y story begins with the tree. Native to Monemvassia, my roots unfold deeply and wildly clutching the ancient Laconian land, where heroes walked. Native to the South, every twist of my bark, every little leaf, carries the blessed climate of the southern lands. Almost certainly, I am the offspring of the Sun and Mother Earth.
My story continues with the fruit, so deeply venerated by my people. My fruit sustains families, communities and economies. People cultivate it with affection and over the ages have accumulated experience worthy of a gem.
The story continues with the olive oil, the final product and the essence of it all; before it finally turns into a myth, an elixir of life of almost magical proportions, the juice that comes out of the pressing, is the culmination of all materials earth can produce. It cures life. Once upon a time this story would have been passed on by the stone mills that were abundantly scattered throughout the countryside, but now it’s a new era, an era of machines.
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