By Thomas Pigeon
The olive tree is surely the richest gift of Heaven. I can scarcely expect bread.
— THOMAS JEFFERSON
Late October and early November mark the beginning of the annual ritual of harvesting olives and pressing them into sweet green nectar for families and businesses throughout Italy. The pride in making great olive oil is akin to making a great Brunello. When the combination of weather is just right—hot but not too hot, rain but not too much rain—and if the insect blight gives producers a pass, there is magic in the air, along with a sense of urgency and excitement that is a joy to behold. It’s a rare Italian family that doesn’t make or partake in the making of olive oil. And for good reason, as it’s an equally rare Italian dish that doesn’t feature olive oil somewhere in its age-old recipe, passed down through generations.
Italy is the second-largest producer of olive oil in the world, with a production of approximately 300,000 metric tons per year or 300 million liters of finished olive oil. Olives tend to be fragile, and today, most collection is still done by hand using rakes to shake the trees, allowing the olives to fall into carefully laid nets before they are brought to the oil mill for processing.
As chance would have it, I found myself in Umbria—renowned for its exceptional olive oil—at the peak of the season and happened upon Roberto Riccioni. Roberto has a lovely property in the town of Gioella, just minutes away from my dear friend Jan Stackhouse’s Airbnb, La Dimora del Lago. Jan is always so helpful, and when I asked her for someone I might feature in VeraVita for a story on families producing olive oil, she quickly suggested Roberto’s name.
At 80-plus years young, Roberto still leads the family efforts, tending to his olive grove and overseeing the annual family harvest. Originally a winemaker, like many winemakers, Roberto’s winery was also home to a handsome olive grove. A small grove by many standards—just 50 trees—but enough to yield fine extra virgin olive oil for him, his wife, and their children.
Walking through an olive grove with an experienced owner is no different than walking through a vineyard with a winemaker. As Roberto and I strolled through his olive grove, he had a story to tell about each tree. “These ones in the front are young—forty years or so—but some are hundreds of years old.” We stopped at a gnarled and twisted tree with a heavy trunk. Roberto softly petted the bark, almost displaying a sort of affection for an old soldier still producing fruit. It was a poignant moment, as if he were paying homage to the tree—acknowledging it with a nod of respect from one aging warrior to another. “It’s a beautiful old tree. I don’t know how many years it has been standing. It doesn’t give much fruit, but it’s still with us and will be for many years.”
As we walked away from the grove, he noted, “We’re happy to have extra hands help. We’ll start Friday morning at 10:00 a.m. once the fog has lifted.”
After our classic Italian colazione of caffè and cornetto, I headed out to meet Roberto and his family. Roberto had been up at the crack of dawn, along with his wife, neighbors, and daughters. It was a beautifully sunlit morning, with the last bit of dew glistening on the olive leaves. By the time I arrived, they had already begun collecting olives. As I pulled into the yard with my trusty Fiat 500, it was apparent that the work was well underway.
Nereide, Roberto’s better half, along with her elderly neighbor, was carefully pulling twigs and leaves from the collection baskets. “When we bring our olives to the mill, they charge us by weight. It’s a lot of work, but removing these elements really helps,” Roberto noted.
Roberto has the weathered look of a farmer—sharp as a tack and still full of youthful enthusiasm when he talks about the harvest. “It was a tough year. It was extremely hot, but that killed off most of the flies and insects that could have invaded our crop. Then the rain came—but it came again too late in the season. We have a small window over the next two days to collect while the sun is out. Rain is not good at this time of the year.”
Meters and meters of netting were spread on the ground to catch the falling fruit shaken from the trees. The olive grove was alive with activity. Rakers worked hard, freeing the precious olives from the branches. Family and friends carefully gathered up the netting—almost like fishing with nets—and dumped the fruits of their labor into awaiting baskets. It was quite a sight: a parade of family members hard at work, while contract rakers, with their electric-powered rakes, gently worked through the trees, creating a rainstorm of falling olives.
It reminded me of my maple syrup production back home—tremendous work for little yield. It takes an average of 5 to 8 kilograms of olives to make just one liter of olive oil. And, much like small-batch maple syrup, making small batches of olive oil is about more than just the end product. It’s about bringing family together—a bonding tradition passed down through generations. It’s not about saving money at the grocery store; it’s about pride and passion in every bottle. It’s about knowing the source of their food and the care taken in producing it.
At one point, while stepping on the net, Roberto admonished me: “Please be careful! The olives are fragile—you must not step on them.” Lesson learned!
The final step in the process is the olive mill. It’s a frantic time of the year for the numerous oil mills throughout the country. Producers vie for position and time slots to have their oil processed. Mills typically run 24 hours a day to accommodate the demand. The olive oil season is compressed into just a few weeks, and every producer in the countryside wants their olives processed as quickly as possible after being harvested.
Roberto grumbled, “We have a slot at the mill on Wednesday. That’s four days from now. The oil will lose some of its flavor. Many can’t tell, but we can.” He was clearly annoyed. “One year, we were able to get our olives processed within hours of picking them. The oil was fantastic. But this rarely happens.” As a small producer, Roberto has little leverage. Yet, this does not deter him.
Although Roberto and his family kindly showed me the ropes and allowed me to partake—albeit briefly—in this annual event, my pending hip surgery and the constant pain from worn-out bones needing replacement limited the time I could spend in the field. No doubt, the family would later gather around the dinner table, share a bottle of homemade wine, and laugh about the day’s events. Well-deserved sleep would come easily, replenishing them for the second and final day of harvesting.
The journey ended at Buttinale 73, where Roberto and other farmers gathered to deliver their bounty—soon to be transformed into green liquid gold. Truck after truck arrived, each carrying tired but proud farmers eager to check in. The process was incredibly well-organized, with assigned time slots, names, and numbers attached to each batch.
At Buttinale 73 in Paciano, Italy, each producer’s shipment is meticulously tracked from arrival to packing. Olives are dumped into a hopper, transported up a conveyor belt, separated from twigs and leaves, washed, and eventually pressed, filtered, and converted into magical oil. Each producer’s name appears on an LED panel, marking their batch.
We were able to pack a batch of our own oil while there. It gave me great joy to be involved in the harvest and to see the VeraVita name flash on the LED panel, knowing the fruits of our labor were destined for friends and family back home in Canada.
Since ancient times, olive oil has been at the heart of Italian cuisine, culture, and daily life. At its core, the annual ritual of olive oil production is about respect—for the land, for tradition, and for Italy’s most essential food ingredient. It is made with care and love, bringing family together once again. – VV
Photography and video by Neenja ProDux
Loved the article and how special
and a rare experience for all who enjoy and respect the art of the olive oil process!