We have about 20 trees, so that makes it an all day job for the 2 of us to pick them clean. Our friend, Giacomo, brought us baskets last year that we could tie around our waists so our hands remained free to pick away. But borrowing baskets from him means that we have to wait until they’re available. You might ask, “So what’s so hard about that?” Well, nothing really, except when the olives are deemed ready, there’s a flurry to pick them as quickly as possible, press them immediately and enjoy the oil—preferably within the same day, but surely within the same week. So we concluded that we needed our own baskets for fast action. Traditional baskets. Simple. Should be readily available, right? Think again.

We like to buy local when we can, so we went to our neighborhood mesticheria, hardware store, where we asked, “Avete cesti per cogliere le olive? Do you have baskets for picking olives? “Si! Certo! Yes! Sure!” And they did. Just not the kind that you tie around your waist. They had large, small and medium sized baskets—all with handles. A handle means that you lose the use of one picking hand and you really can’t afford the time. Last year, Giacomo called and said, “Ora, now!” and we picked between rain showers. No, a handled basket just wouldn’t do. Don’t you have simple baskets that tie around the waist?” The answer surprised us. “No! L’uomo che le fatto e morto. No, the man who made them died. C’e nessuno altro. There’s no one else.” In a country bound by tradition, this was a sad state of affairs. We considered our options.

Well, Borgo San Lorenzo is a more rural town, we thought so let’s try there. We drove the 30 minutes north and went into a mesticheria called Guidotti. They had nothing, but the clerk phoned her friend in nearby Vicchio. Nothing there either. Hmmm. We went around the corner to the legnaia, woodshed and asked. They had baskets but not what we were looking for. We asked for suggestions. They had none.

Ah, what about an antique shop? We might find a couple of oldies there. So the next morning, we headed in the opposite direction to one of our favorites. He had two. They weren’t for sale. What? How can you have merchandise in an antique shop that isn’t for sale. He explained that antique dealers often rent items to each other. It helps them change the look of their shop without really having to add inventory. So the two baskets were there, rented from a buddy, to create more atmosphere. And he told us that the baskets that we were looking for have a proper name, gerle (pronounced jer-lay). Okay, we finally knew what we were looking for by name, but we still didn’t know where to find them.

But . . . we can be very determined. We bought a couple of handled baskets, just to be on the safe side and then reconsidered our remaining options. We had already planned to be in Florence on Monday, so we’d snoop around.

We went into a sweet “little” mesticheria. Of course they didn’t have gerle, so we finally got smart. There were two older gentlemen immersed in conversation together. Let’s evaluate: 2 old locals, in a classic old hardware store. If ANYBODY would know, they would. So we excused our interruption, “Scusate, Signori. Conoscete se c’e un negozio che vendere gerle? Excuse us. Do you know if there is a shop that sells gerle?” As is so typical in Italy, they immediately stopped their conversation and told us to follow them. The four of us stepped outside the door and the fellow in the plaid wool cap began gesturing and pointing. He told us that there’s a shop, just around the corner that sells canestri, baskets. It seemed too easy.

So we walked a few meters and there on the right, we could see baskets hanging in a shop window. The place was packed with all types of baskets. “Ma avete gerle? But do you have gerle?” we asked. “Si, ma solo uno. Yes, but only one.” Hmmm. Our new friend Damiano explained that the gerle were hard to come by since he only knew one man in the mountains near Pisa who still weaves them. And, the elderly gentleman refuses to deliver them into Florence, so Damiano occasionally takes his truck into the countryside to retrieve the one or two he’s finished weaving. On that Monday, Damiano had only one.

But, he also had a camouflage fabric covered one, that he said was especially good for putting on bicycle handlebars for shopping, since it was covered. “Ma loro sono uguale, But they are the same, right?” “Si, sono uguale. Yes, they’re the same.” So we paid 10 extra euro for the protective covering and took our 2 precious gerle home. I removed the camouflage covering and wove a strap under the bottom of the basket to make it almost exactly like the other.

So, perseverance pays off! Now, as soon as the rain stops and Giacomo calls, we’re definitely ready. I can almost taste the new green oil as I write this story. Sweet and spicy. Fresh and peppery. Green gold. Ahh, Italia!

Posted on October 29, 2011

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Time to Change the Oil: How strange! Italy in November with literally millions of olive trees, yet no one is picking the olives—and no one ever will! Instead, they will raccolgono, gather them, or prendono, take them.