The Future of Fincas

The last wisps of mist mystically swirl over the meadows around Alaró. Only the two giant rocks, which tower above the small town in Majorca’s hinterland, can be seen from a distance: the Puig d’Alaró with the old castle ruins on the summit and the Puig de s’Alcadena, colloquially referred to as ‘Witch Mountain’. They were already here during the Iron Age, at the time of the hut dwellers, saw the Romans come and go and were witnesses to the Moorish conquest at the beginning of the 10th century. The Arabs did not stay for long either, however they left clear marks on the cultural landscape: countless dry stone walls and terraced fields traverse the Serra de Tramentura. These made it easier to irrigate the hard ground and the yields increased.

For centuries, owners of large estates took advantage of these achievements and produced copious amounts of oranges, figs, almonds and olives. The resulting wealth was particularly visible in their manor houses, the fincas. Enormous estates were built that not only housed the family, but also the numerous workers. Like on the Finca Son Berga, which has stood right behind Alaró for nearly 450 years. “Up to one hundred people used to work here,” explains Elisabet Rotger, known to everyone as Eli. Nowadays there are normally three: Eli herself and her parents, both aged over 70, share the finca – and all of the tasks.

Twelve hours of hard work a day is common, realistically it’s closer to fifteen. “My father always says that work is a constant maturing process,” she says with a smile. Every morning starts in the same way: sweep up the leaves, water the plants, feed the animals. Added to that are the extras: “Earlier today, the vet was here to take blood from all of the sheep and to vaccinate them against bluetongue disease. That was a bit more stressful than usual.”

The family owns 150 sheep and lambs. Plus several donkeys, which live more or less wild in the sprawling fields. “They are the best vacuum cleaners in the world and keep our land clean,” Eli says, adjusting her glasses and wiping her clean hands on her jeans. In addition, Eli and her parents also cultivate many hectares of arable land with citrus fruits, almonds, olives and carob beans. Nowadays however, the wholesalers only pay around 60 cents for a kilo of oranges. That neither covers the maintenance for the finca nor does it allow Eli to take on seasonal workers. As a matter of principle, Eli therefore sells her fruit at the local petrol station – and in return can fill up her tractor every now and then. Why do you do this to yourself? “For me, this is a jewel,” she says and looks out over the estate. “We want to preserve our heritage – and if possible, in the way it has always been.” Lots of Majorcans have abandoned their fincas. The majority of them were sold to rich foreigners as holiday homes, others fell into disrepair. At Eli’s, you could eat off the floor. There are no leaves on the patio and paths; the buildings are immaculate. Above all else, this is down to her tireless drive: for example, as soon as she sees her many potted plants, she becomes restless. Her hands twitch slightly, her eyes constantly flit to a dry leaf here and there. Weeding serves as a release.

“The most beautiful thing for me is the sense of community,” says Eli. “We help each other out when someone is sick or with sheep shearing.” The farmers also swap rams in order to bring fresh blood into the herd without changing the old breed. The smell of diesel mixes with scent of the bougainvillea as she drives towards Witch Mountain. The name arose from the legend that witches used to live here. When there is a full moon, it still looks as if a band of cloud is joining the two peaks together. “If you don’t behave, the witches will come to get you; that is what parents used to tell their children,” Eli recalls. Records show that in the Middle Ages, Alaró was the seat of the Spanish Inquisition. Witch burning was not uncommon. “Workers from the finca used to camp up there in huts in order to mine coal but also stone for the buildings and dry stone walls.” Nowadays no one mines anything here. Eli has to quickly check the fences and ancient dry stone walls. Just recently one collapsed due to heavy rainfall. “There is only one man in Alaró who still knows how to repair them. He is 70 and has a bad back.” His son works in Palma and will not continue the tradition.

At her neighbour’s house a column of smoke climbs into the sky. You’re only allowed to prune trees and burn branches in winter. “Ah, we still have to do that,” mumbles Eli. And, wearing her white trainers, she once again climbs a ladder in the middle of her orange trees. She meticulously examines individual fruit, weeding out some. “It’s going to be a good crop this year.” Meaning that she will soon be able to fill her tractor up again.