Olives...

Nothing to do with aged-walnut trusses, bathroom fixtures or terra-cotta pavers...

We went on a walk this morning with some Codiponte friends to join others for pranzo... or, lunch... who live in another borgo... or, stone village... above Codiponte. The place, called Luscignano, is situated in a sella... or, saddle... high above the Aullela River as it winds past Codiponte on its way to meet the River Magra at the Big City of Aulla before spilling widely into the Mediterranean Sea near the port city of La Spezia.
We first stopped-off to say Happy New Year! to the folk who run the local oil press in our little town. They have been working steadily since November. Fulvio, one of the owners of the press said they have so much work, he & his sister will be busy until March. 7AM until sometimes Midnight! Apparently, it has been The Year for olives. Not so for wine. The heavy September rains ruined the vendemmia... or, wine pickin' & squeezin'. Maybe olives are impervious to being drenched 24/7. 

Over the holidays, everyone offered us their fresh-squeezed olive oil to drip over pieces of bread made from potatoes. The color is a earthy, rich green, has the unmistakable aroma of olives and a light, sweat taste. The combination is perfectly contrasted... the heavy bread and the easy oil... and is a great way to start a meal or, just as a pleasant snack in mid-afternoon. Chase it down with a red or white wine.

The side of the valley of the Aullela at Codiponte towards the arch of the passing sun are all olive groves. In September, folk spent their time cutting grass around their olive trees & burning it on-site. This is not work with a lawn-mover. No. The terrain is too rugged. Weed-wackers moan from early morning until late at night. Some old contadini... or, farmers... still use the local type of machete or an angled blade on a long wooden pole to cut the grass... sweeping back 'n forth in great swaths.

Once all is clipped & orderly, their next chore is to drape these long nets... the ones from China even look knitted!... underneath the trees to catch the fall-out of olives. They are anchored from short sticks to keep the nets off the wet ground. Then, the locals either hand pick the olives off the trees, one by one and there might be hundreds of trees!... or, they hit them with rakes or bamboo sticks. It is called bacchiare gli olivi... or, batting the olive trees. The olives are mostly mechanically stripped of any leaves before they are carted to the frantoio... or, oil press.
It's work. Tedious work. No helpers beyond the immediate family. And, you ONLY see old folk doing this. No-one under 35 in sight! One octogenarian we passed on our way to Luscignano was on his hands & knees picking up any olives found on the ground! His cotton bag in his lap was filled with the green, brown & black olives. He must have been 80 years old! 

It struck us all after our lazy after-New-Year's walk & lunch that we were... possibly... witnessing the last generation of locals to harvest the olives. We felt sad. And, to think that the richness of this odd & out-of-the-way corner of Tuscany called the Lunigiana was based on olive oil. It was the wealth, the currency, the life of this part of the world. No more.