Beneath The Olive Tree
“The thing that struck me was the incredible size and antiquity of the olive trees. They were blackened and gnarled, twisting and stout, they made me feel strangely ephemeral, as though they had seen people like us a thousand times, and had watched us depart. They had a quality of patient omniscience. In Italy we cut down our old trees and plant fresh ones, but here [in Kefalonia] it was possible to place one’s hand on that antique bark, look up at the fragments of sky that glittered through the canopy, and feel dwarfed by the sensation that others might have done this very thing under this very tree a millennium before.”
Carlo Piero Guercio — Captain Corelli’s Mandolin by Louis de Bernières
The olive tree’s history on Kefalonia is deeply intertwined with the island’s culture and landscape, shaped over millennia by the traditions and needs of its people. Having recently purchased a small house set amidst the island’s vast olive groves, David and I now consider ourselves people of Kefalonia, so I felt it was time to learn more about these abundant plants. With olive trees stretching endlessly in every direction, at last count there are over a million olive trees on the island covering more than 55% of the land. Turns out there’s a lot to learn.
According to Greek mythology, the goddess Athena offered the olive tree as a gift to humanity, to be used as a source of sustenance, medicine and illumination, making it a sacred plant that linked us mere mortals to the gods. Throughout history, the olive tree has symbolised peace, wisdom, fertility, abundance, purity and victory. It is the most celebrated, and most symbolically meaningful, tree in the Mediterranean.
Olive trees have been an integral part of Kefalonia’s landscape and culture since antiquity, with their cultivation believed to have begun around 3000 BCE during the Minoan period. From the ancient Greeks and Romans, to the Venetian and Ottoman eras, olive farming has remained central to the island’s identity, economy and way of life, and historical evidence suggests that the island has produced olives and olive oil for thousands of years.
It was actually the Venetians, renowned merchants who ruled Kefalonia for 600 years until the late 18th century, who truly recognised the commercial value of olive oil. They encouraged local farmers to expand their olive groves, leading to the systematic planting of olive trees throughout the Ionian Islands. And given that olive trees are long-lived, often thriving for hundreds of years, these trees were seen as long-term investments, representing steady income for families.
Even today, as you drive across the island, you can see new trees being planted, with the knowledge that they will not deliver fruit or income for many years to come. Sadly however, according to locals, many thousands of acres of mature olive groves in Kefalonia have been razed to build new holiday homes, hotels and apartment buildings. During a recent stay on the island, David and I got to know Dionisios and Vaso, the owners of the local general store and taverna called Το Στεκι Τση Κουβέντας (a very convenient four minute stumble from our place). Over coffee, they shared the story of Panagis Vallianos, widely regarded as the father of modern Greek shipping. Born on Kefalonia in 1814, Vallianos once owned vast estates, including thousands of acres of olive groves across three villages, Pessada among them. As recently as 1990, Pessada was home to over 13,000 olive trees, however over the years, much of the land has been fragmented and sold to developers. And sadly, David and I are part of this trend. The plot where our small house now stands, near Pessada, was once covered in olive trees, but it seems that tourism, a much easier and more lucrative source of income, has overtaken olive harvesting.
But the olive trees will endure. In Kefalonia, they have withstood the trials of time alongside its people, through natural disasters like earthquakes, droughts and foreign occupations. The catastrophic earthquake of 1953, which destroyed most of Kefalonia, also disrupted olive production, as countless trees were uprooted or damaged. However, the resilience of the olive tree is legendary; many older trees survived the quake, and even broken trees regrew, bearing fruit once more. Olive trees have a remarkable ability to grow on rock, with roots twisting and reaching with relentless determination, often spreading wide rather than deep, in order to find sustenance. Radiating outwards, their roots often extend to twice the diameter of the tree’s canopy, weaving around unyielding stone and sinking into the soil below, always seeking nourishment even under the most difficult circumstances. The olive tree’s tenacity has become a metaphor for the islanders’ own, helping to cement the olive tree as an emblem of Kefalonian heritage and identity.
For Kefalonians today, the olive tree remains a powerful symbol of life, resilience, and continuity. Olive oil production is deeply tied to family life, with the care of each tree passed down like a cherished heirloom. Harvest season, beginning in mid-October, is a communal affair. Families come together to handpick olives, avoiding heavy machinery to protect both fruit and trees. It is a difficult and labour-intensive job, but this practice not only connects people to their land, it also strengthens ties to their ancestors and future generations (though sadly these days many young people are less interested in continuing this tradition, and as a result, numerous olive trees are left uncultivated). After the harvest, the olives are cold-pressed at local mills, producing the island’s prized olive oil, a testament to Kefalonia’s enduring dedication to quality, heritage, and the timeless cycle of life embodied by the olive tree.
Today, the olive groves of Kefalonia are a blend of ancient trees and younger saplings, grown with traditional methods passed down through generations. Many trees are of the Dopio variety, prized for its small, oil-rich olives, ideal for making high-quality extra virgin olive oil. Greece is the world’s top producer of extra-virgin olive oil, with more than 80% of its olive oil meeting the highest quality standards. In comparison, only about half of the olive oil produced in Italy and Spain qualifies as extra-virgin. This distinction has helped Kefalonian olive oil gain international recognition, and owing to the island’s unique climate and mineral-rich soils, Kefalonian olive oil is highly regarded for its purity, mild flavour, and subtle peppery finish. And I can personally vouch for it, as we were lucky enough to be given some olive oil made from last year’s harvest by our wonderful neighbours.
Our first visit to Vaso and Dionisios’ taverna was for a casual freddo cappuccino. The next time, after a delicious home-cooked lunch and a half-kilo carafe of white wine, they sent us home with a bottle of their olive oil — a rich, golden elixir decanted into a repurposed orange juice bottle. But it was more than just a bottle of oil; it was the essence of their grove, the labour of their hands and the sunlit warmth of Kefalonian soil. No frills, no pretence — just a genuine gesture of hospitality and a taste of their life and land. Later that night we generously drizzled it over the village salad we made for dinner. It was absolutely fucking amazing. Of course we went back a third time!
The very next night, we wandered over to the taverna at around 6pm for a pre-dinner ouzo and mezze, drawn by the easy hospitality of the place. Dionisios joined us at the table, and as the ouzo flowed so did the conversation, this time about the olive harvest. He mentioned he still had a few trees left to harvest before the end of the season, and before we knew it, after a couple of glasses, we’d volunteered ourselves for olive duty. The plan was set: 8am sharp, boots on, ready to work among the trees.
The next morning, Dionisios did a melodramatic double-take as he saw us marching up the hill, and a big smile appeared on his face. He may have been surprised to see us reporting for duty as promised, but if so, he hid it well. We helped him load up his truck with all the tools we’d need to shake the olives loose from the trees, including a small two-stroke generator that powered not only the motorised rake (aka olive tickler) that mechanically loosens the olives from the tree, but also the electric pruner that cuts down the branches afterwards, so that people (like us) can hand-harvest the remaining olives using our hands or the handheld rake passed down from Dionisios’ father. Picking the olives from the trees that day was such a joyful, grounding experience. A day immersed in heritage and connection to the land. I felt deeply part of a tradition as old as civilisation itself, harvesting olives under the open sky. There was something profoundly satisfying about working with my hands, getting dirty and feeling the rhythm of the land. I felt connected with the trees, the earth, and the island that David and I have chosen to call home. I felt like I truly belonged, like I was exactly where I was meant to be.
A couple of days later we returned to the taverna for a freddo espresso and to watch Dionisios prepare his harvest for milling, by running the fruit through an olive defoliator that blows a strong stream of air upward. When olives and leaves are poured into the machine, the air blows the lighter leaves away, while the heavier olives fall into a collection container. Ingenious! [Watch the video below to see a demonstration.]
Next we visited the Liocharis Olive Oil mill in Kerameies to see the oil-making process, and they were gracious enough to let us wander around and take photos, despite the fact that we were definitely in the way. Locals drop off their olives for the season, then relax with coffee and cigarettes as their harvest is transferred to large plastic buckets and loaded into the hopper for processing.
After being weighed, the olives are washed with fresh water to remove the dust, soil and leaves that could affect the oil’s quality. The olives are then crushed into a paste (containing olive flesh, pits, water, and oil) which is moved to a horizontal centrifuge where the oil is separated from the solids and water. The extracted oil undergoes further clarification in a vertical centrifuge to remove any remaining impurities, like water and pit fragments, and throughout the entire process the temperature is carefully controlled to preserve the “extra-virgin” standard. Finally, the clarified olive oil is weighed, bottled and the liquid gold presented to the farmer.
On our final night in Kefalonia, Vaso and Dionisios graciously invited us to their taverna for a farewell feast. I’m not sure what we did to deserve such warmth and generosity, but I’m incredibly grateful, not just for the feast, but for their beautiful friendship. That night, we dined and drank like Greek gods, so much so that our groans of contentment could be heard echoing down the streets of Pessada as we waddled home late at night, our stomachs full and our hearts even fuller.
In many ways, the story of the olive tree on Kefalonia mirrors the island’s own story: deeply rooted, enduring through hardship, and flourishing against all odds. It is a symbol of both the island’s past and its future, representing a legacy of resilience, adaptability and unity with nature that continues to define Kefalonian culture. This rich history of olive cultivation is cherished and celebrated, making each olive tree on Kefalonia not just a plant, but a part of the island’s very soul.
