Olive picking in the South of France
As we run through Autumn, maneuvering through months, heads down and hoods up against bitter winds, it is easy to be oblivious to the little treats that nature has to offer, even in Autumn.
A couple of years ago we purchased the field next to our house, for even though it is agricultural land, we wanted to protect our house from any construction in the future. The Rascals thought it was a perfect place to build a giant fort but they had to settle for a tree house at the bottom of the garden instead. For my Partner in Crime, who has always held the romantic dream of owning a wood, it was an opportunity to plant some trees. At first he envisaged an apple orchard, with aspirations of his own-label cider (he is originally from the West Country) but we were encouraged, much to my delight, to invest in olive trees. They are only very little trees and every year we plant a few more with the hope of eventually filling the field. It’s a slow, yet rewarding process.
Today I received an email from the lovely couple who live opposite our house, asking us permission to pick our olives for us. We have olives? Our very own olives! Above all though, it reminds us how lucky we are to have such special, kind neighbours who really care about our house and our baby olives. Our little corner of very french France really does have this generous spirit, this neighbourly love, even to the only English family in the village.