Sciacca, April 22
The road from Castelvetrano ran all the time over gravel hills and was devoid of mineralogical interest. When it reached the seashore, we could see a few limestone cliffs. The whole plain is immensely fertile; the oats and barley were in excellent condition, salsola kali had been planted, the fruit stalks of the aloes were higher than those we saw during the past two days, and the various clovers never left us.
We came to a copse – mostly bushes, but with a tree rising here and there. And then, at last, cork-trees.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Italian Journey (1786-1788), translated by W.H. Auden and Elizabeth Mayer, New York, Pantheon Press, 1962.