One of the privileges in growing up in an Italian immigrant community is your introduction to Vino.
Back in fourth grade in California in the depression years I grew up near the Italian families in Sutter Creek.
Each evening, several families would meet in someone's backyard with a gallon of Vino. I was not part of the group yet they made me feel welcome and shared their wine with me. Of course, at my tender age I was limited to a very small glass. But then even the adults were responsible with their drinking. Never once in the years I spent in Sutter Creek did I see a drunk Italian.
The locals did not buy their wine, they made it themselves.
After they had stamped out the juice, the mash was piled on the ground as garbage.
The mash fermented in the hot sun. Pigs gorged on the mash until they were drunk as skunks. They would then find some shade and sleep it off. Did they learn anything from their experience? Not really. When they woke up, they headed back to the pile of mash and did it again.
As the old saying goes - (from 'The Famous Pig Song')
You can tell a man that boozes, by the company that he chooses.
Then the pigs got up and slowly walked away.
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10 comments:
Aristi, it sounds like it was very rural where you were, or perhaps I'm mistaken? Did you farm?
These stories are wonderful - please keep sharing them.
Aristi, you mention later in your blog that you were orphaned at 7. Who was caring for you? Were these families helping you in general or just letting you participate in their get togethers?
Then, Pigs might love wine. May be they enjoyed better part of the wine before us. All immigrants will love these stories.
Hah! That's some mighty nice pig slop!
1. ffelsl: One orange orchard after another as far as the eye could see. We lived in a typical depression era shack. No...we didn't farm. Mother was a nurse.
2. Chris:Thank you for those kind words.I need a little encouragement once in a while.
This sounds like a different vision of what John Steinbeck wrote about, Northern California during the Depression. The sense of sharing, and gathering, and community is something I think we just don't have so much today, and I think as humans we have a longing for that sort of connection.
Bridgetag's post referring to ethnic communities reminded me of my childhood in Sutter Creek where the dominant Italian community set the pace. Each evening they would meet in the back yard and sing Neopolital folk songs with concertina or accordion accompaniment and drink wine.Young as I was the Italians always offerd me a small sip of vino. Never, ever did I see a drunk Italian.
I remember my Italian grandparents telling stories of how their friends would make their own wine...one woman did it in her bathtub of all places. Eeeeww. ;-) And now that you mention it, although I always saw them drinking wine, I never remember ever seeing them drunk. Must be a tolerance built up in our Italian blood. :-) Fun blog post!
Christina
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