On Italy Amalfi Coast there's a food found nowhere else on Earth. Caring for it requires fearlessness, breathtaking agility, and a deep connection to the land. This is a young man's trade but it's done almost entirely by old men, and I come here to meet one of the greatest. Gigino just turned 83, he's spent his whole life tending a very special kind of lemon. Gigino just turned 83, he's spent his whole life tending a very special kind of lemon here on the hillsides of Amalfi. Gigino and his son Salvatore have invited me to harvest the fable Amalfi Coast lemon, sfusato amalfitano, a variety that is celebrated for its sweetness and aroma. But first, café! Salute! With a twist of lemon, of course. That's really good! I'm ready to go now. Let's go! Now you're ready. The name, sfusato, comes from the lemon taper end, like a spindle or "fuso", in Italian. Only sfusato grown along the 20 miles coastal strip between Vietri and Positano can legally be sold as Amalfi Coast lemons. This is the preferred habitat of the sfusato amalfitano, and attempts to commercially grow it outside of Italy have failed. Gigino often works in the most precarious place possible: atop the mountainside pergolas that support the trees. This breathtaking aerial act has earned Gigino and his cohort a nickname: the Flying Farmers. It's easy to drive along the coast and think the cascading lemon terraces are entirely ornamental, they are just postcard perfect. But that's what this coast does to people, it gives us delusion on grandeur, that all of this is it's here purely to fulfill our fantasy of paradise. But in reality, the lemons play a vital role, not only on the livelihood of farmers like Gigino, but in the very survival of the Amalfi Coast, literally, the survival. The roots of these trees are anchoring the soil to this sheer coastline. Now, the farmers are aging, and there's not exactly a line of people clamoring to take up this work. As more farms have been abandoned, the mudslides have increased. Gigino's farmland includes an ancient terrace grove that overlooks the heart of Amalfi and the sea. Up here feels worlds away but it's staringly close to the bustling streetlife below where you can hear children playing as Gigino works. It's terrifying to think of what would happen if these terraces crumble. It was only recently that Gigino's eldest son Sal quit his cushy accounting job to become his father's apprentice. He knew that if he didn't act now then a legacy of over two centuries and five generations would die with him. He teaches me day by day and I'm learning. It's difficult because it's difficult to learn 80 years of experience. Gigino tends two seasons worth of lemons at the same time. The one he'll harvest this year from February to September, and the babies that will be next year's crop. Gigino's lemons are organic not because he tries to conform to any modern day standard, but rather the opposite, because he's farming the way his family has farmed for generations. The spring is such a special time to be here. The trees are unclogged from the netting that protects the fruit against wind and hail. The trees bloom perfuming the air and luring bees to pollinate. The Aceto keeps his own hives and havests the honey too. The fertilized flowers grow into fruits which start as green as limes. A third of Gigino's lemons are used to make limoncello in their own small factory. The rest goes to ice cream and other limoncello factories, and a few to fresh markets. These are the real deal shears. Ok. All right. We want leaves on these. The branches and the leaves also indicate that is really fresh, that is coming straight from the farm. I got this one. It's not for me... He'll do it. I can get this one, ughh -- it's heavy enough. - Salute! - Salute! I've seen a lot of tough farm work but I really can't think of a more challenging terrain than this. Heavy loads have to be hauled up and down narrow craggy steps from terrace to terrace -- to terrace. But Gigino also claims a unique advantage. He's got one of the most technologically advanced poling systems on the coast. I'm serious -- this little cable car! Cable car aside, watching Gigino's farm is stepping back in time 200 years. He crafts each pergola himself from the chestnut trees in his forests, then he uses pliable willow branches to tie the pergola to the limbs of the lemon trees to lift them up to the sun which sweetens the fruit. Preparing the willow ties is an ancient practice. Watching him do this fills me with a deep sense of privilege, it's like, I'm seeing a tradition so fragile that if I blink, it may cease to exist. It's Sunday and three generations of Acetos are gathered under the pergola for lunch. There's pasta, sausages and flank steak and of course, lemon cake. In his heyday, Amalfi was an incredible, powerful maritime republic, and a gateway to the continent for Arab traders. They are the ones who first brought citrus to this coast in the tenth century. Ever since, wealthy visitors from near and far,