olive oil and coffee

This morning we bagged the olives. (Note to self: attempting to lug 230kgs of olives up the stairs in ten sacks was stupid, stupid, stupid!) I didn't expect to be going too, and was ready to paint. The harvester, who shares my crop with me, looked shocked. Of course I was coming too. Quick change from painting trou and into some slightly more presentable shoes. As we waited outside for the truck to collect the olives the neighbours gathered. How many olives? Advice for this, advice for that. Sitting in the bus shelter surrounded by well-wishers my excitement of last year and processing my first real crop returned. By the time I got to the press I was as keen as anyone to see the official weight, to taste the oil. Despite the problems of getting the harvest done, I remembered why I love living here.

Ok, so I lasted only one week back here without taking a coffee - here one "takes" rather than "drinks" a coffee. I was offered one at the olive pressers and it seemed churlish to decline. And now the oil is home... yeehaa!!!! 41 litres of oil shared between me and the picker-pruner. This year it is sweet and smooth, the olives being more mature and the press being a modern one.
The olive press, 2009: Last year I really enjoyed the thick peppery oil (picked early and pressed the old-fashioned way).

Olive pressing, 2008:

Back at work the new system I have devised for the curved lines is working quite well. It wasn't so cold today, rain and no breeze off the snow. Now we are having storm warnings, so it is likely that my internet will disappear again. Don't worry, we'll still be here, Zacchi in front of the heater and Pickle licking up any drop of oil I might spill when putting a few litres into bottles.

Today I am grateful for secure scaffolding.