Cherries

by Sarah Matz
Today, I finally met with interviewee, Pietro. Our actual discussion is set for Monday afternoon, but today he’s taking me to pick cherries for Visciole wine. He doesn’t speak English and my Italian is weak at best, but I arrive at our agreed upon time and location. Despite the intense heat, I’m all set in my sneakers and long pants because I know I’ll be hiking through brush in the steep hills of Cagli. I also have my camera, ready to snap pictures that will help tell Pietro’s story.

First, he takes me through his cantina, or wine cellar. The room is deep below the first level of his house and it’s where he ages the wine and hangs drying meats for salami and prosciutto. Afterwards, he leads me up the cellar stairs, outside, and motions with his hands toward the mountains. He says something that I think means, “let’s go pick cherries.” I agree. He leads me to his car and before I know it, we are driving away from Cagli. He seems nice enough. I was introduced to him by a faculty member so I decide to go with it. After all, I made it out of his dark and musty cellar alive. He also seems to have a gentle eye and kind heart.

Several hours later, I’ve seen the beautiful countryside surrounding all of Cagli, yet only one cherry tree. We haven’t climbed any ladders, filled any buckets with ruby red fruit, or picked a single cherry. Eventually, we make our way back to Cagli and he drops me off in the center of the Piazza. I wave goodbye and hope I’m displaying enough non-verbal graciousness. As he drives away, I am dumbfounded. My first thought is, “What just happened?” The second is, “I can’t wait to peel these jeans off my body and take a cold shower.”

In class today we learned there are six stumbling blocks to effective communication: assumed similarity, language, non-verbal communication, preconceptions and stereotypes, tendency to evaluate, and high anxiety. My day with Pietro was delightful and eye-opening because I discovered new things. However, we stumbled along with very little language in common. We attempted to communicate through hand motions and smiles. Sometimes we just continued in our native tongue in blissful denial or in hope the other would pick up at least one word.

Anxiety was also a prevalent feeling. We had not a single word in common, which I’m sure lead to anxiety on both our parts. However, I was also out of my physical comfort zone. Entering a dark basement or driving away from my temporary home with a stranger is not how I operate. I admit, a little part of me wondered if I would ever make it back to Cagli. But Pietro and I somehow managed to connect, understand our differences, and adapt. As a result, I learned something new. Discovering Pietro’s contribution to the world is now part of me.

I’m not exactly sure how I figured we were picking cherries, but in the end I appreciated the time Pietro took out of his day for me. Next time we meet, I’ll be sure to have an interpreter.