Is not that breathtaking and intense perfume while queueing at the olive mill,
or that tranquility’s sensation and calm buzz of old men’s with their hats on a Sunday morning,
is not even a question of taste itself (even though the final flavor is always amazing and so genuine!) or a matter of tradition (which, however, makes everything more sacred!),
but most of all is a fact of waking up on foggy autumn’s mornings for doing something with your own hands. Something you can eat. Something coming from your own trees. Is also a “family thing”. An appointment with centuries of history you have to honor. One of those memories coming back from the past that live again, always in the same way, kept intact.
These, after all the efforts, are the most amazing and thrilling feelings you’ll get from the hard hand work of olives’ picking. After days of early awakenings, frost and blisters on both hands. That pure and warm liquid gold coming from ancient gestures that makes us say also this year “Thanks Providence. And thank you Nature!”.