I know I say this a lot here on my blog, but so, so often, I can't believe this is my life.
Last weekend, I went to collect chestnuts (castagne) on Fra's family's land in the mountains above Davoli. Chestnuts are big business in this part of Calabria. There's a sagra coming up next week celebrating this nut that has a long history in this part of the world.
It Starts a Long, Long, LONG Time Ago...
Doing a little research, I learn that chestnuts were likely brought to Calabria from the Greeks or Romans. They were used as sustenance when growing grain wasn't so easy in the 17th and 18th century.
During World War II, when flour was in short supply, families made flour from castagne. At the upcoming sagra, there will be gnocchi, zeppole, and sweets all made from chestnut flour.
How to Pick a Chestnut
Being my first time collecting chestnuts, I wasn't sure what to expect. Before leaving, Fra's father teased me: "only collect the castagne, not the ricci."
Ricci are what Italians call the prickly shell that chestnuts live in. Interestingly, ricci is also the word for sea urchins (and they look the same) as well as curly hair!
It turns out, you don't pick chestnuts from the tree. Instead, you gather the ones that have fallen to the ground. Wearing gloves to protect your hands, you split open the ricci and gather the gorgeous, shiny nuts inside. When I saw chestnuts at the grocery store, I assumed someone had polished them to make them so brilliant, but nope, that's how they come!
What Comes Next
Tired after a couple of hours of labor, bending down to pick up the ricci and harvest the nuts, my hands smarting from a few punctures my gloves hadn't protected me from, I was ready for a panino and a beer. But no, we had one more stop.
We took our labored efforts to the chestnut cooperative in Davoli. This is a group of people who work together to collect chestnuts that they then sell. Some might go to factories to make flour. Others might go to become food for animals. And some might be sold at markets and grocery stores.
As we waited our turn for our castagne to be weighed, we all guessed at the weight. I came closest with my guess of 47 kilos. It was 40! Fra's mother got a receipt recording the weight, which I believe they'll cash in on at the end of the harvesting season.
Me and Castagne
At the end of every meal these days, there's a basket of castagne on the table, along with tools to pry open the shell. I've eaten a couple, but here's my secret: I don't really care for them!
Still, I had fun harvesting them, and that's all that really matters, right? It was a great way to spend time with Fra and his family in nature!
Comments