It’s not been the easiest of times for us two – indeed for all of us; a personal health crisis at the start of the year merged with the world health crisis brought by covid19. Even more disturbing is how time’s winged chariot seems to be pulled by ever faster steeds.

Difficulties in getting back to Italy have meant that we don’t have very much to show for in our field. Yet there are two crops which will ever survive – two items which sum up so much of Italy for me: grapes and olives.

Our vines climbing up the annexe to our house have been truly prodigious this year. Yet we have just been picking on them as a sort of dessert: we’ve never gone into wine-making although we have contributed to friends’ vendemmie (grape harvests).

When I was a kid and had already been on a couple of trips from the UK to Italy I tried to find the main reason why two European countries could have such differences between them. I suddenly blurted out ‘Italy has wine!’ ‘That’s right’, confirmed my mum. Of course, today England has some good vine growing areas particularly in Kent and Sussex but my childhood revelation continues to have some truth in it. Wine remains an essential tradition of Italian life in the way that it is not in the UK.

As for Olives several of those saplings I first planted in our field over ten years have matured into fine trees and carry their fruit with abundance this year. This is particularly heartening as it needs ten kilos of olives to produce one litre of oil.What more could one wish to have: a deep blue sky and truly warm sun around mid-day and one’s own little supply of olive trees while all around the warmth of late autumn colours embrace and the lenticular clouds above fascinate with their patterns.

It takes very little to make one happy in this world. Truly the best things in life are free – or rather they are impregnated with freedom, far away from those horrible restraints that the world (and oneself) is constantly trying to impose upon life’s essential being, particularly during this year. Liberty is there, truly, for the gathering, for the choosing….

It’s that time again in our part of the world: olive-picking time. In Longoio we are near the top height for growing olives (and vines) – 1750 feet. This year at least we’ve got something worth picking in our miniscule grove of twenty-odd trees.

If those of you living in northern climes think all this is irrelevant think again. There are now olive groves in southern England (see http://www.bbc.com/news/uk-england-kent-18551076 ) and, indeed, some London streets are lined with them (ever been down Islington’s Fife terrace?). Whether the fruit will be as succulent as that coming from the deep south of Europe is another matter of course…

Plant you own little olive tree and wait and see. The olive is a sacred tree redolent of peace and harmony and everything that can be said to be positive in our disquieting times. We’ll be back during the following weeks to collecting the fruit from this sacred tree whose oil was used to anoint kings and athletes in ancient Greece and which remains holy to this day for so many of life’s ceremonies.