olives in the process of being preserved

There is something primevally satisfying about bringing in the last of the olives from our trees each year.

We were lucky enough to inherit two olive trees, but the third and most prolific one has grown all by itself from a seed. Dropped by a bird? Or spread in the compost we regularly put on our garden? We don’t know. It was almost fully grown before we even noticed it at the back of our garage. Now it produces huge crops of black, flavoursome olive sauvage, without any help from us. Being big olive eaters we would have thrown hundreds, perhaps thousands, of seeds into our compost bin. Often the seeds that do germinate when we spread the compost are mistaken for weeds and pulled out. The odd one we have recognised has been carefully dug up as a sapling and given away to friends or neighbours. But obviously this one had other ideas. It proceeded to grow, hidden away there behind the garage. Over the years it grew and grew, refusing to die, until now it provides enough olives to feed our whole family for at least a year.

It reminds me of story ideas. There are some that absolutely refuse to go away, no matter how often I say ‘I can’t possibly write that!’ Somehow the idea perseveres, refusing to be ignored, until I put in the time and effort of harvesting and finally reap the rewards.

Long may those robust ideas continue to thrive in all of us.