The Olive Harvest

Dear Friends,

I hope you are well and enjoying the beginning of winter wherever you are. Here at El Moro the chestnut leaves have already fallen to the ground. Most of the people in the pueblo are complaining about the bad harvest this year. Qué cosecha más mala! They rumble, over a cup of steaming coffee and shot of fiery brandy. And although they’re known for laying it on thick, they’re not wrong. Our chestnuts, small due to lack of rain and plagued by the bicho, have left us without a harvest.

However, the same can’t be said about the olives! According to my Dad it’s been the best harvest in their 30 years at the farm.

I managed to dupe some friends from Chamonix to come and join us for the picking. An unlikely team, perhaps, but surprisingly efficient. With Clio and Seb, vegan activists enticed by promises of donkey cuddles and vegan lunches; Mum and Dad who have a lot of experience but mainly provided coffee, cake and stories; Eliott and I, who got through the whole thing sans argument, and The Manuels.

A primera vista, these characters might not seem destined to mesh, but each brought something unique to the team.

Big Manuel and Little Manuel, are not only incredibly strong but are also very funny. They managed to huff and puff and thwack the trees, relentlessly, all while keeping a cigarette perfectly perched on their bottom lip.

Seb’s German efficiency meant that he came up with a perfect system of moving the nets from tree to tree, using minimal effort for maximum gain. When I saw him blankly staring at the nets on the first morning, I thought to myself, “this is going to be a long week”, but he quickly proved me wrong and Seb’s systemwas a resounding success.

Eliott conveniently had to go biking to memorise the tracks for our new e-bike endeavour (more on that later) for the first few days. He made up for his disappearing act the rest of the week by taking over the horrid shaker machine, much to Big Manuels relief.

Clio and I often ended up on the zaranda job, and put the world to rights. The zaranda is a heavy and ancient metal grate used to sieve the olives and get rid of all the leaves and unwanted branches. The only job during the harvest where one can talk. And talk we did. Clio used to work for the UN so she schooled me on poaching in East Africa, women’s rights in Europe and helped me come up with a strategy for my ‘Artists at Risk residency’ idea. (Stay tuned.)

Bunny, Osa, Mima and Violeta kept us company during the coffee and cake breaks. They were very relieved to learn The Manuels have a soft spot for doggies and therefore didn’t mind sharing their (chorizo) sandwiches. They love vegan cuddles but are not huge fans of the cuisine.

Undoubtedly, the day’s highlight was Mum’s lunch at 2 o’clock—a banquet that fueled friendly wagers on the day’s olive yield.

While everyone else would have a well deserved siesta, Eliott and I would drive the days pick to the mill in Fuenteheridos to get our cheque!

I proved I was worth my salt to the boys in the mill when I reversed the olive-laden trailer (impeccably!) into the warehouse, dodging the unthoughtfully parked cars, and even got an applause when I stepped out of the Land Rover. One of my most satisfying moments to date.

We unloaded and weighed, unloaded and weighed, to the tune of laughter and banter and lots of ‘I remember holding you when you were chiquitita, the only red head in the whole of the Sierra.’ It’s moments like these when I really feel a sense of belonging. And isn’t that what we are all looking for?

Over six days, we amassed more than 6 tonnes of the perfect green pebbles, meaning we’ve got enough oil to feed all the guests, ourselves and some more!

Although everyone was relieved to finish, it was a great couple of weeks, and we all came away feeling like we’d learnt something unexpected.

Thank you for reading and speak again soon.

Lots of Love,

Daisy