DAY 9 | 12/06/2017–Travel Diary
Some say that, among all the flavors capable of capturing the true essence of a place, a valley, an entire region, honey is the most complex and complete. Prehistoric humans already knew this unique taste long before their Egyptian descendants domesticated bees and beekeeping spread across the Mediterranean basin. “One of my great-grandfathers, together with his brother, used to capture swarms in the wild and transfer them into ‘cupigghiuni,’ containers made from cork—a tree common in this area—by separating the bark from the trunk.”
The method used by Giacomo Emanuele’s great-grandfather—guardian beekeeper of the Sicilian black bee—was not far removed from those practiced for hundreds, perhaps thousands of years before the advent of modern apiaries. “Protected only by a jute sack with the mesh of a sieve (the so-called crivu) in front of their eyes, my great-grandfathers would extract the brisca (the honeycomb, in dialect), dripping with honey and surrounded by bees. Placed in a wicker basket, the combs were carried home, where they were pressed and the wax separated from the honey by filtering it through a linen cloth. It was a celebration for the whole neighborhood—especially for the children.”
The Sicilian black bee, first rediscovered, studied, and reproduced in purity by Carlo Amodeo, is a Slow Food Presidium and Giacomo’s most cherished companion. Called “Sicilian” because it was naturally selected by the land itself, this bee of African origin boasts greater genetic variability than any other European honeybee. Its rich genetic heritage ensures remarkable resilience to external stress factors such as viral diseases.
Dressed in full beekeeping suits, and with the apprehension of those who have never deliberately approached a hive, we follow Giacomo among his apiaries in the Nebrodi Park.
“These bees are accustomed to working in extreme temperatures, both in summer and winter. Compared to other honeybees, a much larger number of individuals within a colony are dedicated to pollen gathering, allowing them to pollinate wider expanses of vegetation. They have a thinner proboscis and can draw nectar where other bees cannot. Their productivity, although possibly lower than other bees on a single bloom, is equal or even higher overall thanks to the greater number of plants they can access. Their value as pollinators makes them formidable allies in protecting plant biodiversity”.
Giacomo wears very little protective clothing. “It is an extremely docile bee”, he reassures us. He approaches a hive and, with controlled movements, removes the cover and extracts a frame carpeted with Sicilian bees. We hold our breath as Giacomo holds, with bare hands, a mass of insects impossible to count.
We manage to photograph the queen just in time before the swarm goes on alert and a few insects begin to sting Giacomo. It is time to put everything back in place.
Back in the village, Giacomo opens the doors of his workshop to show us the honey extraction phase, the process of removing honey from the hives. The discipline, organization, and tireless industry of bees are all encapsulated in the perfectly hexagonal cells built by their relentless activity.
Thanks to modern centrifuges, it is no longer necessary, as it once was, to destroy the entire comb to extract honey. It is enough to remove the operculum—the wax seal placed by bees over the cells containing nectar—and the excess cells along the frame edges. There are more or less orthodox tools for this task; Giacomo often uses a well-sharpened knife.
Suddenly, Giacomo plunges the knife vertically into the honey-filled cells, cutting a slice of comb. “Eat”, he orders. I bite eagerly into the luscious mixture, chewing and swallowing with pleasure even the wax. “It used to be an excellent remedy for ulcers”, he tells me. “In the old days, people made a decoction from the pulp of prickly pear pads”.
From the cappings deposited on the perforated bottom of a frame box, the honey slowly drips by gravity into a collector. The frames, once uncapped, are ready to be placed in the centrifuge.
Before being stored in jars, the honey is filtered by gravity.
From the wax—melted and filtered in a solar wax melter—new sheets can be produced and installed on frames so that bees can build fresh cells again, as well as small sculptures or high-quality candles. “They last up to ten times longer than paraffin candles and emit a far more intense light”.
Being in contact with bees is an experience everyone should have at least once in their life, just as tasting honey together with the entire comb is. We are infinitely grateful to Giacomo for giving us the chance to live this experience and for once again showing how generously a guest is treated in Sicily.
We resume our journey toward Portella Gazzana, where Angelo awaits us with his pickup. We load the bicycles and bags and head northwest, while the sun sinks over the watery horizon beyond pale rocks inhabited by eagles and griffon vultures.
Angelo is a dreamer. These lands gave him birth and, forty years later, returned to him the strength to follow his dreams. He had been a successful hairdresser far from home until he felt the need to return, reconnecting with his rural childhood. A real life—that was what Angelo sought, and the peace of these mountains helped him find it again.
Rifugio del Sole, in front of which Angelo stops his pickup, had long been the home of his dreams. Before us, many souls had spent unforgettable moments here, sharing and contemplating Beauty, Nature, the Divine. Now a farming family has arrived to check their free-grazing cows: their son plays among the rocks while his parents speak quietly with Angelo.
Through the refuge’s doorway we glimpse whitewashed stone walls, the bunks where we will spend the night, and a table set simply yet with love.
On Angelo’s face, the smile of a man who has suffered to earn his place in the world; in his manners, the kindness of one who deeply wishes to share his happiness. All around, the air glows with an unreal sunset. Everything breathes peace. Time stretches. It feels as if here, at last, one is free to truly live.