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             his is not an olive oil story! This is a story about 
             love, sacrifice, commitment and passion!

 

Our orchard lies just a few meters from the ocean. As I approach, I smell herbs, wild flowers and fresh cut grass. A gentle ocean breeze tickles my face. Filled with excitement, my father, Vasilios, wraps his arms around me and greets me with a kiss. We embrace for a few seconds, then separate and quickly inspect each other to observe any minute changes during all the months we have been apart. He smiles softly and tells me how much he missed me. His white hair blows in the breeze. His skin is youthful with hardly any wrinkles, even as his toughened Mediterranean complexion show the evidence of years of outdoor work. It is early December 2008 and I have just arrived from the United States to help out with our annual olive oil harvest, as it has always been a tradition of ours.

 

We begin the harvest the day after my arrival, working in the orchard every day from 7 a.m. until 4 p.m. and then crushing our fruit every evening at the olive mill for the next two months. Harvesting olives is physically exhausting, but our father also invests great emotional energy in the process. He has worked outdoors all year and mustered resilience to respond to the elements beyond his control. He overcame all the obstacles to reach this crucial time of the year. He agonizes to time everything just right to insure the highest quality fruit and oil that will earn the best price, since this will dictate, determine and sustain the quality of our olive grove and lifestyle for another whole year. Intense as it may be, the harvest has always been a sacred time for us to connect and bond with our father and also to connect to our land that has been passed down four generations. We savor our time together, whether we are picking olives by day or recharging by night and toast bread slices over a wood fire, pouring on the freshly made olive oil.

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