Raining olives and a shared table: we savor our first Tuscan olive harvest

Agape staff member Michea Giuni knocks olives
onto the net with the mechanical shaker.

For more than a decade, autumn in Tuscany has meant a familiar, beautiful view for Lucy and me. Every fall since we bought our Montecarlo home in 2015, we have driven past rolling hills covered with hundreds of silver-green olive trees, watching from a distance as groups of people knocked down the autumn fruit into bright green nets spread wide across the grass. We always wondered what it felt like to be part of that timeless Italian tradition. Last week, we finally found out.

For two beautiful half days, we traded the view from the car window for a spot right in the middle of the grove, participating in our very first Italian olive harvest.

Shandra prays as we thank God before lunch.

Our workspace was a stunning, steep hillside just above a historic former convent in Vorno, located about a half hour from Montecarlo. The property is currently being converted into a hostel for travelers walking the ancient Via Francigena pilgrimage route—a wonderful project by Agape Italia (an affiliate of the Ame
rican Christian organization Cru) that is set to open next spring. As friends of the Agape staff, we were invited to join a crew of nine other workers and volunteers to tackle the property's 150 olive trees.

The work was an absolute sensory experience. We began by dragging and spreading the heavy green nets across the sloped earth under the branches. Then, the harvest began in earnest. Armed with long rakes and a rented mechanical shaker, we set to work.

It truly rained olives. A steady shower of fruit, silver leaves, and the occasional surprised insect rained down right on our heads. For the lower, heavy branches, we used a traditional technique called “milking”—gently pulling our hands along the branch to strip off the olives.

Midway through, the battery-powered shaker stopped working. While the sudden breakdown slowed our progress, it turned out to be a hidden blessing. Without the mechanical noise, the grove grew quiet, opening up the space for easy, laughing conversations across the branches.

The work wasn't grueling, but it certainly made us use muscles we forgot we had. After hours of beating and raking the branches, my hands and arms definitely felt the cramp of honest labor, and we had to carefully watch our step on the steep slopes. Lucy, who took on the vital job of sitting on the ground to sort out stray twigs and broken branches from the piles, caught a bit of an autumn chill from the damp earth, but the camaraderie kept our spirits incredibly warm.

Without a doubt, the heartbeat of the experience was the community. Getting to know the dedicated staff and fellow volunteers felt effortless while working side-by-side. That bond carried over perfectly into the afternoons, where we gathered around a long table outside the convent for lunch. We feasted on traditional Tuscan meals, savored rich pecorino cheese, and washed it all down with fresh spring water, local wines, and shots of hot espresso.

By the time we bundled up the final nets and scooped the last fruits into our cestini (baskets), our eleven-person crew had gathered nearly 300 kilograms of olives.

The next day, our Agape friends hauled the crates off to a local frantoio (mill) to be pressed into fresh, vibrant olive oil. We returned home with tired arms, full stomachs, and the immense satisfaction of knowing that the next time we drive past the Tuscan hills in autumn, we won't just be looking at a postcard—we will be remembering a tradition we finally call our own.