A friend gave me this little, tiny olive tree. It’s on the ledge outside the window at the sink in La Casa Grande. It gets sun for most of the day. Well, until we go on Standard Time and as the days shorten to zilch.
Washing dishes the day I got back to Codiponte from our USA TOUR 2015, I noticed there was this black thing nestled in the silvery-green leaves of the little, tiny olive tree. AN OLIVE!!! Hot-diggity-dog. You will beyond ecstatic!!! I’ve got to send him a photo. I was just plain dumb-founded. Dogs were super emozionated but they thought all my commotion meant there would a piece of b-r-e-a-d in their immediate futures. I went on with My Daily Tasks and gave no more thought to olives or trees, even the three at the Scenic Overlook of il Poggiolo’s Garden.
Then, this past weekend, I noticed another black orb dangling close to the one from The First Sighting. Rapt inspection produced the same effect as the other day. Dogs came almost immediately to hound me for a whole-wheat t-r-e-a-t. At this point, I marched out to the Scenic Overlook and discovered that of the three olive trees gracing said terrace, one showed fruit. How weird, but thank you. T’was the one next to the descending wall of the ramp and modestly full of these savoury fruits. You will be in olive-stratosphere!!! And, he’ll bother me too until we’ve harvested and put to salts these tasty morsels.
Every afternoon the Dogs & I walk to the local Codiponte olive press, a frantoio or, to many, simply called il Mulino, to kibbitz with the proprietress while the dogs are subjected to the verbal assaults of one of the nastiest Shih-tzu’s to afflict the Face of the Earth. Her phone rang. Someone asked when the Mulino would start up for the Olive Crushing Season. She said it would be later this year. Not many olives about. The other end agreed and then confessed he was besieged by olive fruit-flies. Oh, mio dio!!! said the mill’s owner. The fellow hung up. I thought what had devastated last year’s olive-crop was a fungus. Turns out that is only a general term the Italians use for anything bad to hit their agriculture, like the Scuzzy Bar Lady saying it was Germans who had walked off with my abandoned vintage scarf left in her dirty establishment yet, meaning anyone who does not speak Italian. No, the proprietress said, It’s flies and They’re wrecking havoc in the olive groves of Codiponte again this year. I feel lucky that we have the olives we’ve got. Gads.