À Bientôt! Les Olives

A little detour to the South of France

I am on a little agrarian adventure, headed to the South of France to prune olive trees. 

Yes, it does sound like the beginning of some sappy Lifetime Movie, or an Elizabeth Gilbert sequel, but it’s the truth. My aunt has asked me to her home near Aix en Provence for the annual “taille des olives.” We are trimming her grove of olive trees, all 130 of them! And not only am I no arborist, I’ve never pruned an olive in my life.  But I adore my aunt, and her home is one of my favorite places on Earth. So I didn’t think twice when she asked for my assistance. 

But getting to the Airport yesterday, it started to sink in that I had had scant details about my mission, and I was traveling to Europe by myself without a plan. I’m not complaining. That sentence sounds awesome. Traveling to Europe…by myself…without a plan!

On the first leg of the trip from LAX to Munich, I settled into my seat, built a queue of movies on the in-flight entertainment, drank an extra glass of wine, and actually slept a few hours. But now as I prepare for the second leg to Marseilles, I am very much aware that I have no idea what I’m doing.

To be fair, I’m not walking blindly into this adventure. France is a familiar place. My wife is French, and we visit often. I can speak a little French, and can certainly get by on my own. I even lived in France for six months before having kids, so the place feels like a second home. 

It also looks like a second home considering Provence—the region of Southern France between Marseilles and Nice—is full of familiar sights. There is bougainvillea, wisteria, oleander, and lavender just like in my Los Angeles neighborhood. Even yucca and cactus grow there, although not quite as prolific as at my cabin. And of course, olive trees grow in both France and California too. 

But this is kind of a big responsibility. If I do my job right, the grove of 130 trees will produce more than 100 liters of decadent, green and bright olive oil. This stuff is delicious and like no other olive oil I’ve ever had. It’s fruity, balanced, and almost sweet. Nothing like the peppery bitter stuff that is common in California.

But if I do my job wrong, there might not be any oil this season. Catastrophe!

And so, as I board the plane, I’m wondering what is the hidden meaning in this adventure? Will I find some deeper consciousness in the olive grove? Will I prune away old and barren elements of my life with every snip of the secateurs? Am I even talking about olives anymore?

Or, maybe this is just a lesson in hard work. Pruning 130 trees?!?!

I’m glad I brought some Advil.  

—Join my on my adventure as I post shorter more frequent excerpts this week in France—