10/01/23
On Thursday, 8/3/23, I was determined to have a better understanding of the schedule and expectations for the coming days. The manager asked me to help again in the kitchen for lunch and dinner. I was a bit frustrated because the hours don’t align with WWOOF’s description online. I knew I was working more than 5 hours a day, and had only one day off. Yet I was becoming more comfortable with where things were, what to clean up, how to help.
Later in the evening, I was introduced to a new WWOOFer, Emilie, a girl coming from Paris, France. I was a little alarmed at first as I hadn’t been aware that another helper would be arriving that day. I hadn’t had the chance to prepare a bed for her, or mentally prepare myself to share the duties with another person.
Christine had left a bad taste in my mouth—playing perfectly into the stereotype of a cold French woman, she complained if we kicked up too much dust while sweeping, complained that it was too hot when the sun was out, complained that it was too cold when the sun went down, and chastised me for flying from the US instead of taking the train (obviously train travel from the US to EU is impossible). 😑 She was a wet blanket if I’ve ever met one, and it reminded me of Zach Galifinakis complaining about the hot tub being too hot. It’s a strange humor.
So I wasn’t sure what to expect with Emilie right away, but she was young, energetic, and eager to learn. I showed her around the grounds, explaining what the work had been like up until her arrival. She expressed that she also craves a clear schedule and expectations, so I found I could confide in her that I was quite frustrated with the flow of this place.
She spoke French easily with the managers and some of the other guests, but with me she was happy to speak English and didn’t make me feel self-conscious for not speaking another language.
Before Emilie had arrived, if I wasn’t sitting with the Unita students who spoke predominately English with one another, I sat with the crew of workers at La Trappa who only spoke French and Italian with one another. I’m the foreigner that should be attempting to speak their language, but I got the sense I wasn’t going to fit in speaking only English with my American accent. I ate my meals quietly, trying to catch the gist of the conversation.
Please don’t get this wrong. I try REALLY hard not to be America-centric. I don’t think we are the best country in the world. I don’t think everyone should speak English just because I’m not fluent in another language, but, over the 3 weeks I was there, I could tell the manager resented having to speak English with me in order to deliver instructions. And so I couldn’t connect with her. I felt more of a nuisance than a help, which is a shame because I have a strong work ethic and like forming relationships with those I work with.
The following morning after Emilie arrived, we hiked 25 minutes up to the neighboring farm where the young owner, Elisa, had taken over her grandparents’ dairy farm. Her cows graze in the surrounding pastures and she uses their milk to make cheese using the traditional methods she learned from her family.
The views from those mountain pastures were absolutely incredible, like something out of The Sound of Music.
When we arrived, we greeted Elisa and her staff. We’d be cleaning out the stables that day. She informed us that we were in luck—a baby calf would be born that morning!
Elisa’s boyfriend (who admittedly looked like a character out of Snatch, with his checked fedora, cubic zirconia studs, tattooed forearms on display in his muscle tee, dirty overalls, and Wellington boots) began the process by checking how close the cow was to begin birthing the calf. And, with keeping in mind the description of Snatch, he stuck his entire arm up into the cow’s you-know-what, feeling around for the calf’s legs. It was graphic and messy. Emilie and I looked over at each other and both shrugged. Might as well add this to the list of adventures.
The farm hand ran around gathering up ropes and pulleys as the family members prepared to help this cow give birth. The cow laid down and began to push. The farm hand stuck his arm way up there again, grabbing the cafe’s feet, and began pulling at his legs. It was WILD how fast it was happening. They began shouting orders to each other in Italian. The farm hand looped the rope around the calf’s legs, and then, using the pulleys, the younger farm hand and Elisa’s father began cranking the pulley, doing their best to heave the calf out of the birth canal.
We could tell they were working swiftly but this was no small feat. We watched as the men heaved one final pull and the calf slipped out onto the stable floor in front of them. The calf was covered in a yellow, goopy film and wasn’t moving. The farm hand grabbed a stick and began whacking the side of the mama cow as hard as he could, yelling at her to stand up.
The energy was super tense, everyone shouting orders to each other, and without understanding their language, Emilie and I looked at each other, sensing that something had gone wrong.
Suddenly, after everyone seemed in a panic, the mama cow stood up with some struggle. The farm hands grabbed buckets and began throwing water on the still calf. The baby began to move and breathe.
Elisa’s dad walked out of the stable with a huge smile on his face. I thought we were about to witness a death of either this baby calf or his mother, but, relieved by the dad’s celebration, I began to cry. It was such an emotional event to witness. Elisa’s dad, with his missing teeth and weathered face, cupped my face in his hands and kissed me on the forehead, as if to let me know everything had turned out ok. He wrapped me in a quick, fatherly hug, as I laughed and wiped my tears away. I think I had been holding my breath for the previous 5 minutes!
Emilie and I were both in awe. The calf was picked up by its legs and laid down in a separate stable on a bed of hay. The other cows were led out to pasture, while the mama cow was left in the stable to feed on hay and rest.
Emilie and I got to work, our rubber boots up to our knees as we knew this would a messy job. Surprisingly, the smell of cow manure isn’t as bad as I’d imagined, and eventually I got used to it. 🤣 We shoveled all the shit to the entrance of the stable to be hauled off in a tractor, then used buckets of water and brooms to wash down the stone floors.
It was gross, for sure, but I’m so open to trying different things this year that I may as well add “stable-cleaning” to my growing list of talents. Once we’d finished cleaning the first stable, we headed over to take care of the second cow stable and goat stable. The goat poos were much smaller and less smelly.
After we’d finished our farm chores, Elisa gave us a tasting of her cheese and we headed back down the steep, grassy mountainside back to La Trappa for lunch.
Honestly, every meal at La Trappa was delicious and interesting. Marco, one of the cooks, became a good friend to Emilie and I over the course of our time there. We’d make fun of each other but also had an affectionate friendship, happy to be around other young, interesting people.
That afternoon we headed as a group down to the river to swim. We crammed into Marco’s marigold VW van, which we so affectionately dubbed the Yellow Cab, and he led the way through the woods to the waterfall.
The river was stunning. There was a large pool at the base of the waterfall that led to another fall, allowing the water to continue on down the mountainside river. But that pool was the perfect place for the few locals to cool off in the summer. We gingerly lowered ourselves into the frigid mountain water, swimming until our toes began to go numb. Then we carefully climbed out and sunned ourselves on the huge rocks that created the cascades.
There was something so wild and freeing about swimming in a mountain fall like that. Some of the younger guys climbed up on the boulders and dove into the pool. Some of the women swam and sunbathed sans bikini top, a free-spiritedness I wish the US had even more of in comparison to their European counterparts.
I laid out in the sun and pulled out my Kindle, reading until the sun disappeared behind the trees. We gathered up our belongings, and the group that had arrived in Marco’s car headed back to the road. Emilie and I plucked large purple flowers from some of the trees along the path to create a bouquet for the lobby when we got back to La Trappa.
I showered when I returned to my room—even though the river water was extremely clean, I was relieved by the hot water and was still convinced I had residual manure in my hair.
When we came back down to the kitchen, Marco had dinner prepared. We all worked together to set the three wooden communal tables outside for our group of 30 people. We ate happily, sleepily, and Emilie and I retired upstairs for an early bedtime.
Hey! Would you like to connect over creativity, self-growth, and problem-solving? Or just to have a virtual glass of wine or mocktail? Please book a time on my Calendly for us to chat! I can’t wait to see you. XOXO.
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Heather, I've been enjoying your musings while WWOOFing so much. Your writing is so illustrative and candid. As a past Workawayer myself, I know how frustrating it can be to be the only native English speaker in the room, seemingly ostracized from conversations. I'm glad that you had a fellow WWOOFer that was more welcoming. Can't wait to read more from you :)