In winter, hemp bales, filled with hand-picked and basketed olives, were transported by shoulder and cart to the Olive Store. Here they were turned out on the floor and, day by day, spread out and ‘ruminated’, or shuffled with a wooden blade to prevent them from going mouldy.


To remember the green fruit of the robust tree and symbol of peace, I chose the green colour typical of ripe olives for this apartment. Many years ago, my parents carried olives into this great old room and I fondly remember the intense perfume they brought to the whole farmhouse.

Today, like then, after arduous days spent gathering olives, it is always a pleasure to see the first of the oil seep from the press, but also to taste it on a delicious bruschetta.