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,