After harvest

Dense, green, hot, fragrant. The first bottle from Mallorca.

A thousand year old olive tree in Mallorca, one of the many

Antonio Machado (1875-1939): Apuntes (Sketches), detail, to be heard here

Sobre el olivar, se vio la lechuza volar y volar. Campo, campo, campo. Entre los olivos, los cortijos blancos. Y la encina negra, a medio camino de Úbeda a Baeza. Por un ventanal Entra la lechuza En la catedral San Cristobalón La quiso espantar Al ver que bebía Del velón de aceite De Santa María La Virgen habló Déjala que beba San Cristobalón Sobre el olivar, se vio la lechuza volar y volar. A Santa María un ramito verde volando traía. ¡Campo de Baeza, soñaré contigo cuando no te vea!

Over the olive grove the owl was flying and flying Fields, fields, fields Among the olive trees, white farmhouses And the black oak halfway between Úbeda and Baeza Through a window the owl worked its way into the cathedral Giant Saint Christopher tried to chase it away seeing that it drank oil from the lamp of the Holy Mary. But Our Lady said Let him drink of it Giant Saint Christopher Over the olive grove the owl was flying and flying. To the Holy Mary a green sprig it brought flying. Fields of Baeza, I’ll dream with you when I no longer see you!

The cathedral of Mallorca seen from the sea in 1877, at the inauguration of the horse train line.
From the Mallorca Photoblog

Around harvest

On Sunday morning system administrator and olive planter Porrozillo walked out to the edge of Úbeda, and contemplated with satisfaction his plantation spreading in the Andalusian mar de olivos or sea of olives which promised an abundant harvest. He also took a photo and he sent it to our forum of El País readers.

In the spring we have already written about Úbeda – in whose Carmelitan monastery Saint John of the Cross died in 1591 – a propos of their never ending fiestas, especially of the celebrations of the Holy Week. This photo was made from the promenade named for the great son of the town, the prominent contemporary author Antonio Muñoz Molina, that is from somewhere here. If you cannot sleep, count the olive trees on the map.

On the plantations of Csömör the harvest is already over.