Palm Sunday on a Uruguayan Mount of Olives

Marilyn, March 29, 2105

What a great day we had today, doing something I never would have guessed would be part of our experience in Uruguay.  We joined several of Gene's colleagues and their families, plus 30 or so other people, and harvested olives together.  The woman with whom Gene is working and her husband own a large piece of beautiful land in the hills northeast of Montevideo, and four years ago planted many acres in olive trees.  Many other landowners in the area also grow olives, and the press where they are all turned into olive oil is available to each farmer only an a specific day.  Carlos and Ana's day is tomorrow (Monday), and since their workers have weekends off, they needed friends to volunteer to come bring the olives in off the trees.  Lured by the offer of lunch, interesting company, and a unique experience, we were more than happy to sign on.

The morning was clear and gorgeous as we drove through the countryside about an hour and a half from Atlántida, and the view was itself well worth the drive.  We arrived at Ana and Carlos's beautiful house and before long were on our way to join the others in the orchard.

Tarps were laid under the rows of olive trees, and Ana showed us how to strip the olives from the branches, letting them fall onto the tarps.  It reminded me a bit of picking blueberries, with two major differences.  First, it didn't matter what color the olives were, green, pinkish, or dark purple.  Any of them will press to produce oil.  Second, there was no temptation to pop these in our mouths as we harvested.  In fact, Gene tried one and ended up with a bellyache.  

The trees themselves don't offer any hazards to harvesters, no thorns or pesky insects.  However, we pricked ourselves more than once on the spiky grass between the rows, and twice we disturbed some large, beautiful, green caterpillars who make their homes in the trees.  A certain biologist in the group had a large audience as he explained in slow, simple English all about the caterpillars and their defence mechanisms.  

The highest branches of the trees were just within the reach of the tallest harvesters, and many olives hung on the low branches, perfect for the shorter member of the crew.  

Olive production is definitely a family enterprise for Ana and Carlos's extended family, and even the youngest members, like their granddaughter Juana, have a role to play.  

Once all the trees in the row were harvested, the tarps were gathered up like slings holding the mounds of olives, and they were poured into the waiting crates.  

Around noon, we all headed back to the house for lunch.  Chairs and a mattress or two were pulled out; hotdogs, sandwiches, and typical Uruguayan finger foods were served.  A few people enjoyed a legitimate siesta, the young jovenes played soccer, and many others of us sat and chatted for an hour or so.  I really enjoyed talking with a colleague of Gene's, and Teo and Javy latched onto her sons and discovered that they were eager to practice English.  In fact, one of the best parts of the whole wonderful day was that my boys had such a great time with these kind kids.

A couple more hours of afternoon picking finished the job up, and we returned to the house for merienda, or afternoon snack, and more socializing.   My Spanish got a great work-out in conversation with a really interesting woman who is studying cooperatives of all sorts and who also plays the saxophone.  Before we left, Ana thanked us for our help and gifted us with an olive branch. 

 She explained that besides being a memento from the day, the gift was also significant because today is the Sunday before Easter, when Jesus rode into Jerusalem, and people waved olive branches.  Surprised, I commented that in North America, the people waved palm branches.  She said yes, but olive branches, too, go back and read the story.  So I did.  I found that while two gospels mention palm branches specifically, there are other references to "other branches" and to "branches from the fields."  I'm happy to assume that the fields were olive groves, and I know that this is an Olive Sunday that I will always remember.