonderful oil, its been pruned, over and over, men have climbed on him, it has witnessed the changing seasons, governments, weather patterns, poverty, greed thus it became a sage with age.
Now the instinct for survival takes over. The roots on the ground surface begin to move, to propagate, new shoots emerge. This old man is still alive and silently as its pattern begins its voyage.
We do not need to excavate to find their history. Traces of these gentle giants are easily found in many Italian regions but in particular within the "Sibaritide" area in the Calabria region of Southern Italy. Once there one can witness the making of this "Diaspora." The Olive trees walk, rustling softly as the leaves turn their silvery side to the sun. Their ancient DNA still producing the gold liquid that has intrigued and fed the world for thousand of years.
From the Greek shores to the soft slopes of Sicily, to the green Gethsemane garden where they were spectators to the sacrifice of Christ, they are a living witness of our common history.
The olive trees cling together, just as families do. They reach out to one another and they form a cluster, just like the Italian immigrants did when they were forced by poverty to go to the New World. They bonded, searched for those who spoke the same language, who understood the pain of being alone and often alienated, yet the community just like the offshoot from the old tree, was vigilant.
The migratory fragmentation of the olive tree, and the clusters that it spontaneously creates challenge the ancient Greek belief that "no tree can reach the sky" instead, these withstood nature's inevitable claim.
And while other species as they grow and increase in bulk inevitably die, the old olive bark, resembling more a face of an Italian peasant burned by the sun, feeds its young. The trunk shrinks, dries out, but does not collapse, it splits, but still stands. He is the sage, he knows.
The cycle continues just like many civilizations that were born and disappeared on the shores of the Mediterranean Sea. The olive tree represents the symbol for perennial life, the survivor, challenging death, (we like to think.)
Sturdy and strong the twisted tree is not afraid to fight the winds from the Sahara and the "Bora" from Trieste. It does not bend when attacked by the cold winter storms and the dry African heat.
Difficult to determine their life span, many scientists have a crated a measuring scale to date the trees and very often, to confirm the age, they dig archeological sites where the trapped Carbon 14 helps them decipher and trace their remains and the era when they were living organisms.
Italian author Leone Viola has written extensively on the life of these "wise men" and how he was able to study and trace the life of some of them. He concluded that to pinpoint their exact age, one must take into account the quality and components found in the soil as well as the latitude, sea level and irrigation patterns. The same theory is shared by Gianni Pofi, passionate agronomist who has conducted extensive research on the archeological site of Egnazia, the ancient port on the Adriatic Sea that was a direct shipping route to and from Asia Minor and Northern Africa. Egnazia disappeared as Brindisi soon became a more vital port. Egnazia today is still partially submerged by the sea but among its ruins, the olive trees still grow and some of them are well beyond two thousand years old. While Pofi observes that one cannot apply the same measurement criteria to all trees, Viola affirms that as for the trees similar to those found in the Garga Valley, they initially grow one and half centimeter a year, then the growth process slows down. After one hundred years, the growth slows to a few millimeters a year. Between 600 and 800 years of age, the growth is only half millimeter.
It is at this time that the tree splits. The empty bark scarred by pruning, suckers, and parasites begins to shrink, the apparent death begins. The deep vertical splits are more visible as the plant reaches its century mark. The roots die as well, while the offshoots move away from the "ceppaia", the center, taking as a dowry, its share of the old man's life. This triggers the "walking" mechanism; the "new" born tree still attached to the dead trunk by an invisible umbilical cord begins feeding on the healthy side of the bark and, as the outer skin of the younger tree becomes greener, the inside of the old is totally consumed. "A new plant," Viola writes, "emerges with a dual life: one side is alive, the other dead." It is the dead wood that farmers will collect to lit the fire; thus, is Man that complete nature's circle of life.
"By pruning the olive trees, Man shapes the trees allowing them to endure through time." Pofi, remarks, "as centuries pass, it is Man with his involvement that determines the fragmentation of these trees, safeguarding the healthy parts."
Thus the new journey begins. The new tree, moving on as new offs springs turn to the direction of the sun, distance themselves from the carcass and search for nutrients. Although they embrace a new existence, yet they are not completely removed from the old trunk who gave them life. They are still a part of it; at the same time, they no longer belong with the old, the split has made them a singular identity complete with its own roots, development and a unique direction.
Gianni Picella, guide and coordinator of the committee for the safeguard of "century old olive trees" recalls that at the Gethsemane Orchard in Jerusalem, the century old trees, witnessed history. Today, in that same orchard, if one observes them closely, they appear to have sprung from a common root, whether through a sucker or a split of the original trunk, the original tree.
If they could speak and tell tales, what would they say? Do they carry memories of long ago when women and children with home made wicker baskets gathered under their branches to pick those glorious green and black olives?
As an ancient religious rite, the aroma of the cold pressed olives would fill the town's narrow streets and each year, the miracle would be repeated, never missing a season, never disappointing those who made a living from the sale of those golden drops. And as life forced many of those men, women and children to go to far away lands and foreign shores, every time a bottle of that great oil is opened, one cannot help but remember those majestic giants, and that special, unique bond between Man and the olive tree.
Olive trees grow very slowly. It begins bearing fruits only when well into its third year of life. With passing of decades the trunk begins to twist, as if pulled in different directions. It begins to split at the base and drying out. Just like an aging man who is deformed by arthritis and pains, the tree fights its aging process and looks for survival. Its life has been long, many summers and winters have gone by. It has produced wonderful oil, its been pruned, over and over, men have climbed on him, it has witnessed the changing seasons, governments, weather patterns, poverty, greed thus it became a sage with age.
Now the instinct for survival takes over. The roots on the ground surface begin to move, to propagate, new shoots emerge. This old man is still alive and silently as its pattern begins its voyage.
We do not need to excavate to find their history. Traces of these gentle giants are easily found in many Italian regions but in particular within the "Sibaritide" area in the Calabria region of Southern Italy. Once there one can witness the making of this "Diaspora." The Olive trees walk, rustling softly as the leaves turn their silvery side to the sun. Their ancient DNA still producing the gold liquid that has intrigued and fed the world for thousand of years.
From the Greek shores to the soft slopes of Sicily, to the green Gethsemane garden where they were spectators to the sacrifice of Christ, they are a living witness of our common history.
The olive trees cling together, just as families do. They reach out to one another and they form a cluster, just like the Italian immigrants did when they were forced by poverty to go to the New World. They bonded, searched for those who spoke the same language, who understood the pain of being alone and often alienated, yet the community just like the offshoot from the old tree, was vigilant.
The migratory fragmentation of the olive tree, and the clusters that it spontaneously creates challenge the ancient Greek belief that "no tree can reach the sky" instead, these withstood nature's inevitable claim.
And while other species as they grow and increase in bulk inevitably die, the old olive bark, resembling more a face of an Italian peasant burned by the sun, feeds its young. The trunk shrinks, dries out, but does not collapse, it splits, but still stands. He is the sage, he knows.
The cycle continues just like many civilizations that were born and disappeared on the shores of the Mediterranean Sea. The olive tree represents the symbol for perennial life, the survivor, challenging death, (we like to think.)
Sturdy and strong the twisted tree is not afraid to fight the winds from the Sahara and the "Bora" from Trieste. It does not bend when attacked by the cold winter storms and the dry African heat.
Difficult to determine their life span, many scientists have a crated a measuring scale to date the trees and very often, to confirm the age, they dig archeological sites where the trapped Carbon 14 helps them decipher and trace their remains and the era when they were living organisms.
Italian author Leone Viola has written extensively on the life of these "wise men" and how he was able to study and trace the life of some of them. He concluded that to pinpoint their exact age, one must take into account the quality and components found in the soil as well as the latitude, sea level and irrigation patterns. The same theory is shared by Gianni Pofi, passionate agronomist who has conducted extensive research on the archeological site of Egnazia, the ancient port on the Adriatic Sea that was a direct shipping route to and from Asia Minor and Northern Africa. Egnazia disappeared as Brindisi soon became a more vital port. Egnazia today is still partially submerged by the sea but among its ruins, the olive trees still grow and some of them are well beyond two thousand years old. While Pofi observes that one cannot apply the same measurement criteria to all trees, Viola affirms that as for the trees similar to those found in the Garga Valley, they initially grow one and half centimeter a year, then the growth process slows down. After one hundred years, the growth slows to a few millimeters a year. Between 600 and 800 years of age, the growth is only half millimeter.
It is at this time that the tree splits. The empty bark scarred by pruning, suckers, and parasites begins to shrink, the apparent death begins. The deep vertical splits are more visible as the plant reaches its century mark. The roots die as well, while the offshoots move away from the "ceppaia", the center, taking as a dowry, its share of the old man's life. This triggers the "walking" mechanism; the "new" born tree still attached to the dead trunk by an invisible umbilical cord begins feeding on the healthy side of the bark and, as the outer skin of the younger tree becomes greener, the inside of the old is totally consumed. "A new plant," Viola writes, "emerges with a dual life: one side is alive, the other dead." It is the dead wood that farmers will collect to lit the fire; thus, is Man that complete nature's circle of life.
"By pruning the olive trees, Man shapes the trees allowing them to endure through time." Pofi, remarks, "as centuries pass, it is Man with his involvement that determines the fragmentation of these trees, safeguarding the healthy parts."
Thus the new journey begins. The new tree, moving on as new offs springs turn to the direction of the sun, distance themselves from the carcass and search for nutrients. Although they embrace a new existence, yet they are not completely removed from the old trunk who gave them life. They are still a part of it; at the same time, they no longer belong with the old, the split has made them a singular identity complete with its own roots, development and a unique direction.
Gianni Picella, guide and coordinator of the committee for the safeguard of "century old olive trees" recalls that at the Gethsemane Orchard in Jerusalem, the century old trees, witnessed history. Today, in that same orchard, if one observes them closely, they appear to have sprung from a common root, whether through a sucker or a split of the original trunk, the original tree.
If they could speak and tell tales, what would they say? Do they carry memories of long ago when women and children with home made wicker baskets gathered under their branches to pick those glorious green and black olives?
As an ancient religious rite, the aroma of the cold pressed olives would fill the town's narrow streets and each year, the miracle would be repeated, never missing a season, never disappointing those who made a living from the sale of those golden drops. And as life forced many of those men, women and children to go to far away lands and foreign shores, every time a bottle of that great oil is opened, one cannot help but remember those majestic giants, and that special, unique bond between Man and the olive tree.