WWOOFing in Italy: The Lumberjack's Fuel

For the past three days, the joke has been, “drink some more wine, Alex; we’re going to build a wall after we eat!!”

Four days ago, for the first time we had wine at a meal. The two paid workers who have been here helping Angelo with construction ate with us, so the occasion called for them to bottle some of the wine from their giant reserves and enjoy it at our lunch-time feast. In my defense, food and drink are an enormous part of the culture here, and as a student of culture I find it intrinsic to learn about and share in a culture’s ways. At an Italian table, I never pour my own, but somehow my glass is always refilled (and as I’ve been working outside all morning and I have no glass of water at the table, the wine goes down fast). After about two glasses, when Angelo lifted the bottle to pour me more, I said, “If we have to work after this, probably better not.”

His answer was a big smile and a nod as he poured me a full glass, “but what work??”

I thought that meant I was off free for the afternoon.
After somewhere around number five (at that point who really knows), we preceded to go outside to build a wall, lifting heavy rocks, using motor powered machinery, etc.

“What—you mean you think of this as work?”

I apparently did quite well, because now the joke is that if we want Alex to do really good work, let’s get her wine!!