WAIST DEEP IN water, Angelo Mortellaro is dwarfed by the towering papyrus plants that surround him. Graceful yet sturdy, the stems stretch some five to six meters towards the sky, only for their lush foliage to drape back down towards the water like delicate firework explosions of strands and spikes.

Wading through the pond on his carefully tended farm just outside the Sicilian town of Syracuse in Southern Italy, Mortellaro examines the plants with calm focus. Selecting those ready for harvest, he uses a small sickle with practiced ease as he cuts the mature plants near the base of the stem, collecting the reeds in a pile on the shore.

Mortellaro’s farm is designed as an oasis with a single water-access point that supplies the entire papyrus plantation. Home to many other plants that thrive in the Mediterranean environment — palm trees, crane flowers, willows, orange trees, prickly pear cacti, and sugar cane, to name a few — it is one of the last remaining papyrus farms in the region. And it is located just a few miles from the only wild papyrus refuge outside of Africa: the Ciane River.

In addition to growing papyrus, Mortellaro also practices the centuries-old craft of papyrus papermaking, an art once prevalent in the region. “My grandfather, Angelo La Mesa, was a papyrus farmer,” Mortellaro recalls. “He used to supply papyrus to local papermakers and I would spend a lot of time with him by the ponds where papyrus grew. I was fascinated by the artisans who used to come by my grandfather’s farm to pick up the stalks for papermaking. When I grew up, I decided that I wanted to continue his tradition and learn how to make paper from papyrus.”

Today, some 40 years later, Mortellaro is among the few remaining artisans in the area who still make papyrus paper — but he faces growing threats to this endeavor. Pollution has been creeping into the Ciane, threatening the ecosystem there. At the same time, warmer, drier seasons have made it harder for papyrus plants to grow in Syracuse, both in the wild and on local farms. These challenges mean that Mortellaro’s work is more than a craft: It is a commitment to keep alive a species and a tradition that are quietly slipping away.

ONCE A SYMBOL of ancient Egypt, today papyrus is endemic along only two rivers: the Ciane, which meanders a mere eight miles through Syracuse, and the Nile, which stretches more than 4,000 miles across northeastern Africa. Despite being wildly different in size, these two rivers share a tradition that binds them together.

For thousands of years, before modern paper was invented, papyrus was used to make a thin paper-like writing surface to record and transmit information. It facilitated the production of letters, legal documents, and books, and allowed ancient knowledge to be passed down to future generations and survive the toll of time. The fertile banks of the Nile, where papyrus plants grew abundantly, made Egypt the epicenter of papyrus paper production for millennia — the earliest known papyrus scroll dates to 2,900 BCE. It was only around the eleventh century CE, as cellulose paper began to take over, that the art of crafting papyrus scrolls faded.

Around the eleventh century CE, as cellulose paper began to take over, that the art of crafting papyrus scrolls faded.

The details of how papyrus journeyed from the land of the pyramids to the banks of a small stream on the island of Sicily are uncertain. Some believe the plant is native to the region. Others believe it was introduced in the tenth century CE, when Sicily was under Arab rule. The most widely accepted theory, however, suggests that a few plants first found their way to the island as a gift from Pharaoh Ptolemy II Philadelphus to Hiero II, the tyrant of Syracuse, in the third century BCE.

The details of how papyrus journeyed from the land of the pyramids to the banks of a small stream on the island of Sicily are uncertain. Some believe the plant is native to the region. Others believe it was introduced in the tenth century CE, when Sicily was under Arab rule. The most widely accepted theory, however, suggests that a few plants first found their way to the island as a gift from Pharaoh Ptolemy II Philadelphus to Hiero II, the tyrant of Syracuse, in the third century BCE.

However it arrived, for centuries papyrus found a comfortable home on Italy’s largest island, where it was mostly harvested by fishermen to weave ropes and by farmers to tie sheaves. Its delicate foliage was also integrated into local culture, adorning streets and churches during religious festivals. Eventually, as Sicily grew, papyrus habitat — including the island’s wetlands and other humid ecosystems — was largely destroyed. The plant became confined to the banks of the river Ciane, where it was largely forgotten.

That is, until 1798 when, much to his surprise, an Italian archaeologist named Saverio Landolina identified a reed along the Ciane as Cyperus papyrus L., ancient Egypt’s famous papyrus. While the Egyptians had left no records of their papermaking techniques, Landolina was determined to understand the process of making paper from papyrus. When he eventually succeeded, Syracuse became the European hub for papyrus papermaking.

Concerned that overharvesting could jeopardize the papyrus swamp around the Ciane, Landolina appealed to King Ferdinand of Bourbon for help. In response, the King issued a royal decree to protect the papyrus and forbid the harvesting of wild plants. The decision encouraged locals to start farming papyrus, laying the foundation for what would become a flourishing industry for the next two centuries.

Today, things are different. Angelo Mortellaro is one of the last papyrus papermakers in Syracuse — and in Europe, where the papyrus industry has become a niche market. “In the 1970s, Egypt resumed papyrus paper production,” recalls Mortellaro. “While the quality wasn’t as good as ours, it came at a lower price, and many artisans in Syracuse had the terrible idea of purchasing Egyptian paper and passing it off as their own. Needless to say, it completely destroyed our craft, and from a thriving community of 30 artisans, now only a few remain.”

As the industry dwindled, Mortellaro adapted, selling his papyrus mainly to tourists as souvenirs and to local artisans who use the paper for painting and calligraphy. He was even approached once to create papyrus scrolls for use as props in a film. Today, however, a significant portion of his income comes from offering tours of his farm and hosting paper-making workshops.

THOSE FEW REMAINING papyrus-makers now confront new threats to their craft. One of those is climate change. Much like the rest of Southern Europe, Sicily has been hit by frequent and prolonged droughts in recent years. These droughts are already putting modest water sources, like the Ciane, under enormous stress. Climate change is expected to continue making droughts longer and more severe. And while papyrus plants can adapt to hotter climates, making them resilient to rising temperatures, unpredictable weather patterns, another symptom of the climate crisis, can also pose a challenge, particularly to farmers like Mortellaro.

At the same time, pollution is adding further strain to the papyrus population along the Ciane. Agricultural runoff, industrial waste, and urban development are increasingly threatening this delicate ecosystem, endangering the papyrus along with numerous other species.

“The techniques I use to make papyrus scrolls are over 5,000 years old — not much has changed since then.”

The loss of this papyrus population would have broader implications as well, says Nic Pacini, a hydro-biologist and researcher who’s dedicated much of his life to studying papyrus and its ecosystem along the Nile. “Very few people realize how interesting it is to have Cyperus papyrus growing in the wild,” he says. “There are over 400 different strands of papyrus, but this particular one has been growing in Italy long enough to be considered an endemic species — much like olive trees — and yet we still struggle to think about it in these terms.”

Pacini’s research on papyrus growing around Kenya’s Lake Naivasha, which is connected to the Nile River, has helped establish that the reed plays a crucial role in regulating the temperature, water availability, and chemical balance of aquatic ecosystems. “Papyrus has the ability to absorb excess water and release it during dry periods,” explains Pacini, who compares papyrus swamps to forests in terms of ecological significance. “What we observed at Lake Naivasha, for example, is that papyrus helps prevent the lake from drying out completely in the dry season by effectively managing water levels.”

This is relevant to the Ciane, too, he says: “Just like we were able to observe in Kenya, removing papyrus from its natural environment creates a system that is far more unstable and vulnerable to fluctuations in temperature and rainfall, as well as the impacts of climate change.”

Over the years, environmentalists and local authorities have launched various initiatives to protect the Ciane and the species that live there, including water-quality monitoring, implementing stricter regulations on pollutants, and promoting sustainable agricultural practices among local farmers. Syracuse also established a natural reserve around the river in 1984. However, Mortellaro and Pacini agree that these efforts, while valuable, fall short of what is needed. In particular, they would like to see better maintenance of the reserve, and an explicit focus on safeguarding the papyrus as an endemic species tied to the region’s cultural and ecological identity. Both believe the city of Syracuse should be taking on a more active role in preserving not only the natural state of the river Ciane, but also the centuries-old tradition of papyrus cultivation and papermaking that is now at risk of vanishing.

IN MANY WAYS, conservation is what Mortellaro has been doing quietly for decades. Back on his farm, he shows me his outdoor workshop and takes me through the slow process of making papyrus paper by hand.“After harvesting the stalks, I slice them into thin strips and soak them in a solution made of water and antioxidants for up to a day,” Mortellaro explains. From there, he makes the paper sheets by overlapping the strips vertically and horizontally — essentially weaving them into a grid. Once constructed, the sheets are placed in a manual, wooden press for 12 hours and then dried for four days, “one sheet on top of the other, separated by fabric that I make sure to change every three hours.”

“The techniques I use to make papyrus scrolls are over 5,000 years old — not much has changed since then,” he adds.

For Mortellaro, one of the greatest joys of his work is sharing it with others. “We do historical and botanical tours showing all the stages of papermaking,” he says. “My goal is to celebrate our papyrus papermaking tradition and show how unique and precious it still is.”

He especially loves sharing the craft with children, and frequently hosts school trips. On these visits, he walks the students through the oasis, often letting them run their fingers along the smooth stalks before showing them how to slice the stems and prepare the layers for papermaking. “Their excitement when they see the plants and make paper is the most rewarding part of my job,” says Angelo, smiling. “This is my way of passing down knowledge to the new generations, my way of making sure this art lives on.”