Autumn 2026 at the Olive Farm

Hello!

We have been enjoying the most magical few weeks at the Olive Farm. A glorious, glorious sunny autumn (though raining now). It is olive harvesting time, or rather the harvest is well in advance because the fruits have ripened very early this year due to the excessive heat over the summer months. Three weeks ago we drove down from Paris expecting to begin preparations for our harvest in a leisurely fashion. To our amazement not only were the trees laden with fruit but a large percentage of the crop was already purple or even black. The weather was glorious with a stretch of dry days promised yawning out before us. I rang the mill and they confirmed that they would be opening several weeks early and would commence the trituration – the pressing – the following Monday.

Carpe diem. Let’s go for it, I said to Michel.

We had but a few days to get ourselves organised. Several of our family members had expressed interest in being with us for the week of picking. However, because the fruits were mature so early, no one was available to join us at such short notice After several hours of confusion and panic, Michel and I began the task alone, but we are not the youngest and I have quite recently undergone a hip replacement operation. Hardly athletes, either of us! Another call and I requested of the mill that they put out a flag for volunteers to lend us a hand.

‘Ah, you need les bras … We’ll send out some messages for you.’

‘Les bras’ translates as ‘arms’. The mill, in a fashion, sends you “arms”, which you pay for in pressed olive oil taken from your litres.

Here is how it works in the south of France: At the communal mills when you deliver your crates of olives, the fruits will be put into a large vat. If you have a minimum of 180 kilos of fruit, you can request a ‘single-estate pressing’. This is what we always do. I am determined that our fruits, because we are organic, are pressed as individual loads – mottes – to preserve quality. This way they are not mixed with olives that have been sprayed with pesticides, chemicals.

It is also essential that the fruits are pressed as soon as possible after they leave the trees. This is to avoid them oxidising, becoming too acidic and losing their extra-virgin status. Michel and I working out in the fresh air were having a splendid time bringing in a magnificent crop but we were picking by hand and not sufficiently swiftly to gather 180 kilos in two days. It brought stress to our activities.  Finally, the mill sent us two local men, brothers, who by profession are maraîchers – market gardeners. After walking the hillside with us and marvelling at the quality and quantity of our crop, they agreed to begin picking the following day.

True to their word, they were waiting by our old rusty gate at the crack of dawn. Accompanying them were four other family members. Six strapping men, siblings and cousins all, hailing from the same Tunisian family. Olives are in the DNA of most Tunisians and because by profession these men grow vegetables, they appreciate the earth and its bountiful gifts. They worked with diligence and respect. No trees were damaged, the land was left clean, no rubbish scattered about. Plus, they were super organised.  Over four days, they gathered more than two TONS of healthy fruits plump with oil. We pressed the olives over two days and achieved a wonderful return of delicious, slightly peppery (because the fruits were picked so early) green oil.  I decanted a small quantity into a glass for Michel and me to taste with locally baked bread. Just look at the colour and can you see, even from a picture, the rich texture?

And so a happy ending to this autumnal tale. The chief of the pickers, the oldest brother, has promised to help us prune our trees early next year but first he will bring me a box of cauliflowers from his market garden! A seasonal gift, he grinned.

There were so many robins in the garden throughout those warm burnished  days. Songbirds warbling, chirruping, wherever I was picking: long-tailed tits, blue tits, buzzards circling overhead, whistling, drawing our attention, I was sure that the spirits of loved ones who have passed were there on the farm with us. My much-missed mother and dear Quashia, our erstwhile Algerian gardener. How proud he would have been at the sight of this year’s loads. He is a great loss to the farm.

So, now that the land work for this season has been more or less accomplished, we will be returning north for a few weeks. Michel has screenings in Paris and I am going to London to record the audio edition of THE GIRL FROM MARSEILLE and to celebrate my wonderful agent’s eightieth birthday. It will be a short, tightly-scheduled trip because I need to get back to work on my WIP: work in progress. My operation this summer – the hip replacement – although it has gone smoothly and I am walking like a young girl! – has taken up so much time with the hospital stay and daily clinic attendances that it has eaten into my writing time and I am behind schedule.

Just a kindly reminder, THE GIRL FROM MARSEILLE will be published on 1st April 2027. Publishers love preorders. It encourages them to put some energy and commitment into the marketing of the novel. So, please, if you feel inclined please do order in advance of publication.

Waterstones is one of the marvellous bookstores that ships worldwide. Here is their link for the novel, which can also be purchased as an ebook or audio (with me as narrator).

Amazon will send the novel out to you as soon as it is published if you preorder through them.

Bookshops, of course, badly need our support especially the independents so if you frequent a friendly indie, please ask them to put in an order for THE GIRL FROM MARSEILLE. As I said it helps enormously. Merci!

As always I am reading every spare minute of the day. Aside from Ann Patchett’s Bel Canto, which I mentioned in my last Newsletter – I read it while I was in hospital and it has really stayed with me – I want to recommend Sebastian Faulk’s latest, Farewell to Eden. It is set between pre- and post-war Britain and post-war Palestine (1946). It is a compulsive read, heartrending, gripping in parts. It also draws a very detailed picture of the Palestine/Israel issue just before the establishment of the State of Israel in May 1948.

My father, when he was with the RAF entertainment corps during WWII, spent time in Palestine. He wholeheartedly loved the place and talked about the country, land, its people, the upcoming crisis, on many occasions during my childhood. His stories certainly fed my desire to visit, which I have done on many occasions. My travel book, The Olive Route, relates some of my early encounters there. I have to confess that Faulks’s novel  is one I wish I could claim to have written!

So, that is the latest from the Olive Farm. Do write and let me know what you are up to, and reading. I always try to respond. Soon, I will begin putting up Events (look in the Events Box) for next year’s publication and I sincerely hope that I might have an opportunity to meet some of you at one or other of the events. Thank you for being here and for reading this mail.

I hope that you are well and at peace in these turbulent times;

Love to you,

Carol
xx