In the eighties my father brought two young olive trees from Picerno to Roma to be planted somewhere.
They were put into big terracotta pots awaiting to be planted.
Years passed, one of the olive tree died and the second one remained on my mother’s balcony.
It didn’t grow much but was producing many offshots.
When we bought our garden apartment in Bruxelles, in the new century, we transfered some of those to see if they would have resisted Belgian different climate.
One actually did, and was still alive when the original olive tree dried up in Roma, few weeks after my mother’s departure.
Then a very cold winter came and the last of its breed gave up.
But then, just around Easter time, new life came up
and this year we finally had the first harvest.