Harvest Time

The volunteers in Permet had a potluck dinner last Sunday. One of them is a vegetarian, so the menu was multiple vegetable dishes; hummus, focaccia bread, crostini with yoghurt sauce and roasted pepper topping, orange/carrot salad, bean salad, fresh feta cheese, homemade tomato pickles, and lemon pound cake and jello with fresh peaches for dessert. Those that drank alcohol had dark Korca beer, the rest homemade lemonade or spring water. I was fortunate to be visiting.

It is harvest time in Albania and the markets are full of fresh fruits and vegetables brought in by the villagers from the fields they work in the fertile river valleys of the countryside. It is mostly organically grown by default, since villagers tending their small family plots by hand, can’t afford commercial fertilizer or pesticides (although some, small entrepreneurs are starting to use the “bio” label on their products to indicate that it is organically grown). The challenge of planning a dinner is selecting from the cornucopia in the bazaar. In smaller cities, like Permet, the volunteers get to know the people in the bazaar personally. Shopping takes a long time as each vendor has to be greeted with hugs and air kisses and the traditional exchanges regarding how one is doing and how is the family, supplemented by information about how good today’s fruits or vegetables are or if the cheese is salty, and this requires sampling and then further discussion.

Early in the morning, we went for a hike to a mountain village about an hour and a half upriver from Permet. We passed fields, grape vines and fig orchards. People were working and as we passed they chatted with us and offered generous samples of whatever they were harvesting. The grape bunches were dense with small, tasty berries. The fresh figs were ripe and bursting. When someone saw us picking fruit off of a tree along the road, we were cautioned not to eat from the tree over the septic tank and to walk a bit further down the trail. The blackberries were a bit past their peak, but we were able to gather fennel seeds from the drying plants on the roadside. Shepherds were out with flocks of cows, sheep or goats. They waved as we passed. We are reluctant to approach them too closely as their dogs can be riled if we get between them and their charges. People were fishing in the rapids of the Vjosa River that flows through the valley, north from the Greek border. Part of the trail back from the village was a path along a stream that was fast and full from the Mali Dhembi (toothed mountains) that rise steeply from the west side of the valley. It had a spring alongside, pouring from the trunk of a large shade tree.

It was warming up when we got back to town, so we stopped for a drink. Our friends who run the restaurant allowed us to treat, for a change. We were celebrating their success in the latest step in their plan to move to Milwaukee. They recently had passed visa interviews and from talking to others, they expect to get their visas soon. They have relatives in Wisconsin and good job prospects for the whole family. We like their restaurant. The food is excellent, traditional faire, and there is a big screen TV. When we are there, they put on BBC news for us, although their teenage son favors American action movies. They are practicing their English in anticipation of their emigration, so we talk Albanian to them and they speak English to us.

On the bus drive to and from Permet, big bags of produce were loaded into the cargo hold at frequent village stops along the route. Closer to Korca there were stands, usually tended by the children of the rural families, selling potatoes, onions or apples (the products for which the Korca region is known in Albania). Most villagers, and, indeed, gardeners in town, grow everything. The grapes and figs and plums in Korca aren’t as good as those from Permet. Tomatoes and watermelons and corn are better near Elbasan or Fier, but mono-culture is unknown here. This is mostly for their families, but they sell any excess and there are some commercial operations. Prices are very low for local produce. In the market, plums are about 15 cents a pound, apples about 20 cents, and grapes 30 to 50 cents. Whole milk from the farm is about 30 cents a half gallon, although you do have to heat it to just below boiling and then let it cool as a method of home pasteurization.

My neighbors have had loads of firewood delivered and are chopping it into pieces to fit into their wood stoves. The Albanian axe is distinctive, and its shape looks almost medieval. The blade is much larger and thicker than an American axe. It makes quick work of splitting small logs. Most homes in Korca are heated with wood, which seems strange in a city of more than 50,000. My landlord, who had a heart attack last year, is not up to splitting cordwood, so he hired a farmer from a nearby village to do it for him. The farmer towed a table saw with his tractor and ran it off of the drive train. He went through the pile of wood quickly while my landlords, Palo and Moza, and most of the other residents in my apartment building sat around and watched. They drank coffee or raki and commented or joked about the work. Most seemed to think that Palo and Moza's sons should be splitting and stacking the wood for them, but they both work and are busy. Also, Palo is a retired mechanic and loves machinery of any sort. The tractor driven table saw obviously delighted him.

Many Korcans make peta in the fall. This is an egg and flour dough that is rolled out like a tortilla, dried in the sun and then broken up to use as pasta. Fresh peta, boiled and served with butter, is a delicacy, although a bit bland for my taste. Several friends have invited my over to sample their own special product. It all pretty much tastes the same to me. Since few of them cover the peta while it is drying, it may have markings from or even dead insects or bits of leaves or dirt in it. I have really tried not to be too prissy about hygiene differences between Albanian and American culture, but I am glad the peta spends time in boiling water before it is consumed. Anyway, I have eaten much worse on camping trips in the Idaho backcountry.

Cooler autumn weather has made mid-day hikes in the mountains pleasant. This is good because it is dark in the morning when I have to set out on my constitutional if I want to get back in time for work. Yesterday, as I started up my usual trail to the cross, I surprised a pack of dogs sleeping in the field. They growled ominously and I could not see how many there were. I picked up some rocks and tried to walk a little further out to pass around them without provoking an attack. It may be better when the time changes in October or they will move closer to town as it gets colder. Maybe I can find time later in the day for my walk. I have tried to get either of the other volunteers in Korca interested in the traditional hike up the hill, but neither is a morning person (are there any in the current generation of young adults?). Perhaps they will take me up on my invitation if it is for a more civilized hour.