Olives

Monday, January 8, 2007

Olives…

Saturday morning started off with a pastry and “gallou” in Cbaves. Duarte’s brother Lipe and Lipe’s wife Susana were there as well as Duarte’s parents. Everything we do seems to turn into an event. Since the Morais’s have lived in Chaves for 40+ years they know everyone…and it is the custom here to exchange two kisses and share a little bit about their lives and families. Since we were all there, we exchanged many kisses with many people. Geninha (Duarte’s mother) was SO proud. She held Jenna and boasting her many talents.

Our mission for the day was to travel up to Fonte Merce the village where Geninha and her siblings grew up. The village is now mostly abandoned as the inhabitants have moved to the cities closer to work and other amenities. But Duarte’s uncle…called “padrinho” still lives there. He has 800 hectares of land where he grows cherries, almonds, grapes for wine and olives. Lots and lots of olives.

The land is incredible. Driving in our Land Rover up and down steep rocky roads, it was like driving through a tapestry. Even with the cloudy sky, the land has color and texture that exhilarates the senses. We met Padrinho at the crest of a hill. In every direction, for what seemed like miles there were olive trees. Working in the orchard for 30 euros per day, were a small group of people including six quiet men, wearing jeans, worn woolen sweaters and wool hats. The four women were also wearing jeans and sweaters with an apron to protect their clothing, spoke with high-pitched voices. When they weren’t talking, they were singing. The songs were a blend of silly children’s songs that I know because they are often sung for Marcos when we visit and other songs with more depth and history. Always close to the workers was a large jug of wine in lieu of water. I suppose the alcohol encourages the women to sing louder and the men to endure the tedium.

We all jumped out of the Land Rover and approached the trees and the workers. The process of harvesting the olives seems impossibly slow when considering the acres of trees to be tended to. The women’s job was to lay a large, green, screen tarp under the olive tree. The men with their long sticks, beat the branches causing the olives to fall onto the tarp. In the process, olive branches also fall, so one person went around with a smaller stick to pick out the branches. Another woman’s job was to pick up the olives that didn’t land on the tarp. Once this was accomplished, the olives were placed in a large trailer attached to a tractor ready to go, once full, to the cooperative. Padrinho said that only 20% of the weight of the olive would become olive oil. It is apparent to me now, why olive oil is so expensive.

Because Padrinho has so many trees, he has a special machine which more efficiently harvests olives from trees. He demonstrated this to us during our visit. Attached to the front of a giant tractor is a large “grabber.” The grabber carefully clamps the trunk of the tree below the branches. Then a large upside down umbrella opens up under the tree ready to capture the olives that will fall. Once all of this is in place, Padrinho pushed a lever and suddenly the tree shook so violently that the olives fell like heavy raindrops pouring into the umbrella. The olives that were remaining were later beaten off the branches with a stick.

Marcos was awed by the experience and played his part by helping to gather the fallen olives. I’m glad that Marcos is learning about the origin of food. In Portugal people live more closely to the food that they eat than Americans do. The chickens, ducks, geese and rabbits that are living in cages close to the house are the ingredients to the rich meals that we eat for lunch and dinner each day.

So, American friends, remember the love, the labor the wine and the music the next time you put a tablespoon of olive oil into your meal. Can you taste it?