By Vincenzina Grasso, La Nostra Voce

I have many wonderful memories of my childhood, including my great interest in the many stages of our wheat crop near our home in South Calabria in the Province of Cosenza. I was always beside my nonno when he was busy plowing the soil by hand, getting ready to plant the “winter wheat.” He always bought the best disease-free wheat seeds to ensure an abundant grain crop. After the planting, he would tell me we had to wait ‘til spring to see the grass-type plants begin to grow. When the plants were a few inches high, it was time to hire a few women to pull the unwanted weeds, giving the wheat plants all the soil’s nutrients. No chemicals were ever used, just hours and hours of manual labor.

By the month of June, the five-foot plants had turned golden. I always loved to watch the plants gently wave in the breeze, resembling a golden ocean. I also knew it would soon be time to harvest the crop when I heard nonna urging nonno to sharpen the sickle. This ancient tool had a hooklike blade mounted to a curved handle, cutting the plants when the kernels were completely dry. Often, I would see nonno chew a few kernels, testing each one to determine if it was time to harvest them. This was a critical decision, when milling the grain into flour the kernels had to be stone-hard.

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Now it was urgent to harvest the crops quickly before the perilous weather arrived, including hailstorms that were very destructive. After the wheat stocks were cut and bundled, they were left in the field until it was time for threshing. It was also time to rent out a parcel of land where threshing would take place. An ingenuous farmer nearby had transformed a plot of land into an expansive, circular surface; he also provided some livestock to do all the hard work. When it was our turn, two bulls were used to crush the plants that were placed around the circle. They both were pulling a huge stone fastened with a long, strong rope. Going around for several hours continuously, the dry plants were trampled and loosened from the husks. The farmer then picked up another primitive tool to pound down the hulls.

The next step was wind-driven (we fervently prayed for wind). Using a shovel, the loosened wheat and the hulls were tossed in the air, separating the two. The light straw blew away, while the kernels went straight down. This was called “winnowing.” If the threshing was not complete in one day, nonno and a close friend, both with guns for protection, slept nearby in a mound of fresh straw. They also had their dogs to drive away any thieves.

Not all my memories were pleasant, but in one instance, a race to hide from police proved to be so quiet, and cathartic. During World War II, it was required to alert fascist police to come and inspect how many bushels of wheat were produced. If we harvested an abundant crop, our ration coupons were denied; even if it was for only a couple of extra bushels. My mother kept a close eye on the total amount, when she decided to smuggle a bushel or two before their arrival. When she arrived at noon with a huge meal for the workers, she brought a few cloth-sack bags to fill with wheat to be carried home by my twin sister, older brother and me. She knew well, when desperate, you make desperate decisions. As soon as we had our lunch, it was time to depart for a mission going uphill on the cobblestone street. We were halfway home when we heard the gallop of horses driven by policemen.

Fortunately, a neighbor’s cellar door was wide open. I remember the cellar was dark and comforting since it was very cool, as we were hot and sweating in the sun. We huddled together and prayed until the danger of being caught had passed. We were thrilled for not being nabbed for the crime, and finally, it was time to make bread, the ancient way.

In the August 2023 edition of La Nostra Voce, Ms. Grasso will discuss her family’s artisanal, from-scratch methods of making bread.