Aceite de Oliva

I remember watching an old olive farmer and his son standing in their olive grove. Their young trees, only a few years old, barely came up to their chests and were probably grown from cuttings made from the gnarled trees further up the hill. Those trees were well over a hundred years old and had trunks as thick as two footballers. It was raining, and the two men were getting as wet as the trees. They were soaking up the rain too, quietly rejoicing that there would be enough moisture to ensure a good olive crop.