The Olive Tree

When in Rome… I fancied an olive tree. I do actually like olives, and we didn’t have a tree. We certainly had offers of neighbours olives, but the trees are so pretty, with their soft sage green leaves, that I thought a tree of our own would be nicer.

Last weekend, Ed was asked by a (Spanish) neighbour to take out 11 olive trees. He happily agreed, but asked that one could be saved, so that we could have it. On the morning in question, Ed heard the neighbours chainsaw buzzing away, an hour before he was due to go around. He jumped in the digger, and tracked up the lane. After the first junction, he had a sense that he was being followed. He looked ‘round, to see two Guardia Civil cars behind him. These are the national / military police, and they won’t stand for anything wrong. Oops. He pulled over into another driveway to let them pass, and thankfully they both went by. Perhaps the GB sticker on the back of the digger put them off a long and complicated conversation.

Ed got to the neighbours garden and of the 11 trees to come out, 10 had been chopped to stumps, ready for Ed to clear, and one had been left for me. The biggest of them all. It was about 8ft tall and 10 feet wide. Ed cleared the garden, then had to dig out the olive tree. Finally, he managed to get a good root ball out, and get it on to the back of Juan’s little rotavator trailer. Juan was happy to bring it to our house, but it was too wide to fit down the lane! What about the other people’s hedges and gardens? ¿Que? What’s the problem. He chugged off along the lanes, followed by Ed and his machine. He brushed both sides of the lanes and barely got through the front gate. Thankfully, he didn’t meet anyone coming the other way.

A bit of deft digger work from Ed, and I now have my own olive tree, on the top terrace, behind the pool house. Just far enough over, so that the lovely sage leaves can be seen from the terrace. Perfect. (Just need to save up lots of jars now, to preserve the olives.)