Last time we wrote this, everything was dead. Well, not dead — asleep. Today, everything is half asleep. So, a movement in the right direction.
When we walk the groves, something has shifted. The days are warm, but the nights still swing into low temperatures. Signaling to the trees, coaxed into their winter slumber, to slowly begin to wake. But if you blink, you just might miss it.
It starts with a branch turning green, then a tiny bud, and soon a small cream-colored blossom. They’re very pretty, but disappointingly unscented.
Olive trees are evergreen, so they never lose their leaves in winter. But in the cold months, they turn a shade of shimmering silver, like the scales of an anchovy. More beautiful than at any other time of year. Catch them from the right angle when the wind moves through, and the whole grove looks like a sea of silvery waves. It’s not something you can easily photograph.
But after intense winter pruning, the silver sea becomes, well, a lake. And all of it will turn green soon.
In January, we wrote about how winter doesn’t kill life — it seduces it into stillness. And the olive tree’s instinct to go inward. Many of you wrote back with similar messages: you really needed rest. And more importantly, permission to rest.
After an absolutely brutal winter, we’re happy to see it go.
But with spring comes urgency. Everything you didn’t do in winter must be done now. Next thing you know, you’re standing on a chair watching in glee as the vacuum sucks away the dust from the top of your cupboards. Or you’re scrubbing the drains with an old toothbrush. At least that’s how we spent our weekend…
If you didn’t make New Year’s resolutions, or made them and let them go, this is the moment to start fresh. Everything around you is waking up. The light is longer. The ground is warming.
Spring is when you can act, because the whole world is in motion with you.
We pruned our trees this winter. The cuts are still healing, but new growth is already coming in. Not despite the trimming, but because of it. Olive trees don’t resist being shaped, they grow toward the light, allowing it to reshape their canopy.
Perhaps that’s the lesson. Not to chase the warmth, but to grow toward it. With intention but at your own pace. Trusting that everything you tended through winter was building toward something real.
Until then, we hope you tend something lovely.
On Wed, Apr 29 at 3pm EST, we are teaching How to Build a New Brand in an Ancient Industry with the New York Public Library. This presentation will be 100% online, free, and open to everyone! Join us.
Next for Club: Risotto with Asparagus and Mushrooms
-Giuseppe & Skyler
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