When the Olive Grove Falls Silent

Our second olive harvest is over.

We've returned from Tuscany with 97 litres of olive oil, aching muscles, a few stories about olive presses that we'll probably be telling for years, and memories I will treasure forever, but when I think about this harvest, it isn't the olives that come to mind...it's the people.

The anticipation

There's something wonderful about the nervous excitement before an olive harvest.

Will it be a good year? Will the weather hold? Will we have enough help? And will we manage to pick everything?

With around 280 olive trees, it's quite an undertaking, particularly when you're still learning!

I remember walking amongst the trees, looking at the olives and wondering how the coming days would unfold. I couldn't possibly have imagined just how special they would become.

When the grove came alive

Over the following days, our olive grove became a gathering place.

Family, friends and people who simply wanted to help arrived to join us. Some came for a few hours, others returned day after day.

The grove was filled with laughter, conversation and the sound of olives falling onto nets.

There was something wonderful about everyone working together, but what touched me most was the generosity, people giving up their time, arriving with such enthusiasm and helping us simply because they wanted to and then something happened that I hadn't anticipated...

As we worked amongst the trees, people began sharing their personal stories with me, their lives, their experiences, the things they'd been through.

At times, it felt almost like little therapy sessions, unfolding naturally as we picked olives together, some stories were happy, others much more difficult.

I felt incredibly humbled that people trusted me enough to share such personal parts of their lives and I listened.

There was something extraordinary about those conversations taking place amongst the olive trees. No appointments, no expectations, just people working alongside one another, talking and listening. Of course, those stories aren't mine to tell, but I will carry them with me.

I had hoped for a good olive harvest, I hadn't expected quite so much humanity.

The people and their stories

One particularly special visitor was Alberto.

At 78, Alberto knows our house and olive grove better than almost anyone. He was born in our house, and his brother Romano owned the property before us.

As we picked together, Alberto shared memories of harvesting olives with his father and brother.

He remembered when the olives were picked in January and spoke about the devastating freeze of the 1980s, after which many trees died and the groves were replanted.

Here I was, picking olives alongside someone whose childhood had unfolded on the very land we now call ours. I found that incredibly moving. It reminded me that although we may own the grove today, we are simply another chapter in its much longer story.

There were also the little moments. One lunchtime, absolutely exhausted, we stopped at the bar for something to keep us going. My lunch consisted of a cheese and tomato sandwich, a packet of crisps and a Snickers bar! Lorenzo, one of the bar owners who is such a wonderful character, spotted me sitting there...now, in all the time I've known Lorenzo, he'd never spoken to me in English, but on this particular day, he looked across at me and said:

“Come on! Back to work!”

In English! It made me laugh so much.

Such a tiny exchange, but one that meant an awful lot to me and there were so many moments like that. Little connections, unexpected conversations and experiences that made me feel incredibly fortunate to be there.

The picking was the easy part!

I had imagined that picking hundreds of kilograms of olives would be the difficult bit, how wrong I was.

Our first pressing began with the discovery that we didn't have a booking at the olive mill.

After a rather frantic search, and help from one of our dear Italian friends, we eventually found somewhere that could take our olives and pressed over 30 litres.

Surely the second pressing would be easier?

We had 430 kilograms of olives loaded into two cars, ready to go, and then the pressing machine broke. Honestly, you couldn't make it up!

There followed more phone calls, more driving, more searching and the wonderful determination from friends who refused to let us give up.

At one point, I was seeing olives whenever I closed my eyes, but between us all, we got there, the frantoio was finally fixed and the result?

2026 harvest of 97 litres of our very own olive oil.

I still can't quite believe it.

So much more than olive oil

Of course, I'm thrilled with the oil.

There's something deeply satisfying about producing something from your own land, particularly when you've been involved in every part of the process, but what will stay with me forever isn't the quantity we produced, it's the kindness of people.

The friends who arrived to help without expecting anything in return, the people who returned when they could easily have stayed at home.

Those who drove around searching for olive mills, transported the harvest and helped bottle the oil. The laughter, the shared lunches, the conversations and the personal stories entrusted to me and the weather! We were blessed with many beautiful days, and I felt grateful for every single one.

I've experienced some wonderful moments in my life, and I can honestly say that this harvest will sit amongst my happiest memories, not because everything went smoothly, it certainly didn't! But because of the people who made it what it was.

A little something for the future

Before leaving, we planted a new fig tree in the olive grove.

It already had a few figs growing on it, and we enjoyed some for lunch. They were absolutely delicious! I can't wait to paint them.

I'm keeping my fingers crossed that our little tree survives the winter and rewards us with more fruit next year, and thanks to Alberto, we've discovered something else growing amongst the olive trees, Wild asparagus!

Apparently, there's plenty of it, and now that we know what to look for, I'm rather excited about finding it.

There's always something new to discover in the grove.

Next on the list of work is pruning and giving some of the trees a little extra natural nourishment.The work never really ends, but I think that's part of what I love about it.

When the grove falls silent

After the harvest, I stood looking across the olive grove.

The nets had been gathered up, the crates were gone and everyone had returned to their everyday lives.

The trees were still.

The grove was quiet again.

And yet, as I stood there, I could almost hear everyone.

The chatter of friends and family.

The laughter.

The voices calling across the trees.

I thought about the people who had given us their time, the stories they'd shared and the kindness we'd experienced.

And I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

It made me want to cry.

What began as a harvest had become something so much more.

A collection of friendships, conversations and experiences that I will carry with me long after the last bottle of olive oil has been used.

The grove has fallen silent now, but I know that when I return and walk amongst those trees, I'll still hear the voices of everyone who helped us bring in the harvest and I think I always will.

97 litres of olive oil.

And memories worth so much more.

To everyone who was part of it, thank you!

I will never forget it.

Natalie x